She had, however, decided on granting the bicycles. She had found plenty of use for her own, for it was possible with prudent use of it, avoiding the worst parts of the road, to be at early celebration at St. Andrew's, and get to the Sunday school at Arnscombe afterwards; and Paulina, with a little demur, decided on giving her assistance there.

At a Propagation of the Gospel meeting at the town hall, the Misses Prescott were introduced to the Reverend Augustine Flight, of St. Kenelm's, and his mother, Lady Flight, who sat next to Magdalen, and began to talk eagerly of the designs for the ceiling of their church, and the very promising young artist who was coming down from Eccles and Beamster to undertake the work.

The church had not yet been seen, and the conversation ended in the sisters coming back to tea, at which Paula was very happy, for the talk had something of the rather exclusive High Church tone that was her ideal. She had seen it in books, but had never heard it before in real life, and Vera was in a restless state, longing to hear whether the promising young artist was really Hubert Delrio, and hoping, while she believed that she feared, that she should blush when she heard his name. However, she did not, though Mr. Flight unfolded his rough plans for the frescoes, which were to be of virgin and child martyrs, Magdalen hesitating a little over those that seemed too legendary; while old Lady Flight, portly and sentimental, declared them so sweet and touching. After tea, they went on to the church. Just at the entrance of the porch, Vera clutched at Paula, with the whisper, "Wasn't that Wilfred Merrifield? There, crossing?"

"Nonsense," was Paula's reply, as she lingered over the illuminated list of the hours of services displayed at the door, and feeling as if she had attained dreamland, as she saw two fully habited Sisters enter, and bend low as they did so.

The church was very elaborately ornamented, small, but showing that no expense had been spared, though there was something that did not quite accord with Magdalen's ideas of the best taste; so that when they went out she answered Paula's raptures of admiration somewhat coldly, or what so appeared to the enthusiastic girl.

The next day, meeting Miss Mohun over cutting out for a working party, Magdalen asked her about the Flights and St. Kenelm's.

"He is an excellent good man," said Jane Mohun, "and has laid out immense sums on the church and parish."

"All his own? Not subscription?"

"No. He is the only son of a very rich City man, a brewer, and came here with his mother as a curate, as a good place for health. They found a miserable little corrugated-iron place, called the Kennel Chapel, and worked it up, raising the people, and doing no end of good till it came to be a district, as St. Kenelm's."

"Very ornamental?"

"Oh, very," said Jane, warming out of caution, as she felt she might venture showing city gorgeousness all over. "But it is infinitely to his credit. He had a Fortunatus' purse, and was a spoilt child—not in the bad sense—but with an utterly idolising mother, and he tried a good many experiments that made our hair stand on end; but he has sobered down, and is a much wiser man now—though I would not be bound to admire all he does."

"I see there are Sisters? Do they belong to his arrangements?"

"Yes. They are what my brother calls Cousins of Mercy. The elder one has tried two or three Sisterhoods, and being dissatisfied with all the rules, I fancy she has some notion of trying to set up one on her own account at Mr. Flight's. They are both relations of his mother, and are really one of his experiments—fancy names and fancy rules, of course. I believe the young one wanted to call herself Sister Philomena, but that he could not stand. So they act as parish women here, and they do it very well. I liked Sister Beata when I have come in contact with her, and I am sure she is an excellent nurse. They will do your nieces no harm, though I don't like the irregular."

Of this assurance Magdalen felt very glad, when at the door of the parish room, where the ladies were to hold a working party for the missions, Carrigaboola Missions at Albertstown, she and her nieces were introduced to the two ladies in hoods and veils; and Paula's eyes sparkled with delight as she settled into a chair next to Sister Mena. She looked as happy as Vera looked bored! Conversation was not possible while a missionary memoir was being read aloud, but the history of Mother Constance, once Lady Herbert Somerville, but then head at Dearport, and founder of the Daughter Sisterhood at Carrigaboola. To the Merrifields it was intensely interesting, and also to Magdalen; but all the time she could see demonstrations passing between Paula and Sister Mena, a nice-looking girl, much embellished by the setting of the hood and veil, as if the lending of a pair of scissors or the turning of a hem were an act of tender admiration. So sweet a look came out on Paula's face that she longed to awaken the like. Vera meantime looked as if her only consolation lay in the neighbourhood of a window, whence she could see up the street, as soon as she had found whispers to Mysie Merrifield treated as impossible.

The party at the Goyle had begun to fall into regular habits, and struggles were infrequent. There was study in the forenoon, walks or cycle expeditions in the afternoon, varied by the lessons in music and in art, which Vera and Paula attended on Wednesdays and Fridays, the one in the morning, the other after dinner. It was possible to go to St. Andrew's matins at ten o'clock before the drawing class, and to St. Kenelm's at five, after the music was over. Magdalen, whenever it was possible, went with her sisters on their bicycles to St. Andrew's, and sometimes devised errands that she might join them at St. Kenelm's, but neither could always be done by the head of the household. And she could perceive that her company was not specially welcome.

Valetta, the only one of the Clipstone family whose drawing was worth cultivating, used to ride into Rockstone, escorted by her brother Wilfred, who was in course of "cramming" with a curate on his way to his tutor, and Vera found in casual but well-cultivated meetings and partings, abundant excitement in "nods and becks and wreathed smiles," and now and then in the gift of a flower.

Paula on the other hand found equal interest and delight in meetings with Sister Mena, especially after a thunderstorm had driven the two to take refuge at what the Sisters called "the cell of St. Kenelm," and tea had unfolded their young simple hearts to one another! Magdalen had called on the Sisters and asked them to tea at the Goyle, and there had come to the conclusion that Sister Beata was an admirable, religious, hardworking woman, of strong opinions, and not much cultivated, with a certain provincial twang in her voice. She had a vehement desire for self-devotion and consecration, but perhaps not the same for obedience. She sharply criticised all the regulations of the Sisterhoods with which she was acquainted, wore a dress of her own device, and with Sister Mena, a young cousin of her own, meant to make St. Kenelm's a nucleus for a Sisterhood of her own invention.

Sister Mena had been bred up in a Sisterhood's school, from five years old and upwards, and had no near relatives. Mr. Flight was Saint, Pope and hero to both, and Mena knew little beyond the horizon of St. Kenelm's, but she and Paula were fascinated with one another; and Magdalen saw more danger in interfering than in acquiescing, though she gave no consent to Paulina's aspirations after admission into the perfect Sisterhood that was to be.



CHAPTER VIII—SNOBBISHNESS



"Why then should vain repinings rise, That to thy lover fate denies A nobler name, a wide domain?"—SCOTT.

The friendship with the Sisters was about three weeks old when, one morning, scaffold poles were being erected in the new side aisle of St. Kenelm's Church, and superintending them was a tall dark-haired young man. There was a start of mutual recognition; and by and by he met Paula and Vera in the porch, and there were eager hand-clasps and greetings, as befitted old friends meeting in a strange place.

"Mr. Hubert! I heard you were coming!"

"Miss Vera! Miss Paula! This is a pleasure."

Then followed an introduction of Sister Mena, whose elder companion was away, attending a sick person.

"May I ask whether you are living here?"

"Two miles off at the Goyle, at Arnscombe, with our sister."

"So I heard! I shall see you again." And he turned aside to give an order, bowing as he did so.

"Is he the artist of those sweet designs?" asked Sister Mena.

"Did we not tell you?"

"And now he is going to execute them? How delicious!"

"I trust so! We must see him again. We have not heard of Edie and Nellie, nor any one."

"He will call on you?" said Sister Mena.

"I do not think so," said Paula. "At least his father is really an artist, but he is drawing-master at the High School, and Hubert works for this firm. They are not what you call in society, and our sister is all for getting in with Lady Merrifield and General Mohun and all the swells, so it would never do for him to call."

"She would first be stiff and stuck up," said Vera, "and I could not stand that."

"I thought she was so kind," said Mena.

"You don't understand," said Vera. "She would be kind to a workman in a fever; but this sort—oh, no."

"To be on an equality with the man painting the church?" said Paula. "No, indeed! not if he were Fra Angelico and Ary Scheffer and Michelangelo rolled into one."

At that moment the subject referred to in that mighty conglomeration reappeared. He was a handsome young man, his touch of Italian blood showing just enough to give him a romantic air; and Sister Philomena listened, much impressed by the interchange of question and answer about "Edie and Nellie," and the dear Warings, and the happy Christmas at the Grange; and Vera blushed again, and Paula coloured in sympathy, as it appeared that Mr. Delrio had never had such a splendid time.

The colloquy was ended by Mr. Flight being descried, approaching with his mother, whereupon the two girls fled away like guilty creatures.

Presently Vera exclaimed, "Oh, Polly dear, what a complication! Poor dear fellow! he cares for me as much as ever."

"And you will be staunch to him in spite of all the worldly allurements," said Paula.

"Well, I mean Mr. Wilfred Merrifield is not half so handsome," returned Vera.

"Nor is he engaged in sacred work; only bent on frivolity," said Paula; "yet see how the M.A. encourages him with tennis and games and nonsense."

Poor M.A., when the encouragement had only been some general merriment, and a few games on the lawn Paulina, who had heard many confidences when Vera returned from Waring Grange, believed altogether in the true love of the damsel and Hubert Delrio, who had been wont to single out the prettiest of the girls at Filstead, and she was resolved to do all she could in their cause, being schoolgirl enough to have no scruple as to secrecy towards Magdalen, though on the next opportunity she poured out all to Sister Philomena's by no means unwilling ears.

Lovers had never fallen within the young Sister's experience, either personally or through friends; and they had only been revealed to her in a few very carefully-selected tales, where they were more the necessary machinery than the main interest, for she had been bred up in an orphanage by Sister Beata, and had never seen beyond it. So to her Paula's story, little as there was of it, was a perfect romance, and it gained in colour when she related it to her senior.

Sister Beata hesitated a little, having rather more knowledge of the world, remembering that Vera Prescott was not eighteen years old, and doubting whether an underhand intimacy ought to be encouraged; but then Mr. Flight had spoken of Mr. Delrio as a highly praiseworthy young man, of decided Catholic principles; he was regular at Church services, and had dined or supped at the Vicarage. The intercourse, as the girls had explained, had been sanctioned by Mrs. Best in their native town, where all parties were well known, and thus there could be no harm in letting it continue. While as to the elder Miss Prescott, she was understood to be unduly bent on county and titled society, and to be exclusive towards inferiors. Moreover, she was an attendant at St. Andrew's Church, and thus regarded as out of the pale of sympathy of the St. Kenelm's flock.

So no obstacle was put in the way of the gossips, for they were really nothing more, except that there was admiration of the designs for the side chapel, which were of the Scripture children on one side, and on the other of child martyrs. Now and then there was a reference to the chilliness and hardship of living with an unsympathising sister, and being obliged to go to churches of which they did not approve. Sometimes too there were airy castles of a distant future to be shared by the magnificent architect, together with Vera, while Paula nursed in the convent with Mother Beata and Sister Philomena.

But all this did not prevent an excitement and eager laughter and chatter whenever Wilfred Merrifield came in the way, and he certainly was enough attracted by Vera's pretty face and lively graces to make his sisters think him very absurd; but his mother had seen so many passing fancies among her elder sons as to hold that blindness was better than serious treatment.

There was the further effect that Magdalen had no suspicion that the vehement attraction to St. Kenelm's went beyond the harmless quarter of the two nursing Sisters and some hero worship of Mr. Flight. Miss Mohun, who knew everything, had indeed hinted that something foolish might be going on there; but Magdalen had not decided on the mutual fairness of the two congregations, and deferred investigation till Agatha should come home, when she would have a reasonable, if cold, person to deal with. Nor did Thekla's chatter excite any suspicion; for the only time when she had been present at a meeting with Mr. Delrio, she had been half bribed, half threatened into silence, and she was quite schoolgirl enough to feel that such was the natural treatment of authority, though she had become really fond of "sister."



CHAPTER IX—GONE OVER TO THE ENEMY



"Can I teach thee, my beloved? can I teach thee?" E. B. BROWNING.

Agatha came home in due time, and Magdalen sent her sister to meet her at the station, where they found a merry Clipstone party in the waggonette waiting for Gillian, who was to come home at the same time. There was so much discussion of the new golf ground, that Vera had hardly a hand or a glance to bestow on Mr. Delrio, who jumped out of the same train, shook hands with Agatha, and bestirred himself in finding her luggage and calling a cab.

"How he is improved! What a pleasing, gentlemanly fellow he looks!" she exclaimed, as she waved her thanks, while driving off in the cab.

"Is he not?" said Paula, while Vera bridled and blushed. "You will be delighted with his work. I never saw anything more lovely than little St. Cyriac the martyr."

"He is taken from Mrs. Henderson's little boy," added Vera; "such a dear little darling."

"And his mother is to be done; indeed, he has sketched her for St. Juliet."

"Flapsy! St. Romeo, too, I suppose?"

"Nonsense, Nag! There really was a St. Juliet or Julitta, and she was his mother, and they both were martyrs. I will tell you all the history," began Paula; but Agatha interposed.

"You must like having him down here. Sister must be much pleased with him. She used to like old Mr. Delrio."

"Well, we have not said much about him," owned Paula. "He does not seem to wish it, or expect to be in with swells."

"We could not stand his being treated like a common house-painter and upholsterer," added Vera.

"Surely no one does so," said Agatha.

"Not exactly," said Paula; "at least, he has had supper at St. Kenelm's Vicarage with Lady Flight, and luncheon at Carrara with Captain and Mrs. Henderson."

"Because he was DOING the child," interposed Vera; "and Thekla says that Primrose Merrifield says that her Aunt Jane—that is, old Miss Mohun—says that Lady Flight is not a gentlewoman."

"What has that to do with Magdalen?"

"Why, she is so taken up with those swells of hers, especially now that there is a talk of Lord Somebody's yacht coming in, that she would never treat him as on equal terms, but just keep him at a distance, like a mere decorator."

"That seemed to me just what you were doing," said Agatha, "when he was so kind and helpful about my box."

"Oh, THEY were all there, and we did not want to be talked of," said Vera, blushing. "He understands."

"He understands," repeated Paula. "We do see him at the church and at the Sisters'. Those dear Sisters! There is no nonsense about them. You will love them, Nag."

"Well, it does not seem to me to be treating our own sister Magdalen fairly."

"The M.A.!" said Vera, in a tone of wonder.

"No; not to be intimate with a person you do not introduce to her, because you do not think she would consider him as on equal terms."

"Sister Beata quite approves," added Paula, sincerely, not guessing how little Sister Beata knew of the situation, of which she only heard through the medium of her own representations to Sister Mena.

The two girls rushed into the charms of these two Sisters, and the plan for an entertainment for the maidens of the Guild of St. Milburgha, at which they were to assist. It lasted up to the gate of the Goyle, where Magdalen and Thekla were ready to meet them; and they trooped merrily up the hill, Agatha keeping to Magdalen's side in a way that struck her as friendly and affectionate. It seemed to be more truly coming HOME than the elder sister had dared to anticipate; nor, indeed, did she feel the veiled antagonism to herself that had previously disappointed her.

The talk was about St. Robert's, about Oxford in general, the new friends, the principal, the games, the debates, the lectures, the sermons, the celebrities, the undergraduates, the concerts, the chapels, the boats, the architecture; all were touched on for further discussion by and by as they sat at the evening meal, and then on the chairs and cushions in the verandah; and through all there was no exclusion of the elder sister, but rather she was the one who could appreciate the interest of what Agatha had seen and heard; and even she was allowed to enter into the amusement of an Oxford bon mot, sometimes, indeed, when it was far beyond Paula and Vera.

There was no doubt that the term had much improved Agatha even in appearance and manner. She held herself better, pronounced better, uttered no slangish expressions, and twice she repressed little discourtesies on the part of her sisters, and neglects such as were not the offspring of tender familiarity, but of an indifference akin to rudeness. Magdalen had endured, knowing how bad it was for their manners, but unwilling to become more of an annoyance than could be helped. The indescribable difference in Agatha's whole manner sent Magdalen to bed happier than she had been since the arrival of her sisters, and feeling as if Agatha had come to her own side of a barrier.

Perhaps it was quite true; for the last two months had been a time of growth with the maiden, changing her from a schoolgirl to a student, from the "brook to the river." She had, indeed, studied hard, but that she had always done, as being clever, intellectual and ambitious. The difference had been from her intercourse with persons slightly her elders, but who did not look on authorities as natural enemies, to be tolerated for one's own good. There had been a development of the conscience and soul even in this first term that made her regard her elder sister not merely with a sense of compulsory gratitude and duty, but with sympathy and fellow feeling, which were the more excited when she saw her own chilliness of last spring carried further by the two young girls.

So breakfast went off merrily; and after the round of the garden and the pets, Agatha promised to come, when summoned, to hear how well Thekla could read French. In the meantime she waited in the morning- room, looking at her sisters' books; Vera pushed aside the Venetian blind.

"Don't come in that way, Flapsy!" called Paula. "You'll be heard in the dining-room, and the M.A. will tremble at your dusty feet."

"They aren't dusty," said Vera, pulling up the blind with a clatter.

"Aren't they?" laughed Paula, pointing.

"You had better go and wipe them," said Agatha.

"I don't believe in M.A.'s fidgets," returned Vera.

"But I do, in proper deference to the head of the house," said Agatha, gravely.

"Murder in Irish!" cried Vera, bouncing away, while Paula argued, "Really, Nag, life is not long enough to attend to all the M.A.'s little worries."

"Polly, dear, I am afraid we have been on a wrong tack with our sister. I don't like calling her by that name."

"You began it!" exclaimed Vera, dashing in by the door as she spoke.

"I could not have meant it as a nickname to be always in use."

"Oh yes, you did, I remember"—and an argument was beginning, which Agatha cut short by saying, "Any way, it is bad taste."

"Nag has been so much among the real M.A. that she is tender about their title."

"She wants to be one herself," said Vera; "and so she will if she goes on getting learned and faddy."

"In both senses?" said Paula.

Agatha laughed a little, but added, "No, Polly, the thing is that it is hardly kind or right to put that sort of label upon a person like Magdalen—who has done so much for us—and—"

The perverse young hearts could not bear a touch on the chord of gratitude; and Paula burst in, "Label or libel, do you mean?"

"It becomes a libel as you use it."

"Do you want us to call her sister or Magdalen, the whole scriptural mouthful at once?"

"I believe that to call her Magdalen or Maidie, as my father did, would make her feel nearer to us than the formal way of saying 'Sister.'"

"I don't mind about changing," said Paula. "She can never be the same to us as dear Sister Mena."

"She is so tiresome," added Vera. "She bothers so over my music; calling out if I make ever so small a slip, and making me go over all again."

"Well she may," said Paula. "She is making little Tick play so nicely. Just listen! But I can't bear her dragging us off to that horrid old Arnscombe Church and the nasty stuffy Sunday school."

"That reminds me," said Agatha; "Gillian Merrifield met a relation of Mr. Earl's, who said that Miss Prescott had brought quite new life and spirit to the poor old man, who had been getting quite out of heart for want of any one to help and sympathise with him."

"Then he ought to make his services more Catholic," said Paula. "But nothing will wean her from the old parochial idea. Why, she would not let me give my winter stockings to Sister Beata's poor girls, but made me darn them and put them by."

"Yes, and mine, which were bad enough to give away, she made me darn first," cried Vera. "She is ever so much worse than the superlative about mending one's clothes."

"There ought to be another degree of comparison," said Paula,— "Botheratissima!"

"For, only think!" said Vera. "She won't let us have new hats, but only did up the old ones, and not with feathers, though there is such a love at Tebbitts's at Rockstone."

"She says it is cruel," said Paula.

"Cruel to me, I am sure; and what difference does it make when the birds are once killed?"

"Well, she did give us those lovely wreaths of lilies," said Paula.

"Of course, but nothing to make them stylish! What's the good of being out if one is to have nothing chic? And she won't let me have a hockey outfit. She says she must see more of it to be able to judge whether to let us play!"

"That just means seeing whether her dear Merrifields do," said Paula.

"Gillian did at St. Catherine's. But you will know soon. Did I not hear something about a garden party?"

"Oh, yes; she is talking of one, but it will be all swells and croquet, and deadly dull."

"I thought you seemed to be getting on well with the swells, if you mean the Merrifields, especially Wilfred, if that is his name."

"Bil—Bil! Oh, he is all very well," said Vera, "if he would not be always so silly and come after me! As if I cared!"

"And only think," said Paula, "that she was going to have it on the very day that St. Milburga's Guild has their festival! Just as if it was on purpose!"

"Did you ask her to keep clear of your engagements?"

"I told her, but I don't think she listened." And as another grievance suggested itself to Vera, she declared, "And she won't let us join the Girls' Magazine Club, because she saw one she didn't like on somebody's table. As if we were little babies!"

"She won't let us order books at the library, but gets such awfully slow ones," chimed in Paula, "or only baby stories fit for Thekla. She made me return that book dear Sister Mena lent me, because she said it was Roman Catholic."

"And hasn't she got Thomas a Kempis on her table? and I'm sure he was Roman Catholic. There's consistency!"

"You don't understand," began Agatha. "He was a great Saint before the Catholics became so Roman."

"Oh, never mind! It is anything to thwart us," cried Vera. "It is ever so much worse than school."

"But," began Agatha, and the tone of consideration to that one conjunction caused an outburst. "Oh, Nag, Nag, if you are gone over to the enemy, what will life be worth?"

As that terrible question was propounded, in burst Thekla with, "Oh, Nag, Nag, they are cutting the hay in the high torr field, and sister says we may go and see them before I read my French."

"Oh!" cried Vera, with a prolongation into a groan, "is she going to be tiresome?"

"She has come to be quite a don," said Paula; "but never mind, we will soon make her all right again."

The two sisters had to go to their different classes in the afternoon, and wanted Agatha to go with them; but it was a very warm day, and she preferred resting in the garden, and, to Magdalen's surprise and pleasure, conversation with her. At first it was about Oxford matters, very interesting, but public and external to the home, and it did not draw the cords materially closer; but when Thekla had privately decided that even hanging upon the newly recovered Nag was not worth the endurance of anything so tedious, and had gone off to assist her beloved old gardener in gathering green gooseberries, Magdalen observed that she was a very pleasant little pupil, and was getting on very well, especially with arithmetic.

"That was the strong point in the junior classes," said Agatha; "better taught than it was in my time."

"I wish she could have more playfellows," said Magdalen. "She would like to go to the High School at Rockquay, but there are foundations I should wish to lay before having her out of my own hands."

"I should think you were her best playfellow. She seems very fond of you, and very happy."

"Yes," said Magdalen, rather wistfully. "I think she generally is so."

"Maidie! may I call you by the old home name?" And as Magdalen answered with a kiss and tearful smile, "Do tell me, please, if Polly and Flapsy are nice to you?"

Magdalen was taken by surprise at the pressure of the hand and the eyes that gazed into her face full of expression.

She could not keep the drops from rushing to her own eyes, though she smiled through them and said, "As nice as they know how."

"I am afraid I know what that means," said Agatha.

"If I only knew how to prevent their looking on me as their governess," continued Magdalen; "but I must have got into the groove, and I suppose I do not always remember how much must be tolerated if love has to be won; and Paula is a thoroughly good girl."

"Yes, I am sure she wishes to be," said Agatha. "Are those Sisters nice that she talks of so eagerly?"

"They are very excellent women, but somehow I should have had more confidence in them if they were not unattached, or belonged to some regular Sisterhood. I wish she had taken instead to Mysie Merrifield, who is more of my sort; but no one can control those likings."

"I don't think Gillian very attractive; she is so wrapped up in her work," confessed Agatha.

"You will see them all, I hope, for I am giving a garden party next week, perhaps. Have not they told you?"

"Oh, yes; but Polly seemed bent on its not clashing with some festival at St. Kenelm's."

"Therefore I had not fixed the day till I had heard what is settled. I have invited people for Thursday, which will hardly interfere."

"Did you know that the young man who is painting the ceiling at St. Kenelm's Church is old Mr. Delrio's son Hubert?"

"Indeed! Is he staying here? We must ask him to come up to luncheon or to tea. I am glad he is doing so well. I heard Eccles and Beamster were to do the decorations; I suppose they employ him. I should think it was a very good line to get into."

This was on a Friday; and the next day Magdalen proposed driving down in the cool of the evening to see the decorations at St. Kenelm's and their artist; but it turned out that he was gone to spend Sunday at the Cathedral city, and all that could be done was to admire the designs, and listen to Paula's enthusiastic explanation.

Magdalen consulted Agatha whether to send young Delrio a card for the garden party; but they decided that it was too late for an invitation to be sent, though a spoken one might have been possible. Besides, it was not likely to be pleasant to a stranger who knew no one but the Flights and Hendersons, and those professionally. Agatha told her sisters, and with one voice they declared that they would not see him patronised; while Agatha's acute senses doubted whether Vera's objection was not secretly based on the embarrassment of a double flirtation with him and with Wilfred Merrifield.

Indeed, Vera told her gaily: "Only think, Nag, I did have a jolly ride on the M.A.'s bike after all."

"Indeed! Then she lent it to you."

"Not she! But she and the little kid were safe gone to Avoncester, and Paula was with her dear Sisters, so Will and I took a jolly spin along the cliff road; and it was such screaming fun. Only once we thought we saw old Sir Jasper coming, and we got behind a barn, but it turned out to be only a tripper, and we had such a laugh."

"Paula does not know?"

"What would be the good of telling her, with her little nun's schoolgirl mind? She would only make no end of a fuss about a mere bit of fun and nonsense."

"I think if Wilfred Merrifield was afraid to meet his father, it showed a sense of wrong."

"Sir Jasper is a horrid old martineau, who never gives them any peace at home, but is always after them."

"A martinet, I suppose you mean. I don't think that makes it any better. I should not be happy till Magdalen knew."

"Why, no harm was done! There's her precious machine all safe! It was just for the fun of the thing, and to try how it goes. One can't be kept in like a blessed baby! She never has guessed it. That's the fun of it."

"I would not return her kindness in such an unladylike way when she is trusting you, Vera."

Did Magdalen know what had been done? She did guess, for there was a mark on the wheel that she did not remember to have known before, and it cost her a bitter pang of mistrust; but she abstained from inquiries, thinking that they might only do harm. But she bought a chain for her bicycle; and Agatha felt more shame than did Vera, who tried to believe herself amused by her tacit sense of emancipation.



CHAPTER X—FLOWN



"Till now thy soul hath been all glad and gay, Bid it arise and look on grief to-day." ADELAIDE PROCTOR.

There was a Guild at St. Kenelm's which was considered by the promoters to be superior to the Girls' Friendly Society, and which comprised about a dozen young women, who attended classes held by Sister Beata, and occasional modest entertainments given by Lady Flight.

One of these was to take place the day before Miss Prescott's garden party. It was to be given at Carrara, the very pretty grounds on the top of the cliff, belonging to Captain Henderson, the managing partner in the extensive marble works of Mr. White, who lived at Rocca Marina, in the Riviera. Mrs. Henderson had resided in Mr. Flight's parish, and been a member of his congregation, and while he was absent for a day or two she had put her garden at the service of the Guild of St. Milburga's for the day.

Of course Vera and Paula were delighted to assist; but Thekla was too young for the amusements of grown-up maidens, and was much better pleased to help her two elder sisters in preparations for the next day, placing tennis nets, arranging croquet hoops, mustering chairs by the verandah, and adorning tables with flowers. Agatha's assistance was heartily given, as making it her own concern, and, for that reason above all others, it was a happy day, though a very tiring one, to Magdalen, in spite of the sultry atmosphere and the sight of lurid-looking clouds over the moors, which did not augur well for the next day's weather, and caused all the arrangement of chairs and rugs to be prudently broken up and deposited under the verandah.

This was done, and the evening meal had been taken, and Thekla had gone to bed before some flashes of lightning made the two sisters wish to see the other pair at home, especially as Vera was much afraid of lightning, and Paula apt to be made quite ill by it.

The storm rolled on, bringing violent gusts of wind and hail, though not at the very nearest, and such a hurricane of wind and rain ensued that the two watchers concluded that the two girls must have been housed for the night by some of the friends at Rock Quay, and it was near midnight, when just as they had gone to their rooms, a carriage was heard ascending the hill, and they had reached the door before Paulina sprang out with the cry, "Is she come home?" Then at sight of the blank faces of dismay, she seized hold of Agatha's hands and began to sob. Mr. Flight had stepped out of the car at the same moment, and answered the incoherent questions and exclamations.

"Young Delrio offered to take photographs of the party, and that was the last time she was seen."

"Yes," sobbed Paula, "Sister Mena saw her there. We were trying to get up croquet, and then I missed her. I tried to find her when the lightning began, but I could not find her anywhere, though I looked in all the summer-houses!"

"At Mrs. Henderson's? or Miss Mohun's? or the Sisters'?" asked Magdalen, catching alarm from each denial. "She might have gone home with one of the girls."

"She would be wild in such a storm," said Agatha, "and not know what she was about."

"Sister Beata and I have gone to each house," said Mr. Flight.

"When did you say you saw her last?"

"I saw her when we were grouped," said Paula; "Sister Mena, when she was helping him to put up his photos."

"The strange thing is," said Mr. Flight, "though no doubt it will be explained, that Delrio is missing too."

"Hubert Delrio!" exclaimed Agatha. "Impossible! He must have taken her into the church to be out of the storm."

"We have tried," said the clergyman. And as the round of suggestions began to be despairingly reiterated, he said, hesitating, "Miss Mohun told me that she thought she had seen a boat, Captain Henderson's, she believed, in the cave with some one rocking in it; and certainly that little boat was there, when on the hope, if it can be called a hope, I ran down the steps to look."

"Would it not have been put into the boathouse out of the rain?" said Agatha.

"The gardener was gone home, out of reach round the point, but we shall know to-morrow."

"He thinks they may have rowed out and been caught in the storm," cried Paula, bursting into fresh weeping; and Magdalen saw the conjecture confirmed by Mr. Flight's countenance.

"I am afraid it is the least distressing—the least unsatisfactory idea," said he, in much agitation. "I thought Mr. Delrio an excellent young man; and she," indicating his companion, "tells me you know him and his family well."

"Oh, yes," said Agatha and Magdalen in one breath. "We have known his father all our lives. Nothing can be more respectable."

"And Hubert is as steady and good as possible," continued Agatha. "His mother used to come to Mrs. Best and praise him, till we were quite tired of his name; I am sure he is all right."

"Or I should be much deceived in him," said the clergyman.

Yet there was an idea in Paulina's mind. Could Vera have poured out such an exaggerated tale of oppression and unhappiness as to have induced her old playfellow to carry her off to his mother at Filsted? She had given some such hint to Mr. Flight on the way; but he had not seemed to hear or attend, and he was now promising to let the sisters know as soon as possible in the morning whether anything had been discovered, and to telegraph to Filsted and to the office in London if he should see occasion.

Then he drove off, in what would have been almost daylight but for the pelting of the storm; and after a vain attempt to make Paula swallow some nourishment, Magdalen thought it kinder to let Agatha carry her off to bed, and then she confessed, what really gave a certain hope, that the pair had been in the habit of murmuring against "sister" so much that, considering poor Vera's propensity to strong language, it was quite possible that Hubert might think her cruelly oppressed, and for a freak carry her off to his mother to be consoled.

Agatha tried to believe it, for the sake of hushing the exhausted Paula, who almost went into hysterics, as she laughed at the notion of to-morrow's telegram that Vera was safe at Filsted; and then allowed herself to be calmed enough to sleep, while Agatha revolved the notion, but found herself unable seriously to believe, that sufficient grievance could be brought against sister to induce any man in his senses to take such a step. But then Paula had inferred that he was a lover, and Agatha did not know of what lovers might be capable, and she could not but blame herself for not having given more importance to the semi-confidences of her sisters on the first day of her arrival. It was all misery; and the two poor girls could find no solace in the morning, save in talking to Magdalen, though that involved the confession of all the murmurs against her, the distrust of her kindness, and the explanation of the interviews, which, as far as Paula had ever witnessed them, were absolutely harmless, the only pity being in their concealment.

Magdalen was manifestly as wretched as they, or even more so, being convinced of her own shortcoming in not having won the affection or confidence that would have made all open between them. She could not understand why Hubert Delrio should not have been made known to her.

"We thought," said Paula, "we thought you might not think him enough- -enough—of a gentleman for your sort of society."

"I think you might have trusted me to know what was due to an old friend," said Magdalen "but, oh, I ought to have made you feel that we could think together."

"Perhaps," said Agatha, "there was a little consciousness on poor dear Vera's part that she did not want you to know the terms she was on."

They had tried only to let Thekla know that they were much alarmed because Vera had gone out in a boat and not returned. It was observable that, on the principle that where there is life there is hope, Paula clung to the notion that Vera's having fled to Filsted; while the two elder sisters, perhaps because they better knew what such a flight might seem to others, would almost have preferred to suppose there had been a fatal accident in the midst of youthful, innocent sport.

The two were lingering sadly over their uneaten breakfast, talking more freely when they had sent Thekla to feed her pets, when Mr. Flight came up on his bicycle; but it was plain at the first moment that he had no good news.

Nothing had been heard. It only appeared that one of the young gardeners at Carrara had taken Captain Henderson's boat without leave, to fetch one of the girls, but on entering the cove had found the boathouse locked. He had moored the boat to a stake for want of the ring that secured it within. When the storm threatened he ran down to recover it, but it was gone, and he had concluded that the gardeners had put it into the boathouse. It now appeared that they had not seen it, and were very angry at its having been meddled with. An oar had drifted up with the morning tide, and had been recognised as belonging to the boat; but such a gale was blowing that it was impossible to put out to sea or make any search round the coast. Words could hardly describe the distress of Mr. Flight or of his ladies at not having better looked after the young girl; Sister Beata for never having thoroughly attended to the matter; and Sister Mena for having accepted confidences which, if she had only guessed it, told her more than there really was to be known. Both these two were inclined to the elopement idea, partly because it was the least shocking, and partly because they had looked at Vera's grievances through her own spectacles, and partly from their unlimited notions of young men's wickedness. Their vicar was not of the same opinion, knowing Hubert better, and besides having found his work, his orders to his subordinates, and the belongings at the lodgings in a state that showed that whatever he had done had been unpremeditated. Sending off notes to stop the garden party was a sort of occupation, broken by many signs, much listening, and much sorrowful discussion, not quite vain, since it made Paulina more one with Magdalen than ever before. Poor old Mr. Delrio arrived in the afternoon, a thin, grey-haired and bearded old man, who could only make it too certain that Paula's theory of the innocent flight to Filsted was impossible. Moreover, he was as certain as a father could be, intimate with, and therefore confident of, his eldest son, that though Hubert might indulge in a little lively flirtation, it could never be otherwise than perfectly harmless. In the terrible suspense and restlessness, he went vibrating about in the torrents of moorland rain between Rock Quay and the Goyle, on the watch for telegrams from the office in London or his wife at home, or for the discovery of anything from the sea, or searching in his son's lodgings, where nothing was found that did not show him to have been a pure-hearted young man, devoted to his art, and fond of poetry. Sundry compositions were in the blotting-book, one, indeed, to Vera's name, under the supposition (a wrong one) {100} that it meant "true," but mostly rough copies of a poem about the Saints Julitta and her child Cyriac. Hope sank as another stormy day rose; and still the poor old artist lingered in hopes of news by some returning craft which might have picked up the derelict. His chief comfort was in walking about between the showers with Magdalen, as an old friend, and trying to think of the two as innocent creatures, engulfed like mayflies in the stream.

Sister Mena came over, wanting to join Paula in bewailing entreaties; but Paula, in youthful hard-hearted wilfulness, declared that it was impossible to see her; and it fell to Magdalen to try to discuss the grief with her.

It turned out that Mr. Flight had spoken severely to her and to the far less implicated Sister Beata, declaring his confidence in them destroyed, so that they had begun to consider of throwing up their work in his parish. "And it was all my fault," said Mena; "Sister Beata really knew nothing, or hardly anything of what Vera told me."

"Indeed, I can quite understand that you had hardly experience enough to know that it might be wiser not to encourage what was not quite open."

"But I thought,—I thought you—"

"That I was unkind and unsympathising."

"Oh, you never could have been—"

"Indeed I never meant to be, but I am afraid it seemed so to my young sisters. I can quite see how you thought you were acting kindly."

"Oh, that is so good of you."

"And perhaps I, being only an elder sister, you would not feel that I was the only authority the poor girls have to look to; and that it would have been kinder to help them to be content with me."

"I did not know what you could be," said Mena, greatly soothed and surprised by her caresses.

"We often do go on in ignorance, and get on a wrong tack; but you know God pardons our mistakes, and I do believe that you will be wiser for all this sorrow, and better able to rise to your work. I am sure, however it ends, that is the reason that such blows are sent to us."

Mena went back sorrowful and chastened, but tenderly hopeful. If Miss Prescott could forgive, surely Mr. Flight could, and One still greater.



CHAPTER XI—ADRIFT



"She splashed, and she dashed, and she turned herself round, And heartily wished herself safe on the ground." JANE TAYLOR.

And where were the missing pair?

Vera had lingered about, fancying she was helping to pack the photographic apparatus, while the others dispersed. Presently, seeing no one near, Hubert Delrio said, in a gentle diffident voice, "It would be a great pleasure to me if I might ask you to listen to the verses on St. Cyriac and his mother that the design brought with it."

"I should love it better than anything," said Vera, highly flattered.

"If you would come down this way, there is a charming secluded cove, where we should be free from interruption."

"How deliciously romantic! Quite stunning!" cried Vera, as her cavalier conducted her down a steep path along the side of the cliff to the stony beach, where a few red rocks had been manipulated into a tiny harbour, with a boathouse for the little skiff in which Captain Henderson was wont to go round to the marble works on the other side of the headland. The boat looked very inviting as it lay swinging gently in the sluggish waves in the advancing shade of the tall cliff; and Vera exclaimed with delight as she was assisted into it, and placed herself comfortably on the cushion, with one hand dabbling in the cool translucent wave. Hubert Delrio opened his manuscript and began to read his ballad, if so it was to be called, being the history of the little boy of four years old, who, being taken with his mother before the tribunal at Tarsus, was lifted on the propraetor's knee, but struggled, crying out, "I am a Christian!" till the propraetor, in a rage, hurled him down. His skull was fractured on the marble pavement, and his mother gave thanks for his soul's safety, when she too was sentenced to be beheaded. Great pains had been taken with the noble-minded tale; and the verses had considerable merit, more, perhaps, than Vera could appreciate. But to read such a production of his own, in such surroundings, to the auditor whom youthful fancy most preferred, was such luxury to both that it was no wonder that under the broad shady hat with the lily wreath she was nodding in the gentle breeze, the lapping of the waves, and the soft cadence of the poetry, till at an effective passage on the mother's death, the poet looked up, expecting to receive a responsive glance from those blue eyes.

Not only were they hidden, but the cliff was farther off. The mooring rope and the stake were dragging behind in the water. The tide had turned, and the boat was already out of reach of the rock where it had been drawn up. His exclamation of dismay awoke Vera, who would have started up with a little shriek, but for his, "Don't! Don't! I'll row back."

But he was a landsman, whose only knowledge of the water was in an occasional bathe, or in a river steamer; and his first attempt at placing the oars in the rowlocks resulted in one falling overboard, while he helplessly grasped the other; and Vera screamed again.

"Don't be frightened, my dear! Dearest, don't! We must be seen. Some one will come out and help us."

"Can't you get on with one oar? They do in pictures."

"Punting? Yes, but there must be a bottom. No, don't move, whatever you do. There can't be any danger. Fishermen must be about. Or we shall be seen from the cliffs."

"They are getting farther off! Can't you shout?"

Hubert shouted, and Vera added her shriller cries; but all in vain, and the outgoing tide was carrying them, not towards the quay and marble rocks, but farther to sea. The waves grew rougher and had crests of foam, and discomfort began. Once the feather of a steamer was seen on the horizon. They waved handkerchiefs and redoubled their shouts, and Hubert had to hold his companion to prevent her from leaping up; but they never were within the vessel's ken, and she went on her way, while the sea bore them farther and farther.

The shore was growing dim and indistinct, the sun was sinking, and the cloud, that had at first shown only a golden border, was lifting tall perpendicular masses, while the tossing of the little boat became more and more distressing. Anxiety and sense of responsibility kept Hubert from feeling physical discomfort; but Vera began to cry, and to declare that it would be the death of her if she were not landed immediately.

"If it were only possible!" sighed Delrio.

"There must be some way! You are so stupid! Oh! There was a flash of lightning."

"Summer lightning."

"No such thing! There will be a storm, and we shall be drowned. Oh, I wish I had never listened to your nonsense, and got into this horrible boat." She was in a state for scolding, and scold she did, as the clouds rose higher, and sheets of lightning more decided. "How could you? You, who know nothing about boats, and going on, on, with those horrid tiresome verses—not minding anything—I wish I had never come near you!"

Vainly the poor young fellow tried to get in a word of consolation; it only made her scold the more, till there was no question that the storm was raging overhead; the hail rattled and splashed, the waves raised them to a height, then subsided into endless depths; the thunder pealed, and she clung to Hubert, too frightened for screaming. His fear was that the cockleshell of a boat should fill and founder; he tried to bale out the water with his hat, and to make her assist, but she seemed incapable, and he could only devise laying her down in the bottom of the boat with his coat over her, hiding her face in terror. Her hat had long ago been blown away, and her hair was flapping about. Ejaculations were in his heart, if not on his lips, and once or twice she cried out something like, "Save me!" but in general it was, "We are sinking! Hold me! We are going! Paula! Nag!" clutching at his legs, so as to hamper him in the baling out the water.

The hail passed, but there was a solid sheet of rain descending on them, undistinguishable from the foam that rushed over them as they went down, down, down. Vera was silenced; and Hubert, drenched and nearly beaten out of life, almost welcomed every downward plunge as the last, tried to commend his spirit, and was amazed to find his little boat lifted up again, and the black darkness not so absolute.



CHAPTER XII—"THE KITTIWAKE"



"Good luck to your fishing! Whom watch ye to-night? A man of mean, or a man of might?"—SCOTT.

Something black was before the tossed boat! Yes, and light, not lightning. A human voice seemed to be on the blast. Hubert Delrio essayed to shout, but his voice was gone, or was blown away. He understood that a vessel must be above him. Would it finish all by running him down? He perceived that he was bidden to catch something. A rope! His benumbed hands and the heaving of the boat made him fail once, twice, and he was being swept away as at last he did grasp a rope, and was drawn, as it ground his hands, close to the dark wall that rose above, with lights visible.

"Cheer up! cheer up!" he cried to Vera. "Thank God, we are saved!"

Response from her there was none; but he could hear the yell of inquiry from ahead, and answered, "Here! Two! A woman!"

A second rope was lowered. "Lash her to it." But as it was evident that Delrio could do nothing but hold on, and that his companion was helpless, a sailor descended from no great elevation, and, in another moment, the senseless girl was hoisted up and received on deck; and, with some assistance, Hubert was also on board, thinking of nothing but the breathless question, "Is she safe?"

"Oh, yes! She will soon come round! Here! They will see to her." As she was carried away, and Hubert had a perception that she was received by female hands, but he was utterly exhausted, and unable to see or speak, till some stimulant had been poured down his throat, and even then he could hardly ask, "Is she safe?

"Yes, yes! All right! Reviving fast! Here! Take some more! Bed is ready! Get rid of those clothes!" It was an elderly, grey-haired man who spoke, and Hubert was in no condition to resist, as the yacht was pitching considerably, though after the boat the motion was almost rest. He instinctively shook his head at the glass, but swallowed what was forced upon him, and managed to say, "Thanks— sitting in boat—drifted off—Rock Quay."

"All right! Never mind. Take him down. My berth, Ivy—Jephson. Tuck him in. Don't let him speak! Never mind, my lad! We will hear all about it to-morrow!"

Meantime, Vera, though reviving, was conscious of very little, save a soft pillow, tender hands, and warm drink that choked her; and then she fell asleep, though still she was aware of a strange tossing going on all night, and by and by she found herself secured into a sort of narrow shelf, and murmuring female voices were at hand. As she moved, she heard, "There, you are better now. You can take this, then you will be more comfortable."

Her eyes had opened to a curious sort of twilight, and there was a fair girlish head over her, with a sweet smiling face. An elderly weather-beaten face in a hood next appeared, and a brown hand holding a cup closed over the top, in invalid fashion, and a kind strong arm slightly raised her with, "There, there, poor dear! The spirit, my lady dear, the spirit! That's right, now then."

"You MUST be a baby;" and a merry reassuring smile broke out as the draught was administered. Vera tasted, thanked, swallowed, felt giddy, and lay down, hearing a lively bit of self-gratulation. "There, Mrs. Griggs, I'm getting my sea legs!" followed by an ignominious stumble as Mrs. Griggs caught the cup in good time as the vessel gave a lurch which completed Vera's awakening in the fear of being shaken out on the floor.

She looked round to find herself in a tiny room, cushioned throughout, with strange dancing confused light coming in, and the few articles of furniture carefully secured. Two young figures were there, both dressed in stout blue serge, with white trimmings; one, the darker, beside her bed, had a face full of kindness and solicitude, yet of fun dimpling over continually; the other, even in that dim light, striking Vera as something out of the loveliest visions of romance, so fair and beautiful was the countenance.

A man's voice was at the door. "Fly! Francie! How is she?"

"Much better! Nearly well! Good morning, Papa dear. Is he all right?"

"As sound as a bell! Ha!" As the door escaped, the curtain over it shook, and he nearly fell against it, saving himself with his hands. "That was exercise!" As the young girls came tumbling up and disappeared behind the curtain, where, however, the voices could be plainly heard, "Had any sleep to-night or this morning?"

"Between whiles! O yes! All our bones are still whole, as I hope yours and Ivy's are."

"Come and see. Griggs is getting breakfast under difficulties insurmountable to any one but a sea-grasshopper! I came to call you damsels, and present my inquiries to Miss Prescott."

"She will soon be all right! Francie and I are so proud of having had a real downright adventure."

"I trust she will not be the worse, and will—excuse me, and regard me as incognito."

This was said as another lurch drove the grizzled head into the cabin; and recovering in another upheaval they all disappeared, leaving Vera in a dreaming state, whence she was only half roused when Mrs. Griggs returned to administer breakfast, so far as she could taste it, under exhortations, pettings, and scoldings; and she very soon fell asleep again, and was thus left, sensible all the time of tossings and buffetings, but so worn out by the five hours of the boat, and so liable to be made ill by the motion of the vessel, that it was thought best to leave her to sleep in her berth.

She was only aware of voices above talking and laughing, or sailor calls being shouted out, or now and then of some one coming to look at her, and insisting on her taking food.

It was not till late in the afternoon that she awoke from what seemed like a strange long uneasy dream, and found one of the girls sitting by her and telling her she was better now.

"Yes," said Vera, trying to raise herself, finding something over her head, and falling back on the pillow; "but what is it? Where is this?"

"THIS is somewhere out in the Channel, near off Guernsey, Griggs says, but we cannot put in anywhere till the gale goes down."

"What is it? Is it a ship, then?"

"O yes," said the girl, laughing; "a yacht, the Kittiwake. Sir Robert Audley has lent it to my brother, and we are all going to see the Hebrides and Staffa and Iona."

"Not to take me all up there?" groaned poor Vera, in horror. "Can't you put me out somewhere, anywhere?"

"Don't be afraid," was the much-amused reply. "As soon as ever we can put in anywhere, we can telegraph to Rock Quay and put you ashore to go home; but we can only run before the wind while the sea is so high. I wish you could come on deck, it is so jolly!"

"Oh! it was too dreadful!"

"Beating about in the boat! It must have been, Mr. Delrio told us."

"It was so stupid in him never to see that we had got loose, and were drifting off," said Vera, who had never thought of inquiring after him.

"My father and Griggs think he behaved quite like a hero," was the answer. "He must have managed very well to keep you afloat, and saved you all this time."

"I suppose so," said Vera. "We always did know him, or I should not have let him get me into that boat, when he minded nothing but his verses."

"Those verses, they came all limp and wet out of his pocket, and Francie made him let her dry them and copy them out; and she is so delighted with them. It really is well it is too late to call the baby Cyriac."

"The baby?"

"Oh, yes. We had to leave him behind, though Francie was ready to break her heart over it; but they said that nothing would do for Ivinghoe—after this second influenza—but a sea voyage, so she had to make up her mind to leave him to my mother."

Vera was in a state of bewilderment, caring a great deal more for herself and her own sensations than for any of her surroundings; and her next question was, "When do you think we shall be out of this?"

"We shall put into harbour somewhere as soon as the wind lulls. We cannot venture yet, though we do steam; and then we can telegraph. I am longing to relieve Miss Prescott. We can take you home all the way. We were on our way into Rock Quay to take up Mysie Merrifield if she can go. It really was a wonderful and most merciful thing that we made you out just as it was getting light before running you down. My father saw you first, and old Griggs would hardly believe it, but then we heard Mr. Delrio's hail! But it was a terrible business getting you up the ship's side."

"I did not know anything about it. It was so dreadful in the lightning. And my new hat was blown away. And what is become of all my clothes?"

"Mrs. Griggs has them, and is drying them. We will lend you a hat to land in."

"Oh, when we do! I wish I had never got into that boat, but Hubert Delrio did persuade me so."

"And he is an old friend?"

"Yes, he is come to paint the roof of St. Kenelm's Church, and we want to be attentive to him because my eldest sister would be sure to be cross and keep him at a distance, being only that sort of wall painter, you know, and his father a drawing master."

"My father is very much pleased with him, and thinks him a very superior young man. They have been sitting on deck together, talking as much as they could about architecture and Italy, with their breath all blown away every moment. There! You are really getting better! If you would eat something and come on deck you would be well! I will call the sea gnat, and see what we have."

It was all very wonderful to Vera; and she began to be interested and to forget her troubles. A slice of very salt ham was brought to her and a glass of something, she did not know what, and asked if she could have some tea.

"You could have tea if you like, but there's no milk. You see, we ought to have been in at Rock Quay yesterday evening, and our stores were not adapted to hold out any longer! We shall have another curious experience, though Mrs. Griggs says it won't be so bad as once when they were off the coast of Ireland, and when they put into a bay with a queer name, all Kill and Bally, they could get nothing but potatoes and goat's milk."

"Who is Mrs. Griggs?"

"She is wife to the sailing master; and, like the Norsemen, her home is on the wave, at least in the yacht, for she always lives in it, and her cabin is quite a sight; she is great fun, she cooks when there is anything to cook, and is stewardess and everything. Francie and I knew a maid would be a vain encumbrance, so we are taking care of ourselves, and, if you will let me, I will try and set your hair to rights."

It was in a fearful tangle, after five hours at sea, and many more in the berth in the cabin; but Vera was able to sit up in a dainty dressing-gown, and submit to treatment not quite that of a hairdresser, but made as lively as could be by little jokes and kindly apologies at any extra hard pull at the knots, which really seemed "as if a witch had twined them;" and the two began to feel well acquainted with each other over the operation, though Vera was somewhat impressed when she observed that the brush was ivory handled.

Her bicycling skirt was in tolerable condition, but her once delicate blue blouse was past renovation, so she was invested with a borrowed white one, and led in triumph to the saloon, just as the beautiful "Francie" came to call "Phyllis," and give a helping hand. There were two gentlemen besides Hubert Delrio, and there was a general rejoicing welcome; but Vera did not think Hubert made half enough inquiries or apologies, before she was seated at the table, where everything was secured, and the fare was not very sumptuous or various, being chiefly some concoction of rice and scraps of salt beef, which Francie said was a shame, eating up the poor sailors' fare; also there was potted meat, and cheese, but all the fresh bread was gone, and they praised Mrs. Griggs' construction of ham and rice with all the warmth and drollery each could contribute. Vera began to be puzzled as to who every one was, for no names except Phyl, Fly, Francie and Ivy were heard, and the merry grey-haired head of the family was "Father" or "Papa" to every one, except of course Mr. Delrio, who, however, seemed at his ease, and took a fair share in the talk, and once or twice Vera thought he said, "my lord," but she did not believe it.

"I find you are a friend of a special pet of mine, Mysie Merrifield," said the father.

"I know her a little," stammered Vera, "but Primrose best."

"Nearer your age, eh? But Mysie is our gem! It looks fit for going on deck."

After the apology for a dinner, the young married pair went their way, he to endeavour to add a fish to their provisions, she to look on; the father and Delrio went where the latter could best study the wonderful tints of sunset over the purple retreating clouds, and the still agitated foaming sea,—sights that seemed to be filling him with enchantment, and revealing effects in colour, while his delight was evidently a new pleasure to his companion.

Vera was afraid to move, and sat on a deck chair, with her back to the sunset, while Phyllis, who perhaps would have liked to share in the admiration, sat by her, so that Vera began to accept her as a special friend, and to pour out the explanation of how she came to be tossing in an open boat with this one companion.

"You see, poor fellow," she said, simpering, "he has been always so devoted to me. Everybody observed it, and I could not help just gratifying him a little."

"He does seem to be very full of promise," said Phyllis. "I suppose Miss Prescott is much pleased with him."

"My sister Magdalen, do you mean? Well, we have not introduced him to her yet. You see, he is ONLY painting the church, and she is so devoted to swells, and makes such a fuss about our manners."

"Indeed! But surely you could not go out with him without her knowing it."

"She was not at this St. Milburgha's Guild, you know, and Sisters Beata and Mena knew all about it. Oh, yes, she lets us go to them at St. Kenelm's, but they are not swells enough for her."

"Mr. Flight's Sisterhood, are not they?"

"And Primrose Merrifield says that Wilfred declares that they are not ladies; but that's all jealousy, you know, because Will doesn't like my friends, and Magdalen is altogether gone upon grandees."

"Fancy!" was all that Phyllis managed to say.

"She doesn't want us to be friends with anybody who don't belong to some one with a handle to her name. So foolish and stuck up! So we knew she would not be kind to Hubert."

"I think you had better have tried. I thought her one of the kindest people in the world."

"Ah! but, you know, unfortunately she has been a governess, and that teaches toadying."

At that moment "Phyl" was called to see the first star over the sea, and ran up to her father, so as to conceal how nearly she was laughing. Hubert Delrio came towards Vera.

"Can you forgive me, Vera?" he said. "I shall speak to your sister as soon as I am at home, and ask her forgiveness, and—"

"Oh, yes! yes! But do tell me who these people are."

"Did you not know? That most kind of men, is Lord Rotherwood. Those are Lord and Lady Ivinghoe, and—"

"Lady Phyllis! Oh!"



CHAPTER XIII—CHIMERAS DIRE



"Qu'allait-il faire dans cette galere?" FRENCH COMEDY.

Vera's first thorough awakening the next morning was to hear outside the door, "Are you up, Fly?"

"I shall be in a minute or two. Do you want me?"

"You are a dab at parlez-vous. I want you to come ashore with me and cater for the starving crew."

"What fun! Anon, anon, Sir!"

Vera then perceived that she had been bestowed in Lady Phyllis' cabin, and that the proper owner was dressing herself in haste before the little shelf of a toilette table. So great had been the confusion of last night's discovery that the poor silly child had only thought of hurrying out of sight and tumbling into bed without speaking to any one, and she had not distinctly known, when Lady Phyllis came down a good deal later and disposed of herself on the sofa, that Mrs. Griggs had made ready for her. And now the only thing she could think of was to say, "Oh! Lady Phyllis, I didn't know."

"Take care! Don't knock your head! We ought to have remembered that Boreas, or whichever it was, was hardly a sufficient introduction. Are you all right now? You had better go to sleep again till I bring something to eat. We are lying to off some little Breton fishing village, and I am going with my brother to get some provisions, and telegraph if we can."

It was long before they came back. Vera had another nap, dressed herself, grew very hungry, and came out to find Lord Rotherwood fishing, and his daughter-in-law watching for the boat to put out from the white houses with grey roofs, which, clustered round their church-tower, seemed descending to the water's edge. They were equally famished, though Mrs. Griggs stewed up the poor remnants of last night's banquet; but at last the little boat appeared, gaily dancing over the waves, and Phyllis making signals of success.

"Oh, yes, you may be thankful, you poor starving beings! Here, Mrs. Griggs! Accept, and do all you can! Here are eggs, and some milk and fresh water, four poulets, such as they are, and a huge monster of a crab; but all the bread is leavened, and you little guess what Ivy and I had to go through before we were allowed to buy anything. We were had up to the Mayor, and had to constater all manner of things about our ship, to prove that we were no smugglers."

"I thought the fat old rogue would have come out to visit the yacht before he would have allowed us a morsel," said Lord Ivinghoe.

"In which case you might have been found a skeleton, father, like Sir Hugh Willoughby! And as to our telegrams, they won't go till the diligence gets to St. Malo, and what they will make of them there is another question. I did not dare to send more than one, for fear they should get mixed up.

Vera heard the joyous chaff as it fluttered round her, not half understanding it any more than if it had been a strange tongue, and not always guessing the cause of the fits of laughter, chiefly at Lord Ivinghoe's misadventures, over which his little sister and his father were well pleased to tease his correctness, and his young wife looked a little hurt at his being tormented. He could not remember that braconnier was a poacher by land, not by sea, and very unnecessarily disclaimed to the Maire being such a thing. His father, he said, "was gentilhomme anglais en—what's a yacht?—yac. (Nonsense! that's a long-haired ox. No!) Non point contrabandiste, mais galerien dans galere." "And there I interposed," said Phyllis, "for fear we should be boarded as escaped galeriens."

"Why, galley was a pleasure-boat sometimes," said Ivinghoe, and his wife supported him with "Cleopatra's galley."

"Well done, Francie! To your oars for Ivy's defence," said Lord Rotherwood. "How did you defend us, Fly, from being towed into harbour at Brest as runaway convicts?"

"She gabbled away most eloquently to the Maire, almost as fluently as a born French-woman," said Ivinghoe, "and persuaded him at last that it was not necessary to come on board to inspect us, nor even to detain us till he had sent for instructions to St. Malo."

"As Ivy managed matters, I thought we might be kept as hostages," said Phyllis.

"But, thanks to her blandishments, the solemn official vouchsafed to send off a messenger for us with a telegram."

"I do not think he sent directions to pursue our suspicious galere," added Phyllis; "but I own I shall be glad to be under the lee of old England again."

"What was your telegram?"

"Brevity was safest, nor had we money enough for two; so all I attempted was, 'Delrio to Flight, Rock Quay. Both safe. Picked up by Kittiwake.' I thought that would be the quickest means of relieving anxiety, as we were not sure of other addresses; and as to 'home,' Mamma probably hardly was aware of the storm, or, if she were, she knew the capabilities of yachts and of Griggs."

"Right!" returned his father. "Poor Miss Prescott! she must have given you up for lost. Have you been improving your mind with French telegrams?" he added, turning to Delrio.

"No, my lord, I found my way to the church, a wonderful piece of old Norman!—if it may so be called."

"I see you have been sketching."

Griggs here interposed with tidings that eggs and coffee were ready in the saloon, the worthy pair having had respect to the general famine, and prepared what could be made ready in haste. Those who had eaten ashore sat by, making an amusing account of their reception, and difficulties with language and peasants, for, this not being an ordinary place of call, nothing was ready for sale.

Vera, finding herself for the first time in distinguished company, which desired to set her at ease, began to be at ease, and to desire to shine, so she giggled whenever she perceived the slightest excuse, even when Lord Ivinghoe handed her the eggs, and, hoped she had not too British an appetite for French eggs; and Lady Ivinghoe asked if she had seen the fowls, and whether their feathers were ruffled up like a hen's that had been given to Aunt Cherry. Her little sister Joan, she added, had asked whether eating the eggs would make her hair curl.

"Or stand on end," said Phyllis.

"As I am afraid Miss Prescott's is doing till your telegram reaches her. Did you say it was to go from St. Malo?"

"Yes. I thought that the safest place to have a comprehensible message copied."

"To whom did you say?" asked Lady Ivinghoe.

"'Delrio to Flight.' Oh, they will know his name and address fast enough when it gets to Rock Quay."

"He is the clergyman at St. Kenelm's," put in Vera, in explanation; "very very advanced Ritualist, you know."

"Indeed!" was the answer.

"Oh, yes, that he is. My sister Polly is perfectly devoted to him; but we don't go to his church, except now and then, because my eldest sister is just one of those very old-fashioned people, you know, who want everything horrid and dull."

"That is hardly what our cousins think of Miss Prescott," said Phyllis. "I am so sorry for her anxiety! But I was not sure of the name of her place."

"The Goyle! Isn't it frightful?" said Vera.

"You say she was unprepared for your adventure?"

"Oh, yes, quite. Her notions are so dreadfully proper and old fashioned. She hasn't got any sympathy, has she, Hubert?"

"I don't know," he said gravely. "I have always had the greatest respect for her."

"Respect! So you ought. That's just the thing one has for a slow dear old fogey," she said, laughing, "Oh, Hubert!" There was a silence, and Lord Rotherwood made an observation upon the wind.

Vera perceived an awkwardness, and, by way of repairing it, afterwards thought it expedient to communicate to Lady Phyllis that it might be a pity she had said "Hubert." It was so awkward, only he was such an old acquaintance.

"I should have thought the awkwardness was incurred long ago," said Lady Phyllis. "Come, you will have no more concealments from Miss Prescott, will you? You will be ever so much more comfortable, and find out how kind she is."

"Oh, but!—" Vera wanted to talk over all her grievances for the pleasure of talking, saying very much what she had said before, and Phyllis tried to endure and put in as much sense as she could, without lecturing the girl, who struck her as the very silliest she had ever encountered; but she was continually called off to admire the receding French coast, or to look at the creatures brought up by dredging. She always took care to call Vera, and not let her feel herself left out; but Vera, if in solitude for a moment, reflected on the neglect shown of little people by great ones; and when called up to see uncanny slimy creatures, or even transparent balls like watery umbrellas, only was disgusted and horrified.

She began to guess, rather truly, that Lady Phyllis wanted to hinder a tete-a-tete between her and Hubert Delrio. In fact, Lord Rotherwood, who was much more of a sympathetic, confidence-inviting personage than his stiffer, much older seeming son, had said to his daughter, "Don't let that poor lad and the girl get together alone, Fly; the boy thinks he is bound to make her an offer."

"Oh, father! Surely not!"

"No more than if they had been two babies in a walnut shell. So I told him, but people don't see what infants they are themselves, and I want to hinder him from putting his foot in it before he has seen her aunt—cousin—sister, or whoever it is that has the charge of her; and she has depicted to him a Gorgon, with Medusa's hair, claws and all—a fancy sketch, isn't it?"

"Of course, sentimental schoolgirl colours! Mysie thinks her delightful."

"At any rate, let him get a dose of common sense before committing himself. He is a capital fellow, sure to rise; has the soul and head and hands for it, but he ought not to weight himself with a drag."

"Do you think he is really in love with her?"

Lord Rotherwood waved his hands. "He thinks so, but nobody knows with those boys! I had to tell him at last that I would not have any philandering on board MY ship; and whatever he might think it his duty to say, must be put off for aunt—sister—Gorgon—Medusa or what not. And I don't think he's very bad, Fly, for he modestly asked permission to sketch Francie's head for St. Mildred, or Milburg, or somebody; and was ready to run crazy about the tints on that dogfish. The young fellow is in the queerest state between the artist and the lover! delight and shame! I should like to take him north with us; the colours of the cliffs in the Isles would soon drive out Miss Victoria—what's her name?"

"You don't think him like Stephen in the Mill on the Floss, who ought to have married Maggie Tulliver."

"I believe that is his precedent—but it is sheer stuff—pure accident—as a respectable old householder like me is ready to testify to the Gorgons and Chimeras dire—Grundys and all. We must encounter Rock Quay, Fly, if it is only to rescue this unlucky youth."

"What is he doing now? Oh, I see; drawing Francie, who sits as stiff as a Saint of Burne-Jones! Well, I'll have an eye to them! Vera! Have you finished Rudder Grange?"

"Not quite. I can't make out who Lord Edward was."

"Why, the big dog! Did you think he was Pomona's hero?"

"I don't know. Wasn't Pomona very silly?"

"If life was to be taken from story-books," said Phyllis, in a very didactic mood; "but you see she imbibed the best side, what they really taught her of good."

"I thought, when you gave me the book, it was to be an adventure like mine, not all standing still in an old river. What do you think Hubert Delrio ought to do after persuading me into such an awful predicament?"

"Tell your sister he is very sorry that you two foolish children got into such a scrape, and very thankful that you were saved."

"We are very thankful to Lord Rotherwood."

"I didn't mean to him. To some One else," said Phyllis, reverently.

"Oh, of course," said Vera. "But what DO you think, Lady Phyllis?" (Since her discovery of the title she made a liberal use of it.) "What do you think people will say?"

"That a little girl has had a dangerous adventure and a happy escape."

"I am seventeen, Lady Phyllis!"

"One is nothing like grown up at seventeen! I declare there's a big steamer coming into sight. I wonder if it belongs to the Channel Fleet!"

Nothing more sentimental could be extracted for the rest of the voyage.



CHAPTER XIV—PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED



"I marry without more ado, My dear Dick Red Cap, what say you?" COWPER.

The telegram had been received about mid-day; and Mr. Flight rushed up with it to the Goyle, just in time to prevent poor old Mr. Delrio from starting hopelessly home. It had suffered a good deal in spelling and precision, in spite of Lady Phyllis's precautions; but "both safe" was understood, as it was known in Rock Quay that "Lord Rotherwood and family," as the papers had it, were yachting in the Kittiwake and might be expected in the bay.

Agatha and Paula threw their arms round one another and cried; Magdalen, with a choke in her voice, struggled to ask Mr. Flight to lead them in a few words of thanksgiving; and as soon as these were over, Thekla expressed her hopes that they had been cast on a desert island and would bring home Man Friday.

The Goyle ladies walked over to Clipstone with the good news, and the whole party went down afterwards to Rockstone to look out for yachts, and inquire about possibilities. The Kittiwake being a steamer, light and swift, might be expected in harbour in the course of the night, and Mr. Delrio meant to wait for her at his son's lodgings. The ladies wished they could do the same; and Paula was allowed to accept Sister Beata's humble entreaty to house her. But they did not know how long before the telegraph from St. Malo the Kittiwake from St. Cadoc had spread her wings and hoisted her feather, for, happily, her coals had held out better than her provisions. So, as they were looking their last look from the cliffs of Beechcroft Miss Mohun exclaimed, "A steamer! a yacht! Kittiwake!"

Glasses were rushed for, and unaccustomed eyes could trace the graceful course through the gentle evening waves towards the quay.

Every one was on the quay in time to receive the boat, which, rowed by four smart sailors, was seen with the party of six, two sailor hats, and one red cap being at once spied out among the female figures. Then two hats were waved and answered by cheers of welcome; and the figures were recognised, and unnecessarily numerous hands stretched out to assist the landing from the plank extended to the boat.

Vera was put first by her kind rescuers, Lord Rotherwood's hand guiding her to the rail, and, after an insecure step or so, she found herself in the arms of Paulina, sobbing for joy; and the little cluster of sisters seemed to know nothing else, except Thekla, who presently, in the confusion of the greetings, was found by Lord Rotherwood looking about vaguely, and saying, "But where's their man Friday?"

"You must accept me for him," said he. "'Tis Friday, unless we have lost our reckoning! I hope you think me something promising in the way of savages!"

Young Delrio's first proceeding, even while his father was wringing his hand in speechless welcome and thankfulness, was to turn to Captain Henderson. "Sir, your boat is safe, it will be brought in to-morrow. I am much concerned, and beg your forgiveness, but I had no idea that it was yours till Griggs found your name. Only one oar is lost, and a cushion, which I will replace."

"Say no more, pray," said Captain Henderson. "The fault was my servant's, who took it without leave, and left it out. He must repair the very slight damage."

Miss Mohun wanted the whole troop to come up to Beechcroft to drink tea, and her relations consented; but the hearts of the Prescotts were a great deal too full for them not to wish to be alone together; and after Magdalen had given her hand to Lord Rotherwood with a fervent, "You know what I would say, my lord—beyond all words," they turned homewards; but Mr. Flight ran after them to say in a low voice, "Can we meet to-morrow at eight for a service of thanksgiving?" And this was gladly accepted.

Hubert was dragged off by his father.

"Nonsense! they don't want your apologies and explanations. It would only be besetting them. Come home with me, and don't be a fool! But write a few lines to your poor mother, after the intolerable fright you have given her; meddling and presuming where you had no business. A Providence it is that you are not half across the Atlantic, if not at the bottom of it."

Of course this was the reaction of great anxiety; but however meekly Hubert submitted to the queer outpouring of affection, and however thankful they both were, and glad and content over the particulars of the youth's work and progress, still he was not to be withheld from laying hand and heart at Vera Prescott's feet, as he insisted was due to her and her family after the compromising situation in which he had placed her. His father said it was talking novels and folly; but he was a man of three and twenty, and could not well be stopped, as he was earning his own livelihood, and had always been irreproachable. So Mr. Delrio had to leave the matter, only expressing discouragement, and insisting that it must be no more than an engagement.

The thanksgiving took place as arranged, and Lord Rotherwood, his daughter, and Mysie were there. For indeed there had been danger enough during the thunderstorm to make the safety of the Kittiwake a matter of thankfulness, though the rescue of the boat had caused it to be almost forgotten in the history of the night.

Lady Flight had begged that all would come to breakfast with her, and this was accepted by the Goyle party; but the Clipstone pony-carriage was waiting for the others, and they could not accede to Lady Flight's impromptu, and rather nervous, invitation. But before they started Lord Rotherwood managed to say a few words aside to Miss Prescott of the impression he had divined from his voyage with Hubert Delrio, whom he thought a young man of great ability and promise, and of excellent principles, but with a chivalry it was quite refreshing to see in youth, perhaps ready to strain honourable scruples almost too far for his own good or that of others.

Magdalen thought she perceived what had been in the marquis's mind when, immediately after her return home, Hubert and Vera came up, hand in hand, and he informed her of their mutual attachment.

"I am afraid, Miss Prescott," he said, "that we may not have acted rightly or squarely by you; and this last adventure was a most unhappy result of my careless awkwardness and preoccupation."

"It was the merest accident. We all quite understand. It is not to be thought of."

"You are very good to say so, but—"

Both he and Magdalen wished that Vera had not been present, blushing and smiling, or rather simpering; and as Hubert hesitated over his "but," Magdalen said:

"Vera, my dear, Hubert and I can talk over this better without you. You had better go and find Paula."

"Only, sister, please do understand that I care for Hubert with all my heart," said Vera, much less childishly than Magdalen had expected.

However, she went, while Magdalen succeeded in saying what she had intended—that Hubert must not consider himself in the smallest degree bound by what had been accident, entirely unintentional and innocent.

"You are generous, Miss Prescott. You understand! But the world! It was public."

"Never mind the world. You see what sensible people think."

"But, indeed, Miss Prescott, I cannot leave you to suppose I am only actuated by the fact of that awkward situation. Of course that would never have been if I did not deeply, entirely love your sister. It has only precipitated matters. I entreat of you to give her to me, as one who is—who is devoted to her! If my station is inferior I will work—"

"That is not the point. Vera is too young for such things. What does your father say?"

"My father sees that I am right."

"I see what that means," said Magdalen, smiling. "But where is he? I should like to talk to him."

Mr. Delrio, pretty well knowing what was going on, was found endeavouring to distract his mind by sketching the Goyle. He and Magdalen walked up and down the drive together, perfectly agreeing that it would be senseless cruelty to permit an early marriage between these two young people, and that it was a pity there should be an engagement; but this could hardly be prevented, since Mr. Delrio could only give advice, and leave a self-supporting worthy son to judge for himself; but the elder sister and the trustee could stipulate for delay till Vera should be of age.

So Hubert was called, and acquiesced, cheerfully observing that he trusted that four years would make him able to render Vera's life an easy and pleasant one; and after heartily thanking both Miss Prescott and his father, he went off to rejoice the heart of the maiden, who was sitting under the pear-tree, watching with anxious eyes.



CHAPTER XV—BROODS ASTRAY



"But ill for him who, bettering not with time, Corrupts the strength of Heaven-descended will, And ever weaker grows through acted crime, Or seeming genial venial fault." - TENNYSON.

"Man Friday hope piccaniny live well—bring her buckra fish from sea!" Such was the greeting from Lord Rotherwood to Thekla when the whole party walked over in time for tea on the lawn, before church at Clipstone, as he presented her with a facsimile oyster which he had hunted up in a sweet shop, making an absurd bow and scrape.

Poor Thekla coloured, and mumbled a shy, "Thank you, my—my—" having had a lecture from Vera on treating a marquis with over familiarity and it was left to Primrose to ask where Friday learnt nigger language. "By nature, Missy buckra," he responded; "all same nigger everywhere." And he repeated his bow so drolly that Primrose's laugh carried Thekla's along with it, as Lady Phyllis walked up with, "Come, father, you are wanted to congratulate."

"Eh! Am I? So they have perpetrated it, have they? More's the pity is what I should say in the Palace of Truth; but the maiden has landed a better fish than she knows—that is, if she have landed him."

"There! take care, don't be tiresome, Papa!" admonished Lady Phyllis, drawing him on, when he met Vera with a courtly manner, and, "I hope I see you recovered, Miss Prescott, and able to rejoice in the pleasant consequences of your adventure."

Vera blushed, and looked very pretty and modest, making not much answer as she retreated among her contemporaries to show them her ring, a hoop of pearls, which Wilfred insisted were Roman pearls, fishes' eyes, most appropriate; but Flapsy felt immeasurably older than Wilfred to-day, and able to despise his teasing, though Hubert Delrio was not present, and indeed Wilfred was not disposed to bestow much of his attention upon her, having much more inclination to beset his cousin, Lady Phyllis, who surely ought to perceive that he had attained at least the same height as his brother Jasper, and could, in his absence, pose as the young man of the household.

Phyllis had not much to say to him, nor after the first to Vera, though she duly admired the ring so exultantly shown, and accepted the assurance that Hubert was the dearest fellow in the world. But there was no getting any condolence out of her upon the misery of having to wait four whole years. She said, "It was a very good thing! There was her cousin Gillian, who had insisted on waiting three years to finish her education."

"Oh, but dear Hubert likes me as I am," simpered Vera.

"You might wish that he should find more in you to like. Gillian," said Phyllis, coming up to her and Agatha, "I want you to assure Vera that four years is not such a great trial in waiting."

"It is what I have been trying to persuade her," said Agatha; "she is hardly seventeen."

"And I would not have been married at seventeen for anything," said Gillian to the pouting Vera. "I want to be more worth having."

Vera did not like it, she had heard the like at home, and she fell back upon Valetta, while the others walked on. "Poor little Flapsy!" said Agatha, "I do hope this engagement may make more of a woman of her."

"My father was very much struck by Mr. Delrio," said Phyllis, "both as artist and personally."

"You must be glad of the time for putting her up to his level," said Gillian.

"Do you think such things are to be done?" asked Agatha.

"Yes," said Phyllis stoutly. "You may not make her able to be a Senior Wrangler—(Oh you are Oxford!)—or capable of it, like this Gillyflower; but you can get the stuff into her that makes a sound sensible wife."

Gillian caught a little hopeless sigh of "CAN," and answered it with, "When all this effervescence is blown off, then will be the time for working at the substance, and she may be all the better wife— especially for the artist temperament, if she is of the homely sort."

"How angry she would be if she heard you say so!" returned Agatha. "Yet certainly I do feel relieved that wifehood is to be my poor Flapsy's portion, for she is not of the sort that can stand alone and make her own way."

"There will always be plenty of such women in the world," said Gillian.

"So much the better for the world," retorted Phyllis, who had never shown any symptoms of exclusive devotion to any one of the other sex, except her father.

One thing Agatha wanted to know, and dared not ask, namely, what impression Vera had made in the Kittiwake and what Hubert had said about her; for she and Paula had begun to remark that, lover as he was, not a word about her heroism had escaped him. And it was as well that she did not hear what the extra plain spoken Primrose did not spare the boasting Thekla. "Cousin Rotherwood and Fly both say they can't think how Mr. Delrio got on with such a silly little hysterical goose upon his hands; and that it is a foolish romantic unlucky notion that he ought to be engaged to her. I think Mamma will tell Miss Prescott so."

The Kittiwake, having arrived three days later than had been expected, there had been an amount of revolution in the general arrangements. The break up of the High School was to be on an early day of the next week. It had become a much more extensive and public matter than in the days of Valetta and Maura, though these were not so very long ago, and there was a great day of exhibitions and speeches to the parents and neighbourhood generally. Two ladies had been secured for the purpose, Elizabeth Merrifield and Miss Arthuret, and the former arrived on the Saturday afternoon, but as the Rotherwood party almost overflowed Clipstone, she was transferred to Miss Mohun.

After the death of their parents, about three years previously, Susan and Elizabeth had gone to live at Coalham, and to be useful to their brother David's parish; Susan betaking herself to the poor, and Bessie finding herself specially available in the various forms of improvement undertaken by ladies in modern days. To her own surprise, and her sister's discomfiture, her talent as a public speaker had become developed. With a little assistance from her sister-in-law Agnes's unwilling stage experience, and entreaties, not easily to be withstood, came from various quarters that she would come and advocate the good cause.

Of course she was ever welcome at Clipstone, and she walked up thither with General Mohun, arriving just after the others from the Goyle; and in the general confusion of greetings, and the Babel of cousinly tongues, there were no introductions nor naming of names. Bessie declared herself delighted with the chance of seeing Lady Ivinghoe, whom she considered more to realise the beauty of women than any one she had hitherto beheld, and the fair face had not lost its simplicity, but rather gained in loveliness by the sweetness of early motherhood, as she and Phyllis sat by Mysie, regaling her with tales of what they regarded as the remarkable precocity of the infant Claude, reluctantly left to his grandmother.

"But where's Dolores?" asked Bessie. "I miss her among the swarm of mice!"

"Dolores is at Vale Leston," answered Gillian. "She has been a long time making up her mind to go there, to Gerald's home; and now she is there, they will not let her go till some birthday is over."

"Uncle Felix's!" whispered Franceska to Mysie. "You know it was dear Gerald's place. She had never seen it."

Another voice was now raised, asking, "What had become of Miss Arthuret?"

"She only comes down on Monday," said Bessie. "Just in time for the meeting. She is too valuable to come for more than one meeting."

"But who is she?"

"Arthurine Arthuret? She is a girl, or rather woman, who has some property at Stokesley. In fact, she is one of those magnets that seem to attract inheritance without effort—like the Hapsburgs, though happily she makes a most beneficent, though, sometimes, original use of them."

"Is not that very dangerous?" said Aunt Lily.

"The first came to her early, and coming into it very young, and overflowing with new ideas, she began rather grotesquely; but she has tamed down a good deal since, and really has done an immense deal of good in finding employment for people, making improvements and the like, though she is Sam's pet aversion, a tremendous Liberal, almost a Socialist. They are so like cat and dog that Susan and I were really glad to be away from Stokesley, especially at election times; but altogether she is an admirable person."

Lady Merrifield thought she detected a start of Miss Prescott at the name Stokesley, and that her eyes looked anxiously at the speaker. Bessie was not of the sandy part of the family. Was the unattractive schoolboy, once seen, like his sisters? All that was observable was startling similitudes to her own children, though in them the elements of the handsome dark Mohun generally predominated.

But by and by, in a quiet moment, Bessie suddenly asked, "Did you say her name was Magdalen?"

Lady Merrifield laughed. "Four years MAY do a good deal at that time of life," she said. "I suppose no time ever so changes—changes— what shall I say?—eyes—views—characters. Only constancy in absence is the dangerous thing. There are distinguished examples of- -of the mischief of being constant without knowing what one is constant to. Virulent constancy, as Mrs. Malaprop has it."

Magdalen thanked and smiled. Perhaps there was a certain virulent constancy in a remote corner of her heart which had been revived by a certain indescribable look in the eyes and contour of Bessie Merrifield.

And Bessie herself, while sitting under the verandah with Lady Merrifield, while all the others were walking down to embark Lord and Lady Ivinghoe in the yacht, suddenly repeated, "Did you say that her name was Magdalen?"

"Yes; I saw it startled you, my dear."

"It revived an old, old story. I do not know whether there was anything in it. Who or what is she, Aunt Lily? I only know her as the sister of the girl that the Ivinghoes picked up."

"She is the owner of a little property at Arnscombe, and has taken home her four young half-sisters to live with her, after having slaved for them as a governess till she came into this inheritance. She is an excellent person."

"Ah! Was her house at Filsted?"

"I am not sure. Yes, I think the young ones were at school there. You think—"

"I feel certain. May I tell you, Aunt Lily? Some of the others cannot bear to mention my poor Hal; but to me the worst of the sting is gone, since I know he repented."

"My dear, I should be very glad to hear. Your father and mother never mention your brother, and we were away at the time."

"Poor Hal! I am afraid there was a weakness in him. He never had that determination that carried all the others on. He never could get through an examination, and my father put him into a bank at Filsted. By and by, after some years, came a letter telling my father he was gambling very seriously, getting into temptation, and engaging himself to an attorney's daughter. It was while I was living with grandmamma, and he used sometimes to look in on me, and talk to me about this Magdalen. Once he showed me her photograph and I thought I knew her face again. But my father went off, very angry. I have always feared he found poor Hal on the verge of tampering with the bank money, but he never would say a word. He broke everything up, put an end to the engagement if there was one, and sent Hal off to John and George, who had just got their farm in Manitoba, and were getting on by dint of hard work."