The entrance of a green path was there, or a grassy glade, more or less wide, leading through a beautiful growth of firs and larches. No roses, nor any other ornamental shrubs only the soft well-kept footway through the woodland. Fleda went gently on and on, admiring where the trees sometimes swept back, leaving an opening, and at other places stretched their graceful branches over her head. The perfect condition of everything to the eye the rich coloured vegetation of varying colour above and below the absolute retirement, and the strong pleasant smell of the evergreens, had a kind of charmed effect upon senses and mind too. It was a fairyland sort of place. The presence of its master seemed everywhere it was like him, and Fleda pressed on to see yet livelier marks of his character and fancy beyond. By degrees the wood began to thin on one side then at once the glade opened into a bright little lawn, rich with roses in full bloom. Fleda was stopped short at the sudden vision of loveliness. There was the least possible appearance of design no dry beds were to be seen the luxuriant clumps of Provence and white roses, with the varieties of the latter seemed to have chosen their own places, only to have chosen them very happily. One hardly imagined that they had submitted to dictation, if it were not that Queen Flora never was known to make so effective a disposition of her forces without help. The screen of trees was very thin on the border of this opening so thin that the light from beyond came through. On a slight rocky elevation, which formed the further side of it, sat an exquisite little Gothic chapel, about which, and the face of the rock below, some noisette and multiflora climbers were vying with each other, and just at the entrance of the further path a white dog-rose had thrown itself over the way, covering the lower branches of the trees with its blossoms.

Fleda stood spell-bound a good while, with a breath oppressed with pleasure. But what she had seen excited her to see more, and a dim recollection of the sea-view from somewhere in the walk drew her on. Roses met her now frequently. Now and then a climber, all alone, seemed to have sought protection in a tree by the path-side, and to have displayed itself thence in the very wantonness of security, hanging out its flowery wreaths, fearless of hand or knife. Clusters of noisettes, or of French or damask roses, where the ground was open enough, stood without a rival, and needing no foil other than the beautiful surrounding of dark evergreen foliage. But the distance was not long before she came out upon a wider opening, and found what she was seeking the sight of the sea. The glade here was upon the brow of high ground, and the wood disappearing entirely for a space, left the eye free to go over the lower tree-tops, and the country beyond to the distant shore and sea-line. Roses were here too the air was full of the sweetness of damask and Bourbon varieties and a few beautiful banksias, happily placed, contrasted without interfering with them. It was very still it was very perfect the distant country was fresh-coloured with the yet early light which streamed between the trees, and laid lines of enchantment upon the green turf; and the air came up from the sea-board, and bore the breath of the roses to Fleda every now and then with a gentle puff of sweetness. Such light she had seen none such light since she was a child. Was it the burst of mental sunshine that had made it so bright? or was she going to be really a happy child again? No no not that, and yet something very like it so like it, that she almost startled at herself. She went no further. She could not have borne, just then, to see any more; and feeling her heart too full, she stood even there, with hands crossed upon her bosom, looking away from the roses to the distant sea-line.

That said something very different. That was very sobering; if she had needed sobering, which she did not. But it helped her to arrange the scattered thoughts which had been pressing confusedly upon her brain. "Look away from the roses," indeed, she could not, for the same range of vision took in the sea and them and the same range of thought. These might stand for an emblem of the present; that, of the future grave, far-off, impenetrable; and passing, as it were, the roses of time, Fleda fixed upon that image of eternity; and weighing the one against the other, felt, never in her life more keenly, how wild it would be to forget in smelling the roses her preparations for that distant voyage that must be made from the shores where they grow. With one eye upon this brightest bit of earth before her, the other mentally was upon Hugh's grave. The roses could not be sweeter to any one; but, in view of the launching away in to that distant sea-line, in view of the issues on the other shore, in view of the welcome that might be had there the roses might fade and wither, but her happiness could not go with their breath. They were something to be loved, to be used, to be thankful for but not to live upon; something too that whispered of an increased burden of responsibility, and never more deeply than at that moment did Fleda remember her mother's prayer never more simply recognised that happiness could not be made of these things. She might be as happy at Queechy as here. It depended on the sun-light of undying hopes, which indeed would give wonderful colour to the flowers that might be in her way; on the possession of resources the spring of which would never dry; on the peace which secures the continual feast of a merry heart, Fleda could take her new honours and advantages very meekly, and very soberly, with all her appreciation of them. The same work of life was to be done here as at Queechy. To fulfil the trust committed to her, larger here to keep her hope for the future undeceived by the sunshine of earth, to plant her roses where they would bloom everlastingly.

The weight of these things bowed Fleda to the ground and made her bury her face in her hands. But there was one item of happiness from which her thoughts never even in imagination dissevered themselves, and round it they gathered now in their weakness. A strong mind and heart to uphold hers a strong hand for hers to rest in that was a blessing; and Fleda would have cried heartily, but that her feelings were too high-wrought. They made her deaf to the light sound of footsteps coming over the grass, till two hands gently touched hers and lifted her up, and then Fleda was at home. But, surprised and startled, she could hardly lift up her face. Mr. Carleton's greeting was as grave and gentle as if she had been a stray child.

"Do not fancy I am going to thank you for the grace you have shown me," said he, lightly. "I know you would never have done it if circumstances had not been hard pleaders in my cause. I will thank you presently when you have answered one or two questions for me."

"Questions?" said Fleda, looking up. But she blushed the next instant at her own simplicity.

He was leading her back on the path she had come. No further, however, than to the first opening where the climbing dog-rose hung over the way. There he turned aside, crossing the little plot of greensward, and they ascended some steps cut in the rock to the chapel Fleda had looked at from a distance.

It stood high enough to command the same sea-view. On that side it was entirely open, and of very light construction on the others.

Several people were there; Fleda could hardly tell how many; and when Lord Peterborough was presented to her, she did not find out that he was her morning's acquaintance. Her eye only took in besides that there were one or two ladies, and a clergyman in the dress of the Church of England; she could not distinguish. Yet she stood beside Mr. Carleton with all her usual quiet dignity, though her eye did not leave the ground, and her words were in no higher key than was necessary, and though she could hardly bear the unchanged easy tone of his. The birds were in a perfect ecstasy all about them; the soft breeze came through the trees, gently waving the branches and stirring the spray wreaths of the roses, the very fluttering of summer's drapery; some roses looked in at the lattice, and those which could not be there sent in their congratulations on the breath of the wind, while the words were spoken that bound them together.

Mr. Carleton then dismissing his guests to the house, went with Fleda again the other way. He had felt the extreme trembling of the hand which he took, and would not go in till it was quieted. He led her back to the very rose-bush where he had found her, and in his own way presently brought her spirit home from its trembling and made it rest; and then suffered her to stand a few minutes quite silent, looking out again over the fair rich spread of country that lay between them and the sea.

"Now tell me, Elfie," said he, softly, drawing back, with the same old caressing and tranquillizing touch, the hair that hung over her brow, "what you were thinking about when I found you here in the very luxury of seclusion behind a rose- bush."

Fleda looked a quick look, smiled, and hesitated, and then said it was rather a confusion of thoughts.

"It will be a confusion no longer when you have disentangled them for me."

"I don't know" said Fleda. And she was silent, but so was he, quietly waiting for her to go on.

"Perhaps you will wonder at me, Mr. Carleton," she said, hesitating and colouring.

"Perhaps," he said, smiling; "but if I do, I will not keep you in ignorance, Elfie."

"I was almost bewildered, in the first place, with beauty and then "

"Do you like the rose garden?"

"Like it! I cannot speak of it!"

"I don't want you to speak of it," said he, smiling at her. "What followed upon liking it, Elfie?"

"I was thinking," said Fleda, looking resolutely away from him, "in the midst of all this that it is not these things which make people happy."

"There is no question of that," he replied. "I have realized it thoroughly for a few months past."

"No, but seriously, I mean," said Fleda, pleadingly.

"And, seriously, you are quite right, dear Elfie. What then?"

"I was thinking," said Fleda, speaking with some difficulty "of Hugh's grave and of the comparative value of things; and, afraid, I believe especially here "

"Of making a wrong estimate?"

"Yes; and of not doing and being just what I ought."

Mr. Carleton was silent for a minute, considering the brow from which his fingers drew off the light screen.

"Will you trust me to watch over and tell you?"

Fleda did not trust her voice to tell him, but her eyes did it.

"As to the estimate the remedy is to 'keep ourselves in the love of God;' and then these things are the gifts of our Father's hand, and will never be put in competition with him. And they are never so sweet as when taken so."

"Oh, I know that!"

"This is a danger I share with you. We will watch over each other."

Fleda was silent with filling eyes.

"We do not seek our happiness in these things," he said, tenderly. "I never found it in them. For years, whatever others may have judged, I have felt myself a poor man; because I had not in the world a friend in whom I could have entire sympathy. And if I am rich now, it is not in any treasure that I look to enjoy in this world alone."

"Oh, do not, Mr. Carleton!" exclaimed Fleda, bowing her head in distress, and giving his hand an earnest entreaty.

"What shall I not do?" said he, half laughing and half gently, bringing her face near enough for his lips to try another kind of eloquence. "You shall not do this, Elfie, for any so light occasion. Was this the whole burden of those grave thoughts?"

"Not quite entirely" she said, stammering. "But grave thoughts are not always unhappy."

"Not always. I want to know what gave yours a tinge of that colour this morning."

"It was hardly that. You know what Foster says about 'power to its very last particle being duty.' I believe it frightened me a little."

"If you feel that as strongly as I do, Elfie, it will act as a strong corrective to the danger of false estimates."

"I do feel it," said Fleda. "One of my fears was that I should not feel it enough."

"One of my cares will be that you do not act upon it too fiercely," said he, smiling. "The power being limited, so is the duty. But you shall have power enough, Elfie, and work enough. I have precisely what I have needed my good sprite back again."

"With a slight difference."

"What difference?"

"She is to act under direction now."

"Not at all only under safe control," he said, laughing.

"I am very glad of the difference, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, with a grave and grateful remembrance of it.

"If you think the sprite's old office is gone, you are mistaken," said he. "What were your other fears? one was that you should not feel enough your responsibility, and the other that you might forget it."

"I don't know that there were any other particular fears," said Fleda; "I had been thinking of all these things "

"And what else?"

Her colour and her silence begged him not to ask. He said no more, and let her stand still again, looking off through the roses, while her mind more quietly and lightly went over the same train of thoughts that had moved it before; gradually calmed; came back from being a stranger to being at home, at least in one presence; and ended, her action even before her look told him where, as her other hand unconsciously was joined to the one already on his arm. A mute expression of feeling, the full import of which he read, even before her eye, coming back from its musings, was raised to him, perhaps unconsciously, too, with all the mind in it; its timidity was not more apparent than its simplicity of clinging affection and dependence. Mr. Carleton's answer was in three words, but in the tone and manner that accompanied them there was a response to every part of her appeal so perfect that Fleda was confused at her own frankness.

They began to move towards the house, but Fleda was in a maze again and could hardly realize anything. "His wife!" was she that? had so marvellous a change really been wrought in her? the little asparagus-cutter of Queechy transformed into the mistress of all this domain, and of the stately mansion of which they caught glimpses now and then, as they drew near it by another approach into which Mr. Carleton had diverged. And his wife! that was the hardest to realise of all.

She was as far from realising it when she got into the house. They entered now at once into the breakfast-room, where the same party were gathered whom she had met once before that morning. Mr. Carleton the elder, and Lord Peterborough and Lady Peterborough, she had met without seeing. But Fleda could look at them now; and if her colour came and went as frankly as when she was a child, she could speak to them and meet their advances with the same free and sweet self-possession as then the rare dignity a little wood-flower, that is moved by a breath, but recovers as easily and instantly its quiet standing. There were one or two who looked a little curiously at first to see whether this new member of the family were worthy of her place and would fill it to satisfy them. Not Mr. Carleton; he never sought to ascertain the value of anything that belonged to him by a popular vote; and his own judgment always stood carelessly alone. But Mrs. Carleton was less sure of her own ground, or of others. For five minutes she noted Fleda's motions and words, her blushes and smiles, as she stood talking to one and another for five minutes, and then, with a little smile at her sister, Mrs. Carleton moved off to the breakfast-table, well pleased that Lady Peterborough was too engaged to answer her. Fleda had won them all. Mr. Carleton's intervening shield of grace and kindness was only needed here against the too much attention or attraction that might distress her. He was again, now they were in presence of others, exactly what he had been to her when she was a child the same cool and efficient friend and protector. Nobody in the room showed less thought of her, except in action; a great many little things done for her pleasure or comfort, so quietly that nobody knew it but one person, and she hardly noticed it at the time. All could not have the same tact.

There was an uninterrupted easy flow of talk at the table, which Fleda heard just enough to join in where it was necessary; the rest of the time she sat in a kind of abstraction, dipping enormous strawberries one by one into white sugar, with a curious want of recognition between them and the ends of her fingers; it never occurred to her that they had picked baskets full.

"I have done something for which you will hardly thank me, Mr. Carleton," said Lord Peterborough. "I have driven this lady to tears within the first hour of her being in the house."

"If she will forgive you, I will, my lord," Mr. Carleton answered, carelessly.

"I will confess myself, though," continued his lordship, looking at the face that was so intent over the strawberries, "I was under the impression, when I first saw a figure in the window, that it was Lady Peterborough. I own, as soon as I found it was a stranger, I had my suspicions, which did not lack confirmation in the course of the interview. I trust I am forgiven the means I used."

"It seems you had your curiosity, too, my lord," said Mr. Carleton, the uncle.

"Which ought, in all justice, to have lacked gratification," said Lady Peterborough. "I hope Fleda will not be too ready to forgive you."

"I expect forgiveness, nevertheless," said he, looking at Fleda. "Must I wait for it?"

"I am much obliged to you, Sir."

And then she gave him a very frank smile and blush, as she added, "I beg pardon you know my tongue is American."

"I don't like that," said his lordship, gravely.

"Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh," said the elder Carleton. "The heart being English, we may hope the tongue will become so too."

"I will not assure you of that, Sir," Fleda said, laughing, though her cheeks showed the conversation was not carried on without effort. Oddly enough, nobody saw it with any dissatisfaction.

"Of what, Madam?" said Lord Peterborough.

"That I will not always keep a rag of the stars and stripes flying somewhere."

But that little speech had almost been too much for her equanimity.

"Like Queen Elizabeth, who retained the crucifix when she gave up the profession of Popery."

"Very unlike indeed!" said Fleda, endeavouring to understand what Mr. Carleton was saying to her about wood strawberries and hautbois.

"Will you allow that, Carleton?"

"What, my lord?"

"A rival banner to float alongside of St. George's?"

"The flags are friendly, my lord."

"Hum just now they may seem so. Has your little standard- bearer anything of a rebellious disposition."

"Not against any lawful authority, I hope," said Fleda.

"Then there is hope for you, Mr. Carleton, that you will be able to prevent the introduction of mischievous doctrines."

"For shame, Lord Peterborough!' said his wife "what atrocious suppositions you are making! I am blushing, I am sure, for your want of discernment."

"Why yes" said his lordship, looking at another face whose blushes were more unequivocal "it may seem so there is no appearance of anything untoward, but she is a woman after all. I will try her. Mrs. Carleton, don't you think with my Lady Peterborough that in the present nineteenth century women ought to stand more on that independent footing from which lordly monopoly has excluded them?"

The first name Fleda thought belonged to another person, and her downcast eyelids prevented her seeing to whom it was addressed. It was no matter, for any answer was anticipated.

"The boast of independence is not engrossed by the boldest footing, my lord."

"She has never considered the subject," said Lady Peterborough.

"It is no matter," said his lordship. "I must respectfully beg an answer to my question."

The silence made Fleda look up.

"Don't you think that the rights of the weak ought to be on a perfect equality with those of the strong?"

"The rights of the weak as such yes, my lord."

The gentlemen smiled; the ladies looked rather puzzled.

"I have no more to say, Mr. Carleton," said his lordship, "but that we must make an Englishwoman of her!"

"I am afraid she will never be a perfect cure," said Mr. Carleton, smiling.

"I conceive it might require peculiar qualities in the physician but I do not despair. I was telling her of some of your doings this morning, and happy to see that they met with her entire disapproval."

Mr. Carleton did not even glance towards Fleda, and made no answer, but carelessly gave the conversation another turn; for which she thanked him unspeakably.

There was no other interruption of any consequence to the well-bred flow of talk and kindliness of manner on the part of all the company, that put Fleda as much as possible at her ease. Still she did not realise anything, and yet she did realise it so strongly, that her woman's heart could not rest till it had eased itself in tears. The superbly appointed table at which she sat her own, though Mrs. Carleton this morning presided the like of which she had not seen since she was at Carleton before; the beautiful room with its arrangements, bringing back a troop of recollections of that old time; all the magnificence about her, instead of elevating, sobered her spirits to the last degree. It pressed home upon her that feeling of responsibility, of the change that come over her; and though beneath it all very happy, Fleda hardly knew it, she longed so to be alone, and to cry. One person's eyes, however little seemingly observant of her, read sufficiently well the unusual shaded air of her brow and her smile. But a sudden errand of business called him abroad immediately after breakfast.

The ladies seized the opportunity to carry Fleda up and introduce her to her dressing-room, and take account of Lady Peterborough's commission, and ladies and ladies' maids soon formed a busy committee of dress and decorations. It did not enliven Fleda it wearied her, though she forgave them the annoyance in gratitude for the pleasure they took in looking at her. Even the delight her eye had from the first minute she saw it, in the beautiful room, and her quick sense of the carefulness with which it had been arranged for her, added to the feeling with which she was oppressed; she was very passive in the hands of her friends.

In the midst of all this the housekeeper was called in and formally presented, and received by Fleda with a mixture of frankness and bashfulness that caused Mrs. Fothergill afterwards to pronounce her "a lady of a very sweet dignity indeed."

"She is just such a lady as you might know my master would have fancied," said Mr. Spenser.

"And what kind of a lady is that?" said Mrs. Fothergill.

But Mr. Spenser was too wise to enter into any particulars, and merely informed Mrs. Fothergill that she would know in a few days.

"The first words Mrs. Carleton said when Mr. Carleton got home," said the old butler "she put both her hands on his arms and cried out, 'Guy, I am delighted with her!' "

"And what did he say?" said Mrs. Fothergill.

"He!" echoed Mr. Spenser, in a tone of indignant intelligence "what should he say! He didn't say anything; only asked where she was, I believe."

In the midst of silks, muslins, and jewels, Mr. Carleton found Fleda still, on his return; looking pale, and even sad, though nobody but himself, through her gentle and grateful bearing, would have discerned it. He took her out of the hands of the committee, and carried her down to the little library, adjoining the great one, but never thrown open his room, as it was called where more particularly art and taste had accumulated their wealth of attractions.

"I remember this very well," said Fleda. "This beautiful room!"

"It is as free to you as to me, Elfie; and I never gave the freedom of it to any one else."

"I will not abuse it," said Fleda.

"I hope not, my dear Elfie," said he smiling, "for the room will want something to me now when you are not in it; and a gift is abused that is not made free use of."

A large and deep bay-window in the room looked upon the same green lawn and fir wood, with the windows of the library. Like these, this casement stood open, and Mr. Carleton, leading Fleda there, remained quietly beside her for a moment, watching her face, which his last words had a little moved from its outward composure. Then, gently and gravely, as if she had been a child, putting his arm round her shoulders, and drawing her to him, he whispered

"My dear Elfie you need not fear being misunderstood "

Fleda started, and looked up to see what he meant. But his face said it so plainly, in its perfect intelligence and sympathy with her, that her barrier of self-command and reserve was all broken down; and hiding her head in her hands upon his breast, she let the pent-up burden upon her heart come forth in a flood of unrestrained tears. She could not help herself. And when she would fain have checked them after the first burst, and bidden them, according to her habit, to wait another time, it was out of her power; for the same kindness and tenderness that had set them a-flowing, perhaps witting of her intent, effectually hindered its execution. He did not say a single word, but now and then a soft touch of his hand, or of his lips upon her brow, in its expressive tenderness, would unnerve all her resolution, and oblige her to have no reserve that time, at least in letting her secret thoughts and feelings be known, as far as tears could tell them. She wept, at first in spite of herself, and afterwards in the very luxury of indulged feeling; till she was as quiet as a child, and the weight of oppression was all gone. Mr. Carleton did not move, nor speak, till she did.

"I never knew before how good you were, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, raising her head, at length, as soon as she dared, but still held fast by that kind arm.

"What new light have you got on the subject?" said he, smiling.

"Why," said Fleda, trying as hard as ever did sunshine to scatter the remnants of a cloud it was a bright cloud too, by this time "I have always heard that men cannot endure the sight of a woman's tears."

"You shall give me a reward, then, Elfie."

"What reward?" said Elfie.

"Promise me that you will shed them nowhere else."

"Nowhere else?"

"But here in my arms."

"I don't feel like crying any more now," said Fleda, evasively; "at least," for drops were falling rather fast again "not sorrowfully."

"Promise me, Elfie," said Mr. Carleton, after a pause.

But Fleda hesitated still, and looked dubious.

"Come!" he said, smiling "you know you promised a little while ago that you would have a particular regard to my wishes."

Fleda's cheeks answered that appeal with sufficient brightness, but she looked down, and said, demurely

"I am sure one of your wishes is, that I should not say anything rashly."

"Well?"

"One cannot answer for such wilful things as tears."

"And for such wilful things as men?" said he, smiling.

But Fleda was silent.

"Then I will alter the form of my demand. Promise me that no shadow of anything shall come over your spirit that you do not let me either share or remove."

There was no trifling in the tone, full of gentleness as it was; there could be no evading its requisition. But the promise demanded was a grave one. Fleda was half afraid to make it. She looked up, in the very way he had seen her do when a child, to find a warrant for her words before she uttered them. But the full, clear, steadfast eye into which she looked for two seconds, authorised as well as required the promise; and hiding her face again on his breast, Fleda gave it, amid a gush of tears, every one of which was illumined with heart-sunshine.

THE END.



PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.



Typographical errors :

Chapter 1 : biding her tears silently corrected as hiding her tears

Chapter 1 : fox within. silently corrected as fox within."

Chapter 5 : Conque de Venus silently corrected as Conque de Vnus

Chapter 7 : said Fleda; "to give silently corrected as said Fleda, "to give

Chapter 7 : drily; stroking silently corrected as drily, stroking

Chapter 7 : sure so do I, silently corrected as sure so do I,"

Chapter 7 : throwing stones. silently corrected as throwing stones."

Chapter 10 : at Mrs. Evelyn's.' silently corrected as at Mrs.Evelyn's."

Chapter 10 : breakfast, to morrow silently corrected as breakfast, to-morrow

Chapter 12 : at the hills; They silently corrected as at the hills? They

Chapter 12 : "trembling even silently corrected as trembling even

Chapter 12 : following her silently corrected as following her.

Chapter 15 : Fleda. Don't you silently corrected as Fleda. "Don't you

Chapter 19 : prescription. silently corrected as prescription."

Chapter 19 : doubt about that silently corrected as doubt about that,

Chapter 19 : anybody else. silently corrected as anybody else."

Chapter 20 : How far are we! silently corrected as How far are we?

Chapter 23 : latter and more silently corrected as later and more

Chapter 25 : Daughhter, they seem silently corrected as "Daughter, they seem

THE END