He tried to smile, but it was an unsuccessful attempt, and Peggy realised that the wound was as yet too fresh to bear handling. The time would come when Arthur would be ready to receive consolation, but now it was easy to see that depreciation of Rosalind's character only added to his distress. He did not attempt to contradict his sister's statements, but no doubt the fact that he was unable to do so was the bitterest drop in his cup. Peggy clasped her arms round his arm and looked into his face with wistful eyes.

"Oh, Arthur, I wonder why it is that the two things which you have cared for most in your life have both been denied to you? You wanted two things—just two—and they have both ended in disappointment! If you had been wilful and selfish, it would have been different, but you never were that. You worked hard, and thought of other people before yourself, and still nothing has gone right! How is it? Why is it? Why should it be?"

Arthur shook his head sadly.

"I don't know, Peg. My luck, I suppose," he replied in a tone so dejected that it brought the tears to his sister's eyes.

"No, it is not your luck," she contradicted quickly. "I know what it is—it has just come to me this minute. It is because God has better things waiting for you! It is all rough and miserable just now, but further along the path it will get beautiful again. Oh, I believe it will be very beautiful; and when you get there, Arthur, you will be thankful that you went on, and did not stop half-way."

"Dear little Peg," he said fondly, "I hope I shall. It's a cheery thought, and I'll adopt it forthwith, and try to look ahead, not backwards, and you must do the same. No more tears, please! You must help me by being bright and talking persistently of some thing else. And now I must go, or you will never be ready for that dinner you want so badly. I'm wery hungry myself, so please don't keep us waiting."

He hurried out of the room, leaving Peggy to continue her hairdressing operations with a tear trickling slowly over her cheek, and a speculative expression in her eye.

Hungry? But he had no business to be hungry! Never in the course of her readings had she come across the case of a rejected lover openly avowing an impatience for dinner, and, despite her anxiety for her brother's happiness, Peggy could not subdue a certain regret that he should have showed such a painful inconsistency in the performance of his part!

The next day brought the visit to London to a conclusion, but Peggy said her adieux with the pleasant expectation of meeting her friends again before many weeks were over. When Parliament rose, Arthur would be free, and had agreed all the more willingly to come down to Yew Hedge, as Rosalind and her father would at that time be visiting Lady Darcy in Switzerland. An invitation to Eunice for the same time had also been eagerly accepted, and Peggy was full of rose-coloured schemes for the amusement of her guests.

"Picture to yourself, my dear," she cried tragically, "that never yet have I had the pleasure of entertaining a friend in my own domain! I don't know if you will enjoy yourself, but I am sure that I shall. I have views on the subject of hospitality, and am anxious to test them. So I shall treat you like a puppet, and play all sorts of experiments on you to try the effect. I should wish you to feel tired sometimes in the morning, and stay in bed to breakfast, so that I could wait upon you, and to be too lazy to dress yourself now and again, so that I could arrange your hair in different styles. If you could manage to be a little ill, it would be charming, for then I could nurse you and be severe about your diet, but if you keep wen, we will make the best of it, and entertain the neighbourhood. I'll set to work at once to plan something original and startling."

"Oh, do!" cried Eunice eagerly. "I'd love to be startled. I shall look forward to coming every single day until the time arrives, and be the most obedient of puppets. You are a dear, Peggy—I do love you! I'm so grateful to you for being kind to me."

"It's my nature, dear. Go on deserving it. Three remarks at least I insist upon at every meal, and if you could increase the number to six, I should be correspondingly gratified. Don't stare at the carpet, don't look frightened when there is nothing to be frightened at, and look after my beloved brother for my sake. Those are my last instructions for your guidance. Arthur feels lonely sometimes, just as you do, and it would help you both if you would talk to him sometimes, or, still better, let him talk to you. Men, my dear," sighed Miss Peggy with an air of experience, "men like nothing better than to talk of themselves with a woman as audience. Ask questions about his work, his plans, his thoughts, and he will go on talking happily, so long as you will sit and listen to him. You could do that, at least, if you could not talk yourself."

"Oh yes, easily. I'd like it. I love to hear him talk," assented Eunice naively. She fixed her soft shy eyes upon Peggy's face as she spoke, and that young lady felt that she had shown her usual shrewdness in suggesting such an arrangement, for a sweeter confidante it would have been difficult to find, or one more ready with sympathetic interest.

With her usual tactfulness Eunice declined to accompany Peggy to the station, so that her presence should put no check upon the last conversation between brother and sister, but no reference was made on either side to the event of two days before. Arthur seemed anxious to talk on impersonal subjects, so they discussed the old friends and their doings—Esther and her theories, Mellicent and her romances, and sent affectionate memories after the two absentees, Rex working his uphill way in the world, and Oswald in his luxurious home. It was always a happy task to recall bygone days, and the "Do you remember?" filled up the conversation until the last moment arrived, and Peggy leant out of the carriage window looking down upon Arthur with an anxious scrutiny. The dear face looked worn and thin, and the forehead showed a couple of lines which she had never seen before.

"Oh, Arthur, I wish I were staying longer, or that you were coming home with me!" she cried impetuously. "I can't bear leaving you alone just now. You need to be petted and coddled and made a fuss of, you dear old boy, and I am desolated that I can't do it! What is the use of having a sister, if she can't do anything for you when you are in trouble?"

"She has done a great deal for me already, and is such a sympathetic person, Peg, that I am afraid she would spoil me altogether if she had her way! It's just as well that we have to be separated for a time, for the less I think of myself the better. It can do no good, and only unfit me for work. I'm going to set my teeth and begin afresh. Consolation prohibited, my dear, but hints for support and occupation thankfully received!"

And then had Peggy an inspiration! A flash of mischievous enjoyment lit up the hazel eyes, but before Arthur had time to discover it, it had disappeared and been replaced by an innocent little smile.

"You might do a good turn to Eunice by cheering her up after my loss! It would be beneficial for you to make the effort, and the Rollos would be grateful. It is not easy to make her talk, but you would find it worth the effort, for she has sweet thoughts, and—on occasion—a pretty little wit of her own!"

"On somewhat rare occasions, I should say," replied Arthur, smiling; but all the same he looked pleased at the suggestion, and the smile lingered on his lips, as at some pleasant remembrance.

When the whistle sounded and the train began to move onwards, he waved his hand and nodded a cheery assent.

"Right, Peg! For the credit of the family, your pupil shall not be allowed to fall back into her old ways. I'll do my duty towards her."

"Mind you do!" cried Peggy, and flopped down on her seat with a soft explosion of laughter. "Ha! ha!" she cried aloud. "Ha! ha!" and flourished her magazine in triumph.

The next moment she became aware that an old lady seated in the opposite corner was regarding her with glances of apprehension, and stealthily fumbling for her umbrella as a possible means of defence.

"She thinks I am mad!" quoth Miss Peggy to herself, "How truly gratifying! I must foster the delusion." She turned her magazine ostentatiously upside down, smiled vacantly at the pictures, and feigning to fall asleep, watched beneath her eyelashes the compassionate glances with which she was regarded, shaking the while with inward laughter!



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A week after her return to Yew Hedge, Peggy was on her way to tea at the vicarage, when she was joined by Rob Darcy, who jumped over a wall at her approach, and exhibited an extraordinary amount of surprise at seeing her, considering how long he had been on the outlook for just such an event.

"Where are you going, my pretty maid?" he demanded, "and—"

"I'm going to the vicarage, sir," she said promptly, with an accompaniment of old-fashioned curtsey which brought the twinkle into Rob's eyes.

However solemn he might be, he never could resist a smile at Peggy's saucy ways, and to-day indeed he did not appear solemn at all, but unusually beaming and radiant.

"Then I'll go with you, my pretty maid, for I've been asked too, in a breathless note from Mellicent, with neither beginning nor ending, nor comma nor full stop. If any one else had written in such a state of agitation, I should have thought something thrilling had occurred, but Mellicent is guaranteed to go off her head on the slightest provocation. Probably it is nothing more exciting than a cake or a teacloth which is to be used for the first time. She said that I must come, whatever happened, for it was dreadfully important, but I have really not thought much about what it could be, for I am accustomed to receiving violent summonses which mean nothing at all. The first time I ran nearly half the way, and arrived with a purple face and such a stitch in my side as nearly finished my mortal career, and she said: 'Oh, have you come? I didn't think you would. I want to show you my new hat!' Another time she was out, and had forgotten that she had asked me at all; but as she has asked you too, that will hardly be the case to-day."

Peggy threw back her head and regarded Rob with a curious scrutiny. "Methinks I perceive an air of unusual festivity in my venerable friend. It takes a great deal to rouse him to any sign of feeling, so one must needs conclude that some important event had occurred. May one inquire its nature?"

"Peggy may, if she cares to hear it!" returned Rob briefly. "I have had one or two pieces of good luck lately, Mariquita, which have cheered me up. That's all. I want to earn some money, you know, and not depend entirely on what the father allows me. My books and papers have done well in one sense, though there's not much money to be made out of scientific writing, but now I believe I see my way to making a good thing out of my plants. I think I told you before that I have sold some of the specimens which I brought home at a very good price, and I have one shrub in particular which is bringing in quite a little income. It's a species of broom which I discovered in the most accidental fashion. I was on a hunting expedition one day when I was in Africa, and was hiding behind a clump of broom, when I noticed that one bush was different from the rest. They were plain, but it was mottled in two distinct shades of the same colour. It was evidently a freak, a disease of some sort, as such variations generally are, but it was uncommonly pretty all the same. I had never seen anything of the kind before, and, without conceit, I may say that I know a good deal more about plants than the ordinary professional gardener. Well, I examined it, and it occurred to me, Peg, that it would be a much better day's work to secure that shrub than to go on with my sport. I unloaded my gun, marked the spot, and had a look round, to see if I could find any further specimens, but no, all the rest were the ordinary type. The first bush was the one exception. Luckily it was not very big, and I managed to dig it up and get it home alive, and after that there was no difficulty, for it is healthy enough, and grows almost as well as the common species. I set to work striking cuttings, and, after waiting until I had a good supply on hand, sent specimens of the bloom to several big nurserymen. They took it up at once with the utmost keenness, and I am now able to sell cuttings as fast as I can strike them, and for a very good price into the bargain. Of course this won't last for ever, because by degrees other people will get their own stock, but luckily the plant is a slow grower, and meantime they are obliged to come to me, and I have the monopoly of the market. So my travels have turned out more of a success in a monetary sense than I expected, and I am beginning to realise that a man who understands botany, and who has also a love for roaming about forbidden lands, may discover unknown treasures, and do well for himself by bringing them home. It is a happy discovery for me, for I have no chance in the beaten lines, and it will be a solution of many difficulties if I can make a little money in this way."

"You will go away, you mean? You will leave England and go abroad?" queried Peggy, with a feeling that the foundations of the earth were giving way beneath her, and that life itself was a delusion, since, at a moment's notice, the pillar of strength on which she had depended above all others could calmly announce its own purpose of withdrawal. "Do you mean that you will settle there altogether, and never come home any more?" She was under the impression that she had put the question in a calm and impersonal manner, but in reality there was a wistful tremor in the voice which Rob was quick to catch.

"I shall be able to answer that question better later on, Mariquita," he said quietly. "It depends on—circumstances! But, so far as I can see, these journeys must form an important part of my life; I must come and go, and as there will necessarily be a certain amount of danger involved, you needn't speak of it in public at present. It will be time enough to tell the others, when I am about to start, for they will then have so much less time to worry. I tell you now because—because I always did tell you all my plans, I suppose. It's an old habit."

"And you know that I am too sensible to worry. I promise to be duly anxious when the time comes, but I really can't agitate myself about lions' jaws in an English lane, or feel apprehensive of any more savage assault, than we shall receive at the vicarage if you persist in dawdling along at this rate! It's very kind of you to make an exception in my favour, but it's an honour I could have done very well without. It's a poor thing, I must say, to come home from India, and have old friends begging you to settle down among them, and then immediately turning round and saying, 'I'm off to Africa!' as if your presence in the same hemisphere was more than they could bear. You are a champion wet blanket, Rob! Your items of good news are calculated to drive your friend into melancholy madness. I hope Mellicent's disclosures will be of a more agreeable nature, or I shall be sorry I came out at all."

"I do love to see you in a temper, Mariquita. You are a capital little spitfire. Go on abusing me, do! You can't think how I enjoy it!" returned Rob promptly; which request, needless to say, was sufficient to seal Miss Peggy's lips until the vicarage gate was reached.

Two eager faces appeared pressed against a window, and Mrs Asplin and Mellicent hurried out into the hall to greet their visitors and escort them into the schoolroom with an air of suppressed excitement. Tea was laid on the centre table in the old-time fashion which Peggy approved, and the vicar was standing before the empty grate, trying to look dignified and proper, with the most comical expression of amusement twitching his long lean face and twinkling out of his eyes.

"What do you think?" began Mrs Asplin tragically, seating herself in state in an old armchair and endeavouring to keep up an imposing front, despite the fact that the absence of the fourth castor sent her tilting first to one side and then to the other. "What do you think we have got to show you in the drawing-room?"

"What do you think? What do you think?" echoed Mellicent all in one breath; and the two visitors glanced at each other in mischievous amusement. These dear, simple-minded people so intensely enjoyed their little mysteries and excitements that it would be cruel indeed not to indulge them. Rob ruffled his locks and frowned bewilderment, while Peggy rolled her eyes to the ceiling and cried:

"I've no idea, but don't tell; let me guess it! Animal or mineral?"

"Animal."

"Fine or superfine?"

"Not fair! Not fair! You can only put questions that can be answered by 'Yes' or 'No.'"

"How strict you are, to be sure! Well, then, is it mineral? No! Vegetable? No! Animal? Yes! Ornamental? It must be ornamental, or you wouldn't be so proud of it!"

Mellicent and her mother looked at one another and queried with uplifted eyebrows. The girl formed a vigorous "No!" The woman smiled indulgently and said:

"I think it is! I think it is very pretty!" and the vicar could throw no further light on the subject than to say that he agreed with both.

"It is useful then?" queried Peggy next; but this question fared no better than the first.

"Not a bit," cried Mellicent. "It used to be, or, at least, part of it did, but now it can do nothing at all but just—"

"Be careful, dear! You will give them a clue. Oh yes, I think we can say it is useful. Its general characteristic is usefulness, and it will soon settle down again into its old ways."

Peggy turned to Rob with a gesture of despair, and then started afresh on a different tack.

"Is it an article in general use? Do you find one in every house?"

"No, no!"

"In our house?"

Giggles from Mellicent, reproving glances from her father, a decided "No!" from Mrs Asplin.

"In Rob's house?"

"N-ot at present!"

"Could you have more than one in any house at the same time?"

Flutters of consternation and alarm—mysterious chuckles of laughter.

"You could, but one at a time is enough for most people. Two or three would be rather embarrassing!"

"Especially in a small house, because where should we sit in the evening? There would be no room for us!" said Mellicent meaningly, at which mysterious reply the listeners grew more mystified than ever.

"It must be very large!" they murmured thoughtfully. "What can it be? We shall never guess, so we might as well give it up at once and let you tell us. What is the wretched thing?"

"It's not wretched at all! It is very, very happy! It is—take hold of your chair, Peg, and hold tight! It is—An Engaged Couple!"

"A wh-wh-what?" Peggy let her muscles slacken and leant back, limp and shapeless, against the cushions, while Rob, in his turn, gave a whistle of amazement.

"An engaged couple! Oh, I say! Has that deep old Rex stolen a march on us behind our backs, and brought his fiancee?"

"No, indeed! Nothing of the sort! Rex has no sweetheart except his old mother. I'd be delighted if he had—that's to say, if he could find a girl worthy of him, but I've never seen her yet. Guess again, dears! You are very hot, but it's not Rex."

"Rosalind!" was Peggy's first thought; but no, it could not be Rosalind. That, of course, was impossible, while Oswald was already a married man, and Mellicent obviously out of the question. Who could it be? Peggy mentally summoned before her every member of the old merry party, and hazarded yet another suggestion.

"Not Fraulein? Good old Fraulein, come back from Germany with a long- bearded professor in her train?"

"Not Fraulein, no, but the professor might apply. Nearer home, child! You have not guessed every member of the family yet. You have not thought of—"

"Esther!" screamed Peggy, and instantly read confirmation in the smiles of assent. "It is! It is! Esther and the man with the dusty coat! Oh, how lovely! How perfectly, deliciously lovely and quaint! Not an old maid, after all, but the first to be engaged and married! Oh, Esther, Esther! Who would have thought it? Who would have believed that you could condescend to such foolishness?"

"Ha! ha! ha!" guffawed Rob, in rolling, subterranean laughter. "What a joke! I'll have something to say to Miss Esther on this subject! She must be made to realise the inconsistency of her conduct. What about the ladies' school?"

"Is she fond of him? Is he fond of her? When did it happen? When did they come? How did they break it to you? Did they walk in together, hand in hand, and kneel down before you, so that you could say, 'Bless you, my children,' in approved stage fashion?"

"Yes, they did," cried Mellicent gushingly. "At least, if they didn't, it was almost as good. She was coming home over Sunday, you know, and he met her in town, and—and asked her, you know, and then he got into the train, and intended to go as far as the first station, and he went on and on, until suddenly here they were, and father and mother and I were standing on the platform to receive them. And she got out and he got out, and they looked so silly and she said, 'M-m-my friend, Professor Reid,' and he tried to shake hands with mother three separate times over, and couldn't find her hand, he was so horribly embarrassed, and then we all drove home in the most horrible silence, and came into the drawing-room, and Esther went crimson in the face, and said, 'Father and mother, I want to tell you—Professor Reid has asked me—I have per- omised to be his wife,' and he scraped his feet on the floor and blurted out funny short sentences, three words at a time, 'Love her dearly,' 'Feel much honoured,' 'Object of life,' 'Make her happy,' and mother said, 'Oh, my dear child, I am so glad! I am so thankful for your happiness!' and set to work and cried all the rest of the evening, and father wriggled about in his coat and looked horribly uncomfortable, and said, 'Hum—hum—hum. Come into the study, and have a smoke!'"

"My dear Mellicent! You have a most uncomfortable memory! Your capacity for unimportant detail is truly astounding!" cried the vicar protestingly; but Mellicent's description had been received with so much interest by the visitors that the snub had but little effect. She proceeded to enlarge on the appearance, manner, and eccentricities of the brother-to-be, while Peggy gasped, gurgled, and exclaimed with a fervour great enough to satisfy the most exacting of gossips.

"I never, no, never, heard anything so exciting. Did she tell you that I met them in London? I remarked on the condition of his coat—inches thick in dust, I do assure you, and she was haughty, and gave me to understand that he had something better to do than brush his clothes. I hope she won't bear me a grudge for my indiscretion. It will be a lesson to me not to make personal remarks for the future. Dear, dear me, how I do long to peep in at the drawing-room window! Do you think they would mind very much, if they looked up and saw my face flattened against the pane? When are we going to see them, and to what class of engaged couples do they belong? Proper? Mediocre? Gushingly loving?"

"H'm!" deliberated Mellicent uncertainly. "He calls her, 'My dear.' If I were engaged, and a man called me 'My dear,' I should break it off on the spot; but I believe he likes her all the same. He kept handing her the butter and cruet at breakfast every other minute, and he jumps up to open the door for her, and asks if she doesn't feel the draught. And as for her, she perfectly scowls at you if you dare to breathe in his presence. She thinks he is the most wonderful man that ever lived."

"Quite right too! I mean to be very proud of him myself; for he is to be my own son. I don't know him yet, but from all we have heard I am sure it will be easy to take him into our hearts. Peggy dear, we have a quarter of an hour before tea, and we must not disturb the poor dears until then, so come into the garden and have a walk round with me. We haven't had a chat to ourselves for an age of Sundays."

No, Peggy reflected, this was quite true; but there had been reasons why she, at least, had avoided tete-a-tete interviews, and she had believed that Mrs Asplin would be even more anxious than herself to leave the dreaded subject untouched. Such, however, was evidently not the case, for no sooner was the garden reached than she burst into impetuous speech.

"Oh, Peggy, child, isn't this delightful? Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it just the most wonderful and unexpected answer to my prayers? Here have I been troubling my foolish head about what was to become of all these dear people when I was not here, and now this smooths every difficulty away. It troubled me to think of my dear girl working for herself, and finding the fight grow harder and harder as the years passed, as all women must, and of Austin left to Mellicent's scatter-brained care; but you see I might have had more faith, for my fears were needless Esther's home will be a stronghold for the family, and Professor Reid is so congenial in his tastes that Austin will find unending interest in his society. Of course they could not live together, but you know the vicar has decided that he cannot keep on his parish much longer, as he is not strong enough to do justice to the work, and when the break comes it would be delightful if he and Mellicent could take a little house near Esther in Oxford, where they could see her constantly and have the benefit of her wise advice. It would be a great thing for 'Chubby,' too, for she has as much worldly wisdom as a baby, and indeed her dear father is little better. It's no wonder I am pleased, is it, Peggy, when I think of all that this engagement means?"

Peggy looked at her wonderingly. Flushed cheeks, radiant smiles, eyes ashine with happiness, and all this pleasure at the thought of what was to happen after her own death! Twenty-one drew a breath of dismay, and cried reproachfully:

"I don't know how you can talk so! I don't know how you can bear to discuss such things in that complacent fashion. I won't think of it even, but you seem quite calm about it. You can talk, and even laugh—"

"Yes!" cried Mrs Asplin quickly. "I can! I'm thankful for it. Many a time in these last few weeks, Peggy, I've thanked my old father for the gift of his irrepressible Irish spirit, and I've thanked God too, dear, that, old and weary as I am, I can still look on the bright side, and keep a cheery heart. It's a great blessing, Peg, a wonderful blessing, for it helps not only ourselves, but those around us, over many a dismal road. You have the gift, so see that you cultivate it, child, and never let yourself imagine that you are pleasing God by going about with a gloomy face and a furnace of sighs. The world wants all the sunshine it can get, and deary me! what a pleasure it is to see a smiling face! It's just a real help and lift on the way."

"It's a help to see you. I always feel better for it," returned Peggy earnestly. There was a moment's silence, then suddenly she clasped her hands round the other's arm with an eager question. "Tell me, what does it feel like to be face to face with death as you are now? To live with the expectation of it with you day and night? To know for a certainty that it is near? Tell me, how does it feel?"

Mrs Asplin stood still in the middle of the path and drew a long fluttering breath. Her eyes grew rapt, and she clasped the girl's hand in an ecstasy of emotion.

"Peggy, it's—wonderful!" she sighed. "It is like being suddenly lifted on to a plateau and seeing life above the clouds! Everything is different, everything is altered! Things that were forgotten before seem now to fill in the whole view; things that were large and looming, seem, oh, so small, so mean and trifling! I look back, and can hardly understand how I worried myself about useless trifles—little shabbinesses about the house, upset of arrangements, clothes and food and holiday-making. When you once realise the uncertainty of life, they seem of such unutterable unimportance. And it helps one to be gentle, too, because if by chance it should happen to be the last day one had to live, how sad it would be to speak hasty words, or to leave some one sorrowing because of neglect or unkindness! It makes one long to do kind things and say cheering words, and oh, so terrified of losing an opportunity which may never come again! The doctor's verdict was a great shock to me at first, but I am gradually coming to look upon it as one of the greatest of blessings, for it's a hasty, impetuous creature I've been all my days, and this quiet waiting time is going to teach me many lessons. I ought to be grateful and happy that it has been granted me."

Peggy bit her lips and looked at the ground. She could not trust herself to speak, but in her heart she was saying:

"And after all, she may live longer than I! Every life is uncertain. I ought to feel like that too. I ought to climb up to that high ground above the clouds. It's because she is a Christian that she feels like that. I used always to think that very good people must be dull and gloomy, but Mrs Asplin is the happiest creature I know, and so full of fun... We used to go to her for help in all our school-day pranks, and now when she knows she is going to die, she is happy still, and quite calm and bright. I should like—oh, I should like to be good like that! One can't always be young, and pretty, and happy, and strong; and if I am going to be a Christian at all, I want to begin now, and not wait until the troubles begin. That would feel mean! I wouldn't treat any one on earth like that—ignore him altogether so long as everything went well, and fly to him for help the moment I was in difficulties... That awful night when Arthur told us that the doctors would not pass him for the Army, Mrs Asplin said that there were more ways than one of being a soldier, and I knew what she meant. 'A soldier of Christ!' I could be that as well as Arthur, and I have been longing to fight all my life... How does it go? ...

"'Soldiers of Christ arise, And put your armour on, Strong in the strength which God supplies Through His Eternal Son!'

"Oh, what a glorious army! What an honour to belong to it! I'm only a poor little recruit, but if Christ would train me—"

Peggy's heart swelled with longing, and she clasped her hands nervously together. It was a great moment, and her wonted self-confidence failed her on this threshold of another life. The downcast fame grew so anxious and troubled that Mrs Asplin became distressed at the sight, and, as usual, took the blame upon herself.

"Dear child," she said fondly, "I'm afraid I have oppressed you with the weight of my burdens. It seems a strange thing that I should have chosen a young thing like you as confidante, but at the time my thoughts seemed to turn naturally to you. If Esther had known how weak I was, she would have felt it her duty to give up her situation and come home, and I was most unwilling to interfere with what I then believed to be her life's work. Mellicent would have been quite overwhelmed, poor child; and as for my boy, he would have worried himself to death, when he needs all his courage to help him through these years of waiting. But you were here, almost like a second daughter, and yet living so much apart that you would not be constantly shadowed by the remembrance, and so it came to pass that to you, dear, I opened my heart. You have been all sweetness and consideration, and for my own sake I have no regrets, but I shall be miserable if I see you depressed. No more sighs, Peggy, please! I tell you honestly, dear, that I am better in health than I was two months ago! Rest and care, and freedom from suspense, have done good work already, so don't begin to lament too soon, for I may cheat the doctors yet. Now smile and look like yourself, for we can allow no doleful faces to-day. It is a happy day for me, for once more I have two sons to love and be proud of. There goes the bell, and we must go in to tea and to entertain the lovers. Don't be too severe, darling, for they are very new and most amusingly self-conscious. I am sure poor dear Esther will feel it quite an ordeal to face you."

Peggy smiled at that, as it had been intended she should, and the next moment Mellicent came flying down the path, her eyes dancing with excitement.

"They've come!" she cried. "They are in the schoolroom waiting for you. The professor is standing in the middle of the floor smiling into space like a china image, and Esther is horribly embarrassed. I told her that Peggy was here, and she q-quailed! Literally quailed before me. I saw her do it!"

"She may well quail!" cried Peggy meaningly. She threw back her head, peaked her brows over eyes of solemnest reproof, and marched into the house with a Mariquita stride.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

The glance of shamed apprehension which Esther cast at Peggy as she appeared upon the threshold afforded immense delight to those who watched the meeting between the two girls. The old danger signals were all to the fore, as Peggy walked across the room—the peaked brows, pursed-up lips, and air of gracious patronage; but the dignity of later years seemed but to have added fresh weapons to her armament. A pigtail could never by any chance have been so imposing as the glossy coils which were now wound round the little head. The rustle of silken skirts heralded her approach in a manner infinitely more stately than the scamper of thin brown legs, and the wave of the little hand was emphasised by the twinkle of diamonds.

Esther grasped the back of her chair and gulped miserably. If only, only Edward had not been present, she could have faced the worst; but being still bashful and embarrassed in his presence, she trembled at the thought of what was to come, and supplicated dumbly with her eyes.

"My dear Esther, a thousand felicitations! I do indeed rejoice in your happiness," murmured Peggy sweetly, and pecked her cheek with a condescending kiss. Esther's face disappeared for a moment, and came into view again with a fine access of colour and such an expression of anguish as seemed incomprehensible to those who did not know with what force Peggy's foot had been pressed on a pet corn, or had not heard the threatening whisper, "You would, would you? Wait till I get you alone!" which had belied the honeyed words. The two girls stood together in silence a moment longer, while the other occupants of the room gazed upon them with curious eyes; then Peggy held out her hand to the professor in her most fascinating manner. "We should not need an introduction, Professor Reid, since we are already united by a mutual love and admiration. I congratulate you truly. To be approved by Esther has ever been the ambition of her friends. To be chosen above all others is indeed an honour."

"I feel it so! I feel it so!" agreed the professor eagerly. He was charmed to discover so understanding an appreciation of his fiancee, and rose to the bait with innocent alacrity. "I feel very deeply the responsibility attached to such a trust and my own unworthiness to possess it, but I know that Esther will be patient with me and help me to overcome my failings. She is so wise, so gentle—"

"So sensible—"

"So sensible, as you observe; so kind, so patient—"

"So faithful to her resolutions, so strong, so consistent in her actions!"

"Consistent, indeed!" echoed the professor, and rubbed his hands with satisfaction. He saw only a remarkably affable, agreeable little lady, who expressed herself with great propriety, and could not understand why at this last word there was a general "family coach" movement in the room, every one rushing hurriedly to take up a new position, or why Esther herself should hang her head with an expression of guilty embarrassment. How was he to know how often in that self-same company his Esther had sung the praises of a single life, and vowed that no mere man should be allowed to stand between herself and her life's work.

Mrs Asplin took refuge at the tea-table, and rattled the cups with a trembling hand. The vicar tip-toed gently up and down in his carpet slippers, and, in his efforts to look solemn, dropped his chin until his face looked about half a yard long. Mellicent spluttered contentedly in a corner, and Rob rubbed his hands and whispered, "Go it, Peg!" at every fresh opportunity.

The conversation during tea-time was conducted mainly between the professor and Miss Saville, and that young woman's friends listened with amazed admiration to the high-flown eloquence of her remarks. Who would have believed that Peggy was so well read, or able to conduct so learned a conversation? Even her old instructor was surprised at her knowledge, forgetting for the moment that education is by no means finished when a girl leaves the schoolroom. Miss Peggy had associated with many clever men during her four years' sojourn in India, had rubbed her sharp little wits against theirs, and not only heard but remembered what they had had to tell. She had likewise had abundant opportunity of cultivating her natural gift for conversation, and the little minx was by no means sorry to have an opportunity of quoting a propos remarks in assent to the professor's axioms, and thus impressing old and new friends at the same time.

Rob scowled in the background and scraped his feet on the carpet, a sign of disapproval peculiarly trying to the nerves of his hostess; but then, as Mellicent sagely observed, Rob always was furious if Peggy talked to any one but himself; so that it was no use taking any notice of him, and so soon as tea was over, Mrs Asplin ordered him away with the two older men, feeling sure that the girls were longing for a chat by themselves. The two stooping figures went down the garden-path, with Rob's stalwart form towering behind, and the three women who loved them watched from the window, and murmured benedictions in their hearts.

"Austin looks as young as the professor himself, not one bit more bowed. He is so happy, bless him, to have gained another son."

"Edward will have a talk with father, and father will find out what he is like. How intellectual he looks! He has the true scholarly air, such a contrast to big, lumbering Rob."

"Two dear good pigmies, but the giant for me! What a comfort to see brain and muscle together! As a rule one seems to entirely absorb the other," sighed Miss Peggy happily, then turned to accost Esther with uplifted finger. "Esther, oh, Esther, who would have thought it?"

"It was very mean of you, Peggy, to make fun of me like that. I was most uncomfortable. If Edward had guessed you were making fun—"

"But he did not, you see, so no harm is done, and you could not expect to escape scot free. You to get engaged, after all your vows and protestations! You to fall in love like an ordinary, ignorant girl! You to condescend to marriage, when you might have spent your life teaching in a high school! Oh, Esther, Esther, well might I call you consistent! After this I shall have no more faith in strong-minded women."

"Don't call her strong-minded! I won't have it; it sounds too unlovable for my dear, good girl!" cried Esther's mother fondly, and then immediately contradicting herself; "And indeed she would need to be strong-minded," she declared, "to venture to many a literary man. Tiresome creatures! that they are, always living in the clouds and coming in late for meals. An aunt of my own married an author, who ruined his health poring over his desk from morning to night, and half- way through the night into the bargain. Her great object in life was to tempt him out of doors, and at first she could never do it; but she was a woman of resource, and got the better of him in the end. She said she had nothing to do but to ring the dinner-bell, and out he would fly and scour the country-side for hours on end! So, indeed, she rang it regularly half-way through the afternoon, and the poor soul was too lost in dreams to discover the deception. He just thought he had been out for ten minutes' constitutional, and that the meal had been kept hot until his return. I've known several literary couples in my time, but they were the only really happy pair, for not one woman in fifty has the wit to manage a man without letting him suspect it. Remember, Esther, when the professor is aggravating—"

"He never will be! Mother, how can you?" protested the fiancee indignantly, at which Mrs Asplin beamed with delight, Mellicent chuckled, and Peggy groaned in sepulchral fashion.

"Just wait and see. He'll wear you to a skeleton, my dear, and you never had too much flesh to boast of. I've heard tales about literary men which would make your flesh creep. Being late for meals is nothing—literally nothing! I'm told they never speak for months at a time when they are in the throes of composition, and habitually sit up at night writing until they fall asleep, knock over the lamp, and set the house on fire. You had better keep fire-escapes on every landing, for you are bound to need them."

It was of no use. Esther refused to be alarmed or even depressed. She sat smiling and complacent, her hands folded on her knee, her usually serious face softened into a radiance of contented happiness. Her state of illusion was such that, if any one had dared to hint that the professor might possibly mingle some trifling failing with his many virtues, she would have laughed the idea to scorn, and her companions realised as much, and made no further efforts to convince her.

"It's no use talking!" Mellicent cried in scorn. "She thinks he is perfect, and that we are all too stupid and ignorant to appreciate him. It's the way all girls go on when they get engaged, and the only thing to do is to keep quiet, and let them find out their mistake. They are mad, poor dears, and don't know what they are doing. Let us talk about the wedding; that will be more interesting. I have simply ached to have a wedding in the family, and felt quite low because I thought mine would be the first, and I should be cheated out of the fun of being a bridesmaid and having all the fuss and excitement."

"I am afraid you will have very little of that, Mill, as it is, for it will be very, very quiet. I should hate a fashionable wedding, and feel that it took away half the solemnity of the service to have one's thoughts taken up with dress and furbelows. Edward wants to be married very soon, in two months, if possible, for he says he has waited long enough for a home, and there is no reason for delay. We are quite sure of our own minds, and there will be no difficulty in finding another governess for the little boys; so, mother dear, we must try to be ready for a very quiet wedding by that time. I shall not need an elaborate trousseau, you know; just a few plain, useful dresses."

Mellicent groaned, and threw up her hands in despair.

"Oh dear, what a thing it is to be sensible! Just listen to her, Peggy, with her 'few useful dresses.' I must say it's very hard on me, to have a sister who never takes my feelings into account. What is the good of having a wedding at all, if it isn't properly done with a choral service and bridesmaids and pretty frocks? I don't think you could be so selfish, Esther, as to say I shall not be bridesmaid. I'd break my heart if you did. Just Peggy and me, and one or two of his relatives, and Rosalind Darcy, and the little boys as pages to hold up your train. They would look sweet as pages, and every one has them now.—It's quite the proper thing."

But Esther laughed derisively at the very idea.

"Pages indeed! Trains indeed! I sha'n't have any train to carry. My own idea is to be married in my travelling-dress at eight o'clock in the morning, and drive straight to the station; but we must talk it over with Edward and see what he says. You can call yourself a bridesmaid, Mill, if you like to stand beside me, and Peggy will be there, of course, but she will understand that it is no lack of love which makes me ask her as a guest only. If there were going to be bridesmaids outside the family, she would be the first to be asked."

Peggy made a bow of gracious acknowledgment.

"And I am not so sure that there won't be even yet. Men, I have observed, are extremely prosaic about other people's weddings and sentimental about their own. The professor may object to the travelling-dress, and want to see you in the orthodox white, in which case Mellicent will have her desire, for, of course, you will give in to him in that, as in every other instance. I hope he does, for I must confess I like to see a bride in white."

"And so do I," agreed the bride's mother. "I think it's a sin for a girl to be married in anything else when she is young, and the dress has to be bought in any case for wearing afterwards. You know, Esther dear, you will be asked out a great deal in Oxford, and you must have a good trousseau. No one can call me extravagant, but I am determined not to let you leave home without seeing that you are well supplied, and have everything that you need."

Mellicent's eyes brightened with expectation.

"That's right, mother, that's right! That's the way to talk to her. If it's too painful to her feelings to buy nice things, you and I will go up to town and get them for her. Just wait until it comes to my turn, and won't I enjoy myself just! Oh, dear me, how miserable I've been many and many a time reading those wonderful accounts of trousseaux in the newspapers, and thinking that I should never, never have the things for my own! Dozens of hats, dozens of jackets, parasols to match every dress, and as for blouses, hundreds, my dears, literally hundreds, of every sort and description!"

"Wicked waste and extravagance," Esther said severely. "I have often wondered how brides in high position can show such a want of taste and nice feeling in first wasting so much money, and then making a public show of what is a purely personal matter. It's beautiful and poetic to prepare new garments for the new home, but it's vulgar and prosaic to make a show of them to satisfy public curiosity. If I could afford it a hundred times over, I would not condescend to such folly. Would you, Peggy? Whom do you agree with now, Mellicent or me?"

"Both," said Peggy calmly. "I would have no exhibition of my fineries, but I'd love to have them all the same, and would thoroughly enjoy the selection. What is more. I believe you will yourself, for, having once forgotten yourself so far as to get engaged, there is no saying what folly you may descend to; but whatever you do, dear, I'll help you, and come over on the eventful morn, to see that your wreath is not put on too tidily, and to give a few artistic touches to your painfully neat attire. You will let me be with you on your wedding morning, won't you?"

"Indeed I will! I shall want every one I love around me to share in my happiness; and you, dear Peg, are associated with some of the brightest recollections of my childhood."

"Oh, good gracious, now they are getting sentimental! I am going out into the garden to eat gooseberries!" cried Mellicent, jumping up from her seat and rushing out of the room. Mrs Asplin hesitated for a moment, and then followed suit, and the two girls who were left behind looked at one another with shy, embarrassed glances. For the first time since the announcement of the great news they were alone together, and each waited bashfully for the other to speak. Naturally, however, it was Peggy who first broke the silence.

"Then you thought it well over, Esther," she said slowly, "and decided that you would rather marry the professor than go on with your work? You were so full of ambition for the future and so interested in your plans that it must have been difficult to give them up and resign yourself to a quiet domestic life. But I suppose you are quite sure."

Esther smiled with that ineffable superiority of experience which divides the engaged girl from her old associates.

"I never thought it over. I never 'decided' or 'resigned myself' or anything of the kind. Edward wanted me, and that was enough. There was not room in my mind to think of anything but him. To be with him and help him is all I care for now."

"And it was no effort, none at all, to give up what you had worked for all your life? When he asked you to marry him, and you thought of your work, had you no hesitation, no qualm?"

"I—I never thought of it! I forgot all about it!" said Esther, blushing; and Peggy bent forward to kiss her with a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

"You dear thing! I am so glad! I am so glad! It is all just as it should be, and I can see you are going to be an ideal Darby and Joan. You will forgive me, won't you, for saying that his collar was dusty, for how was I ever to guess that he was going to belong to you? I much admire the classical outline of his features, and I'll make a point of studying it exclusively in the future, and never allow my eyes to wander to his garments. After all, what is dust, that it should be allowed to affect our estimate of a fellow-creature? He may be as dusty as he likes, Esther, my dear, and I shall never breathe a word of reproach to you on the subject."

"Much obliged, but your generosity is unnecessary. You will never see my husband dusty, if I know it!" cried Esther in disdain, and blushed so prettily at the sound of that magic word that Peggy capered round the room in delight, humming an air the while which was intended to be the Wedding March, but which was, alas! so lamentably out of tune that Esther congratulated herself that, even if overheard, it would never be recognised by the beloved listener in the garden.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

For the next few weeks Esther's approaching marriage seemed to engross attention to the exclusion of every other topic. To Mellicent's delight the professor fulfilled Peggy's prophecy by putting his veto on the travelling-dress proposition. The wedding should be quiet, the quieter the better, but Esther must wear the orthodox attire, for he wished to keep the memory of a white-robed bride with him throughout life. Alone with Esther, he added one or two lover-like speeches on the point, which more than reconciled her for the extra fuss and flurry which were involved in gratifying his desire. A white dress involved bridesmaids, so Peggy received her invitation, and was the less appreciative of the position since every day brought with it a fresh interview with Mellicent, eager, incoherent, brimming over with an entirely new set of ideas on the all-important subject of dress. Esther herself went about her preparations in characteristic fashion, thoughtful of expense, of fatigue for others, yet with a transparent appreciation of her own importance, which was altogether girl-like and natural, and Mrs Asplin entered into every detail of the arrangements with whole-hearted zeal. She was so happy in Esther's happiness, so thankful for the feeling of additional strength and comfort for the future given by the prospect of the new home, so proud of her distinguished son-in-law, that the old merry spirit sparkled forth as brightly as ever, and with it such a marked improvement in health as rejoiced Peggy's heart to behold.

"Indeed, it's a perfect fraud I feel!" she explained one day, when the girl had expressed delight at her altered looks; "for I seem able to do all I want, while just as soon as I begin a tiresome duty I'm tired all over, and feel fit for nothing but to lie down on my bed. I can stand any amount of happiness, Peg, and not one little scrap of worry, and that's a disgraceful confession for a woman of my years to make to a girl like you! Ah, well, dearie, I've borne my own share of worries, and when the old ships are worn out, they don't brave the storms any more, but sail peacefully up and down the quiet streams. It's just a useless old derelict I am, and that's the truth of it."

"Derelict, indeed! You will never be more than seventeen, if you live to be seventy. You are the youngest member of the family at this moment, and if you spoke the honest truth you would acknowledge that you are in your element in the midst of these wedding preparations! I believe you are far more excited than Esther herself."

"Indeed and I am. There is nothing I enjoy more than planning and contriving, and making a great deal out of nothing at all. I've had a grand turn out of my boxes and cupboards, and brought to light some forgotten treasures which will come in most usefully just now. It reminds me of the time before my own marriage, when I sat stitching dreams of bliss into every seam, and indeed they have been fulfilled, for I have been a blessedly happy woman! Now just look at these things half a moment, my child, and tell me what you think I could do with them. You are so clever at planning, and poor dear Esther is not a bit of good in that direction. If you could suggest what to make, I could cut out the patterns and set to work at once."

Mrs Asplin waved her hands towards a table on which her resurrected treasures were spread out to view, and Peggy dropped her chin with a preternaturally solemn expression, to avoid bursting into laughter. It was such a melancholy-looking bundle, and Mrs Asplin looked so proud of it, and it was so deliciously like the old vicarage way, to endeavour to make everything out of something else, and to rummage out a store of old rubbish, as the first step towards manufacturing a new garment! The treasures which were to contribute towards Esther's trousseau consisted of a moth-eaten Paisley shawl, a checked silk skirt of unbelievable hideousness, a muslin scarf; yellow with age, a broken ivory fan, and a pair of mittens. A vision of Esther figuring as a bride in this old- world costume, rose before Peggy's quick-seeing eyes, the checked silk transforming her slim figure into Mother-Bunch proportions, the shawl folded primly round her shoulders, the fan waving to and fro in the mittened hand. Do what she would, she could not control the inward spasm of laughter; her shoulders heaved and shook, and Mrs Asplin felt the movement, and turned a quick glance upon her.

"Laughing? What for? Don't you like them then? You saucy child, and I thought they were so nice!"

"Oh, mater dear, and so they are—in their present condition; but the idea of converting them into fashionable new garments is too funny altogether. You might as well try to cut up an oak-tree into fancy borderings. Leave them as they are, dear, and lend them to me, so that I may dress up and amuse my people. Then they will be doing real good work."

"I'll do nothing of the kind. Much obliged to you for the suggestion, but I can make better use of them than that. You are as bad as Mellicent, laughing at my poor old treasures. I don't know what the world is coming to, I'm sure. Such upsetting notions the young folks are getting." Mrs Asplin swept up the despised trophies in her arms, and bustled out of the room with a show of displeasure, which, truth to tell, had little effect upon the culprit. It was not the first, nor the second, nor the twentieth time that a similar scene had been enacted, for "mother's resurrections" were a standing joke in the Asplin family, and the final fate thereof an open secret. However lofty might be the first suggested use, the end was always the same. Her offerings scorned by ungrateful relatives, she took refuge in dusters, and patiently hemmed squares of the rejected fabrics, with which to enrich the already lordly store of these useful commodities. On the present occasion she had hardly passed the door before she had decided that for drawing-room use nothing was really so good as a soft silk duster. The fate of the old check skirt was sealed!

The summer passed away very rapidly for Peggy, dividing her time between two happy homes, on both of which the sun shone as brightly and continuously as in the world without, and shadows seemed for the present to have hidden themselves away. Colonel and Mrs Saville were full of delight in their new home, and the sense of rest and security which came from being settled down in England, with their children beside them. Arthur's prospects improved from day to day as he became more widely known and appreciated, while Peggy was an hourly comfort and delight. Her post as only daughter was no sinecure, for a delicate mother left all the household management in her hands, while an exacting father grumbled loudly if she were not ready to bestow her company upon him at a moment's notice. Like most men who have lived in India and have been accustomed to an unlimited number of native servants, Colonel Saville was by no means easy to satisfy. He expected the household arrangements to move along as if on oiled wheels, whereas, needless to say, a menage over which Miss Peggy presided, was subject on the contrary to some painful vicissitudes. When the post of housekeeper had been deputed to her, Peggy had been greatly elated by her increased importance, and with characteristic modesty had expatiated upon her peculiar fitness for the post, and declared her intention of exhibiting a really well-conducted establishment to the gaze of the world. She provided herself with a huge account book, marched about the house jingling an enormous bunch of keys, and would allow no one else but herself to weigh out provisions in the store-room. The first week's bill made Colonel Saville open his eyes, but his daughter explained with much suavity that, living so far from shops of every description, it was necessary to lay in a large stock of dried goods, so that one should be able to supplement a meal on the arrival of unexpected visitors, and also be independent of the vagaries of parcel post. This was an unanswerable argument, and the colonel was the more inclined to acquiesce, since the menus of the last week had been all that even his exacting taste could desire.

There were few things which Peggy could not manage to accomplish if she gave her mind to the subject, and while the novelty of the charge lasted she spared neither time nor pains to ensure success. The morning's consultation with the cook was a solemn function with which nothing was allowed to interfere. New and fantastic arrangements of flowers graced the dinner-table each day, and the parlour-maid quailed before an eye which seemed able to descry dust in the most out-of-the-way corners.

For the first week, then, all went well, and the new housekeeper sunned herself in an atmosphere of praise and congratulation. The colonel tugged his moustache and vowed that at this rate she would beat the "boy" who had managed his Indian home. Mrs Saville murmured:

"My darling, you are so clever! I can't think how you do it!" and the cook said that she had seen a deal of the world, and knew her way about as well as most, but never, no never, had she met a young lady with her head screwed so straight on her shoulders.

Protestations, however, do not go on for ever, and it is astonishing how speedily a new regime loses its novelty, and is taken as a matter of course. When Peggy had been in command a fortnight, no one thought of praising her efforts any more, or of expressing satisfaction at their result. It was simply taken for granted that she would fulfil her duty without any more being said on the subject. She had been congratulated on her start, and that was all that was required. One could not be expected to lay daily tribute of praise at her feet. Unfortunately, however, this was just what Miss Peggy did expect, and in proportion as the applause died away, so did her interest in her duties. It grew monotonous to weigh out everlasting stores: dinners and lunches seemed to come round with disgraceful rapidity, and the question of food absorbed an unreasonable amount of time out of one's life. Cook looked askance when two courses were suddenly cut off the evening dinner, and cold meat ordered as the piece de resistance at lunch, hut there were worse things in store!

There came a morning when she waited for her young mistress's appearance until ten o'clock came, and eleven, and twelve, and waited in vain, for Miss Peggy was far away, scouring the country on her bicycle, with never a thought for home duties until a spasm of hunger brought with it a pang of recollection. Horrors! she had forgotten all about the morning's orders and here it was close upon lunch-time, and her father doubtless already wending his way home, hungrily anticipating his tiffin.

Surely, surely cook would rise to the occasion and arrange a menu on her own account! Peggy comforted herself in the certainty that this would be the case, the while she pedalled home as fast as wheels would take her. But she was mistaken in her surmises. Mistress Cook had no idea of being played fast and loose with in this haphazard fashion, and having, moreover, been elaborately snubbed on a previous occasion when she had ventured to advance her own views, was not altogether unwilling to avenge her dignity now that opportunity had arisen.

When Peggy rushed breathlessly into the kitchen at half-past twelve, there were the remnants of yesterday's repast spread out on the table for her inspection, and not one single preparation made for the meal which was so near at hand. Cook was frigid, Peggy desperate, but difficulty had the effect of stimulating her faculties, and she approached the offended dignitary in a manner at once so ingenious and so beguiling that her anger melted away like snow before the sun.

"Emergency," quoth Miss Peggy grandiloquently, smiling into the sullen face—"emergency is the test of genius! You have now one quarter of an hour in which to prepare a meal, and very poor material with which to work. Here is a chance to distinguish yourself! I am so ignorant that I had best leave you to your own resources; but anything you need from the store-room I will bring down at once. Just give me your orders!"

Could anything have been more diplomatic? To be asked at the eleventh hour to fulfil a definite order would have been an additional offence, but it was not in cook-nature not to rise to so insinuating a bait! Punctual to time such a tempting little luncheon appeared upon the table as evoked special praise from the fastidious master, the cook being commended for the success of omelette, entree and savoury, and Peggy coming in for her own share of congratulation on her powers as a caterer. The crisis was passed, and passed successfully, but the anxiety consequent thereon had the beneficial effect of arousing Peggy's attention to the danger of her own position, and giving a fresh lease of life to her energies. Mrs Beeton, the account book, and the keys were more in evidence than ever, and it was fully a fortnight before the second relapse recurred. It came on, however, slowly but surely, and other crises occurred which could not be so successfully overcome, as when Peggy drove a distance of three miles to interview butcher and fishmonger, and meeting Rob en route went off on a ferning expedition, returning home rosy and beaming, to discover an empty larder and a stormy parent; or again when she forgot the Thursday holiday, and deferred her orders until closed doors barred her entrance. The stores were frequently in request in those days, so that monotony became the order of the day, and the colonel inquired ironically if he were living in the Bush, since he was put on a diet of tinned food. Peggy peaked miserable brows, and said she never had seen such a stupid little village! She did her best. Only this very day she had left an enthralling story to cycle miles and miles to buy fish and meat, had suffered tortures en route from the heat and dust, and behold the shops were closed! It always was Thursday afternoon somehow. She could not think how it occurred. But the colonel was not so easily appeased. His moustache bristled and his eyes flashed with the steel- like glance which always came when he was annoyed.

"Excuses!" he thundered. "Idle excuses! It is your own fault for forgetting what it is your business to remember, and it only adds to the offence to shield yourself by blaming others. Fine thing this, to be starved in my own house by my own daughter! I'd better sell up at once and go and live in a club. If you were a practical, well-regulated young woman, as you ought to be, you would put business first, and make no more of these stupid blunders!"

"But I should be so uninteresting! Practical people who never make mistakes are such dreary bores. Novelty is the spice of life, father dear, and if you would only regard it in the right light, even a bad dinner is a blessing in disguise. It does so help one to appreciate a good one when it comes! At least you must acknowledge that there is no monotony in my method!"

But for once the colonel refused to smile, and when he had marched out of the room, Mrs Saville took advantage of the occasion to speak one of those rare words of admonition which were all-powerful in her daughter's ear.

"Don't worry your father, Peg darling!" she said. "It doesn't matter for ourselves when we are alone, for we don't care what we eat, but men are different. They like comfortable meals, and it is only right that they should have them. Give a little thought to your work, and try to arrange things more equally, so that we shall not have a feast one night and a fast the next. Little careless ways like these are more annoying to a man's temper than more serious offences. It is difficult for you, I know, dearie, but I won't offer to release you from the responsibility, for it will be valuable experience. Some day you will have a house of your own and a husband to consider."

Peggy gave a grunt of disapproval.

"I'll marry a vegetarian, and live on nuts," she declared gloomily. "But I will try to do better, mummie dear, I will indeed, so don't you worry your sweet head! I'll be as good as a little automatic machine, and never forget nothing no more. When Eunice comes, I'll ask her to say, 'Lunch, lunch! Dinner, dinner!' to me every morning regularly at nine o'clock, and then I can't forget. I like Eunice! She is such an agreeable complement to myself. I can help her where she fails, and she can do the same for me. You will see, mother dear, that Eunice will exert a most beneficial influence over me! She is one of those gentle, mousy people who have an immense influence when they choose to exert it."

"She seems to have that. I've noticed it more than once," said Mrs Saville drily, and her eyes wandered to a closely written sheet which lay on the table by her side. It was Arthur's latest letter, and in it his mother's watchful eyes had discovered an unprecedented number of references to his chiefs daughter. "Miss Rollo did this; Miss Rollo did that; Miss Rollo said one thing and planned another." Five separate times had that name been connected with Arthur's own experiences. Mrs Saville drew her delicate brows together and heaved a sigh. A mother's unselfishness is never perhaps so hardly tried as when she feels her ascendency threatened in the affections of an only son.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

Two days before Eunice was expected at Yew Hedge, Peg was summoned from the garden to receive a mysterious visitor, and stared in bewilderment to see Rosalind herself awaiting in the drawing-room. No one else was present, and in the wery moment of entering Peggy realised that the news which she had expected so long was an accomplished fact. There was suppressed excitement in Rosalind's manner, an embarrassment in her glance, which told their own tale; and the kiss of greeting had hardly been exchanged before she was stammering out:

"Mariquita, I came—I wanted to tell you myself—I thought you ought to know—"

"That you are engaged to Lord Everscourt!" said Peggy, with one last pang for the memory of Arthur's loss, but keeping her hand still linked in Rosalind's, in remembrance of her promise to that dear brother. "I have been expecting it, Rosalind, and am not at all surprised. I told you, you remember, that it was bound to happen. I congratulate you, and wish you every happiness."

"Thank you," said Rosalind meekly; so meekly that the other raised her eyes in astonishment, to see whether the expression emphasised or contradicted so unusual a tone. The lovely face looked down into hers, wistful and quivering, and the blue eyes softened with tears. "Oh, kiss me, Peggy!" she cried. "Be kind to me! I have no sister of my own, and mother is away, and I came to you first of all! I made an excuse and came down for two nights, just to have a talk with you and to ask you to help me!"

"Help you!" echoed Peggy blankly. She was alternately amazed and embarrassed by the manner in which Rosalind leant upon her in every difficulty; but now, as ever, the spell of the winsome presence proved irresistibly softening, and it was in a far gentler tone that she continued. "If everything is settled, in what way do you want my help, Rosalind?"

Rosalind sat down upon the sofa, still retaining her grip of her friend's hand, and drawing her down on the seat by her own. She stared aimlessly up and down the room, opening her lips as if about to speak, and closing them again in despair of expressing her thoughts, until suddenly the words came out in a breathless rush.

"I pwomised to marry him, and I mean to keep my word, but it is harder than I thought. It would be easier if he were diffewent, but he loves me so much, and believes in me, and thinks I must care for him too. If he knew I had taken him for his position, he would despise me, and I don't want him to do that. I have given up so much, and if he turned against me too, what should I have left? It fwightens me to think of it, and I came away to consider what I had better do, and to talk to you and ask your advice." She looked at Peggy appealingly, and added in a breathless whisper, "I want to do what is right, you know! I want to treat him well! You think I am selfish and worldly, Peggy, but I am not all bad. If I mawwy him, I will do my best. I want him to be fond of me, not to grow tired or dissatisfied. That would make me wetched."

Peggy smiled pitifully. It was so like Rosalind to be distressed at the idea of losing a love she could not return, and to show a pathetic eagerness to make a wrong step right. Her own Spartan judgment could never overlook the sin of preferring money before love, but she realised that it was too late in the day to preach this doctrine, and cast about in her mind for more practical advice.

"If you try to make him happy, that will be your best plan, Rosalind. If I were in your place, I'd try to forget about the past, and think only of the future. I'd find out the very best in him, and be proud of it, and study his tastes, so that I might be able to talk about the things he liked best, and be a real companion to him, and I'd be grateful to him for his love, and try to love him in return. Every one says he is a good fellow and devoted to you, so it ought not to be difficult."

"No-o!" echoed Rosalind doubtfully. "Only if you are going to love people, you genewally do it without twying, and if you don't love them, little things aggwavate you, and rub you the wong way, which you would never notice in people you really cared for! Everscourt is a good fellow, but he worries me to distwaction sometimes, and I am so afraid of getting cwoss. I don't want him to think me bad-tempered. I think your plan is very good, Peggy, and I will try to follow it. I ought to succeed, for you see how anxious I am to do what is right! You can't call me selfish this time, can you, for I am thinking only of his happiness!"

Peggy lifted her brows with arch reproach. "Oh, Rosalind, no! You think you are, but you are really distressed about your own position, in case he may ever think you any less charming and angelic than he does at this moment. It's your own vanity that concerns you, far more than his happiness."

"You have no business to say anything of the kind. If he is disappointed in me, won't that make him miserable, and if I twy to please him, is not that making him happy in the best way possible? But you always think the worst of me, Peggy Saville, and put a wong constwuction on what I do. When I pay you the compliment of coming to you for help, I do think you might be a little kinder and more sympathetic."

"It would be easier to say a lot of polite things that I didn't wean. It is the best proof that I do care for your happiness that I have the courage to be disagreeable. You know, Rosalind, the plain truth is that you want to act a part to gain admiration and applause, but it's absurd to think you can go on doing that all your life, and to a person who is with you on every occasion. It must be real, not pretence, if it is to succeed, so try not to think so much about his opinion of you, and more about how you can help him, and be the sort of wife he wants. And if he worries you in any little way, tell him so quietly, and don't let it get into a habit. I'm talking as if I were seventy-seven at the very least, and had been married a dozen times over, but you know how easy it is to preach to other people and how clearly one can see their duty! As a matter of fact, I know nothing whatever about it, but one can argue with so much more freedom when one is not hampered with facts! I am sorry if I have seemed unkind, but—"

"No, no! I know what you mean. I think you are vewy kind to me, Peggy, considering—considering everything!" murmured Rosalind softly. She sat silent for a moment, gathering courage to ask another question which was fluttering to her lips.

"Will—will—do you think Arthur will be vewy miserable?"

Peggy's little form stiffened at that into a poker of wounded dignity. She felt it in the worst possible taste of Rosalind to have introduced her brother's name into the conversation, and was in arms at once at the tone of commiseration.

"My brother and I had a talk on the subject when I was in town," she replied coldly, "and he entirely agreed with me that it was the best thing for you. He will be in no wise surprised, but only relieved that the arrangement is completed. He is very well and in good spirits, and is coming down next week with Eunice Rollo to pay us a visit, when we have planned a succession of amusements."

"Oh," remarked Rosalind shortly. "Is he, indeed!" She tried to say she was rejoiced to hear it, but her lips refused to form the lie, for Peggy's words had been so many daggers in her heart. Arthur would be "relieved," he was in "good spirits," he was coming down to enjoy himself in the country in company with. Eunice Rollo! Could anything be more wounding to the vanity which made her treasure the idea of broken-hearted grief? Once more Rosalind called Peggy cruel in her heart, and Peggy mentally justified her harshness by reminding herself that the knowledge of Arthur's fortitude would do more towards turning Rosalind's heart toward her fiance than a volume of moral reflections. Some slave to worship and adore, she must possess, and if she could no longer think of Arthur in that position, so much the more chance that she would appreciate his successor. No more was said on the subject, and in a few minutes Rosalind rose to say good-bye and take her way to the vicarage.

"For I must congwatulate Esther!" she said, laughing.

"That is to say, if I can contwive to do it without laughing outwight. It is too widiculous to think of Esther being mawwied! She is a born old maid, and I hear he is quite old, nearly forty, with grey hair and spectacles and a stoop to his back. He teaches, doesn't he, or lectures or something, and I suppose he is as poor as a church mouse. What in the world induced the silly girl to accept him?"

"Look in her face and see!" said Peggy shortly. "And don't waste your pity, Rosalind, for it is not required. Professor Reid is as big a man in his own way as Lord Everscourt himself; and from a worldly point of view Esther is making a good match. That, however, is not what her face will tell you. They are going to be married in October, and Mellicent and I are to be bridesmaids."

"And drive to church in a village fly, and come back to a scwamble meal in the dining-woom! Pwesents laid out on the schoolwoom table, and all the pawishioners cwowding together in the dwawingwoom. I can't just imagine a vicarage marriage, and how you have the courage to face it, Mawiquita, I weally can't think!" cried Rosalind, in her most society drawl. "You must be my bwidesmaid, dear, and I'll pwomise you a charming gown and a real good time into the bargain. I'm determined it shall be the smartest affair of the season!"

Peggy murmured a few non-committal words, and Rosalind floated away, restored to complacency by the contrast between the prospect of her own wedding and that of poor old Esther. They would indeed be different occasions; and so thought Peggy also, as she stood watching her friend depart, contrasting her lovely restless face with Esther's radiant calm, and the gloomy town residence of Lord Darcy with the breezy country vicarage.

The next morning at breakfast Colonel Saville discussed the coming weddings from an outsider's point of view.

"Two presents!" he groaned. "That's what it means to me, and pretty good ones too, I suppose, for everything has grown to such a pitch of extravagance in these days that one is expected to come down handsomely. When we were married we thought ourselves rich with twenty or thirty offerings, but now they are reckoned by hundreds, and the happy recipients have to employ detectives to guard their treasures. Esther, I suppose, will be content with a piece of silver, but we shall have to launch out for once, and give Miss Darcy something worthy of her position."

"I think, dear, if we launch out at all it must be for Esther, not Rosalind. If I had my way, I should give some pretty trifle to Rosalind, who will be overdone with presents, and spend all we can spare on something really handsome for Esther," said his wife gently; and Peggy cried, "Hear! Hear!" and banged such uproarious applause with her heels that the colonel felt himself hopelessly out-voted.

"If you had your way, indeed!" he grumbled, pushing his chair back from the table and preparing to leave the room. "When do you not get your way, I'd like to know? It's a case of serving two masters with a vengeance, when a man has a wife and a grown-up daughter! Settle it to please yourselves, and don't take any notice of me. I'm going out shooting, and won't be home until tea-time, so you will have plenty of time to talk it over in peace and quietness!"

Peggy ran after him with a little skip, slipped her hand through his arm, and rubbed her face coaxingly against the shoulder of his rough tweed suit.

"He is just a down-trodden old dear, isn't he? So mild and obedient—a perfectly nonentity in his own house! No one trembles before him! He never lays down the law as if he were the Tsar of All the Russias, or twenty German Emperors rolled into one! Now does that really mean that you are to be out for lunch? I'm housekeeper, you know, and it makes a difference to my arrangement. You won't say you are going to be out, then appear suddenly at the last moment?"

"Not I! I shall be miles away, and cannot spare the time to come so far; but for that matter I cannot see why it should make any difference. One person more or less can be of no importance."

"He is though, very much indeed, when it happens to be the head of the family!" remarked Peggy sagely to her mother when they were left alone, "because I don't mind confessing to you, dear, that, owing to the agitation consequent on my interview with the fair Rosalind, I entirely omitted to post my order for the butcher! If father had been at home, I should have been compelled to drive over in the heat and dust; but as it is, I can send a card by the early post, and the things will be here for dinner. You don't object, I know, for you have a mind above trifles, and I can provide quite a nice little meal for two."

"Oh, I don't mind for myself, but do be careful to send your orders regularly, darling!" pleaded her mother earnestly. "We are so entirely in the country that a day might come when you were not able to get supplies at the last moment, and then what would you do? Imagine how awkward it might be!"

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind! It would be quite bad enough if it really happened. We won't anticipate evil, but have a lazy morning together in the garden, browsing in deck-chairs, and eating fruit at frequent intervals. It is so lovely to sit under one's own trees, in one's own garden, with one's very own mummie by one's side. Girls who have lived in England all their lives can never appreciate having home and parents at the same time, in the same way in which I do. It seems almost too good to be true, to be really settled down together!"

"Oh, thank God, we never were really separated, Peg! One of the heart- breaking things of a life abroad is that parents and children so often grow up practical strangers to each other; but you and I were always together at heart, and your dear letters were so transparent that I seemed to read all that was in your mind. It was partly Mrs Asplin's doing too—dear good woman, for she gave you the care and mothering which you needed to develop your character, yet never tried to take my place. Yes, indeed, we must do all we can for Esther! Find out what she would like, dear, and we will go to town together and buy the best of its kind. I can never do enough for Mrs Asplin's children."

There was so much to talk about, so much to discuss, that when lunch- time approached both mother and daughter were surprised to find how quickly the morning had passed. It was so cool and breezy sitting under the shade of the trees that they were both unwilling to return to the house, and at Peggy's suggestion orders were given that lunch should be served where they sat.

"It will do me more credit; for what would appear a paltry provision spread out on the big dining-room table, will look quite sylvan and luxurious against this flowery background," she said brightly, and in the very moment of speaking her jaw dropped, and her eyes grew blank and fixed, as if beholding a vision too terrible to be real.

Round the corner or the house, one—two—three masculine forms were coming into view; three men in Norfolk jackets, shooting breeches and deer-stalker caps; dusty and dishevelled, yet with that indefinable air of relaxation which spoke of rest well-earned. They were no chance visitors, they had come to stay, to stay to be fed! Every confident step proved as much, every smile of assured welcome. Peggy's groan of despair aroused her mother's attention, she turned and gave an echoing exclamation.

"Your father! Back after all—and two men with him. Mr Cathcart, and—yes! Hector Darcy himself. I did not know he had come down. My dear child, what shall we do?"

But Peggy was speechless, stricken for once beyond power of repartee at the thought of the predicament which her carelessness had brought about. Her own humiliation and cook's disgust were as nothing, compared with the thought of her father's anger at the violation of his hospitable instincts. She could not retain even the semblance of composure, and the nervous, incoherent greeting which she accorded to the strangers was strangely in contrast with her usual self-possession.

Hector Darcy looked down into the flushed little face, and listened to the faltering words, his own heavy features lighting with pleasure. It was the first time he had seen Peggy lose her self-possession, and if he connected the fact with his own sudden appearance, it was no more than was to be expected from masculine vanity. He told himself that he had never seen her more dainty and pretty than she looked now, in her white dress, with the touch of pink, matching the colour on her cheeks, and Colonel Saville thought the same, and cast a glance of pride upon her as he cried:

"Back again, you see! I met Cathcart and Hector, as they meant to pay you a call in any case, I thought I had better bring them home with me to lunch. I told them I was not expected, but that my clever little housekeeper would be able to give us a meal. Anything you have, my dear; but be quick about it! We don't care what we have, but we want it at once. Waiting is the one thing we cannot stand."

That was the way in which he invariably spoke; but, alas, never were words more falsely uttered. The "clever little housekeeper" realised how difficult would be the task of giving satisfaction, and mentally rent her garments in despair.

"I will do the best I can, but you must allow me a little grace!" she said, twisting her features into a smile. "Mother and I were going to have our lunch out here, so it will take some time to have the table laid. You do not care for a picnic arrangement?"

"No, no, no! Detest out-of-door meals. Nothing but flies and discomfort," declared the colonel roundly; and Peggy walked away towards the house, profoundly wishing that she could make her escape altogether, and scour the country until the dreaded hour was passed.

Cook was furious, as any right-minded cook would, under such circumstances, be.

"How," she demanded, "could she be expected to make anything out of nothing? She knew her work as well as most, and no one couldn't say but what she made the best of materials, but she wasn't a magician, nor yet a conjurer, and didn't set up to be, and therefore could not be expected to cook a dinner when there was no dinner to cook. It was enough to wear a body out, all these upsets and bothers, and she was sick of it. It was no good living in a place where you were blamed for what was not your fault. She did her best, and saints could do no more!" So on and so on, while Peggy stood by, sighing like a furnace, and feeling it a just punishment for her sins that she should be condemned to listen without excuses. Meekness, however, is sometimes a more powerful weapon than severity, and despite her hot temper cook adored her young mistress, and could not long endure the sight of the disconsolate face. The angry words died away into subdued murmurings, she rolled up her sleeves, and announced herself ready to obey orders. "For no one should say as she hadn't done her duty by any house, as long as she lived in it."

"It's more than can be said of me, cook, I'm afraid; but help me out of this scrape like a good soul, and I'll be a reformed character for the rest of my life! This will be a lesson which I shall never forget!" declared Peggy honestly; but she did not suspect in how serious a sense her words would become true. The adventures of that morning were not yet over, and the consequences therefrom were more lasting than she could anticipate.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

It is a well-known axiom that misfortunes never come singly, and if those misfortunes are brought about by our own carelessness, they are none the less easy to bear. What were Peggy's feelings then, on going to her key basket, to find it lying empty on the floor, with never a sign of its contents to be seen! Where had she put them? Memory brought back a misty recollection of hurrying through her work the morning before, in order to begin some more congenial occupation, and of having laid down the bunch in careless fashion, thinking the while that she would come back for it later on. But where had she placed it? Where, oh, where? Up and down the room she raced, to and fro she ran, wringing her hands in distress, and scanning every inch of wall, floor, and ceiling with her eager glance.

"They are staring me in the face most likely; they are right before my eyes, and I can't see them!" she cried in despair. "My keys! My keys! If I can't find them, I can do nothing. I shall be disgraced for ever! I should have given out the stores yesterday, but I put it off, miserable, procrastinating wretch that I am! Oh, keys, keys, where are you, keys? Don't hide from me, please, I want you so badly—badly!"

But the keys refused to reveal themselves. They were lying contentedly in the bottom of a china vase on the staircase, into which they had been dropped midway in a hasty descent the day before, and, however willing they might have been to obey their mistress's request, they were clearly powerless in the matter, since not even the echo of her voice reached their ears. Peggy searched in a frenzy of impatience, summoned a housemaid to assist her, and turned the contents of drawers and cupboards upside down upon her bed, but no success greeted her efforts. At the end of ten minutes' time she was in a more pitiable plight than before, since every likely place had been explored, and not the wildest idea had she where next to repair.

"Wh-at," quoth the housemaid tremblingly, "what shall I say to cook?" and at that Miss Peggy's eyes sent out a flash which made her look the image of her soldier father.

"Tell her to get on with what she can," she cried. "She shall have the stores in five minutes from now!" and away she flew downstairs, leaving the astonished maid to wonder whether her brain had given way beneath the strain of the occasion.

Get into the store-room, Peggy was determined she would! By fair means or foul, that citadel must be stormed, and its treasures brought forth. If the door were closed, the window remained open, and the gardener's ladder lay conveniently at hand. To scale it so far as the second storey could be no difficult task for a girl who had been taught to climb trees and scramble over fences by the most fearless of masculine guides, and once inside the room the rest was easy, for in the first flush of careful forethought, a duplicate key had been provided, which hung on a nail near the door, ready for use if need should arise. It was characteristic of Peggy that its resting-place should have been inside the room, instead of out, but there it was, and nothing remained but to get possession of it as speedily as possible.

She seized the ladder, then, and dragged it towards the desired spot; it was so top-heavy that it was with difficulty that she could preserve its balance, but she struggled gallantly until it was placed against the sill, and as firmly settled as her inexperience could contrive. To mount it was the next thing, and—what was more difficult—to lower herself safely through the window when it was reached. That was the only part of the proceeding of which she had any dread, but, as it turned out, she was not to attempt it, for before she had ascended two rungs of the ladder a voice called her sharply by name, and she turned to find Hector Darcy standing by her side.

"For pity's sake, Peggy, what are you doing?" he cried, and laid his hand on her arm with a frightened gesture. "Come down this instant! How dare you be so rash? You don't mean to tell me seriously that you were going to climb that ladder?"

"A great deal more seriously than you imagine!" sighed Peggy dolefully. "Oh, why did you come and interrupt? You don't know how important it is. How did you come to see me here at all?"

"I was going into the house to give myself a brush up in your father's room, and I saw a glimpse of your dress through the tree."

"And the others—are they coming too? I don't want them to see me; they must not see me."

"No! No! They are sitting with your mother, having a smoke until lunch is ready. You need not be afraid; but tell me what is the matter? What on earth induced you to think of doing such a mad thing?"

Peggy leant against the ladder, and sighed in helpless resignation. She had not yet descended from her perch, so that her face was almost on a level with Hector's own. The hazel eyes had lost their mocking gleam, and the peaked brows were furrowed with distress; it was a very forlorn and disconsolate but withal charming little Peggy who faltered out her humiliating confession.

"I—have been—so naughty, Hector! I'm supposed to be housekeeper, and I forgot to send my orders to the tradesmen last night, so that nothing has arrived this morning. That's my store-room up there, and the key is lost, and I must get in, or you will have nothing to eat. I daren't tell father, for he has warned me to be careful over and over again, and he would be so angry. I'm in a horrible scrape, Hector, and there's no other way out of it. Do please, please, go away and let me get on!"