'Uncle Reginald!' again exclaimed Dolores, 'I am sure it was he!'

'Oh dear! What an escape!' answered Constance, breathless with surprise, and settling herself with disgust and difficulty next to a fat old farmer, as three or four more people entered and jammed them close together.

'Who is he?' she presently whispered.

'Colonel Mohun. His regiment is at Galway. I know he talked of getting over this winter if he possibly could; but Aunt Lily went away before the post was come in.'

'We shall have to take great care when we get out.'

Here the train started, and conversation in undertones became impossible, more especially as two of the farmers in the carriage were coming back from the Smithfield Cattle Show, and were discussing the prize oxen with all their might. It was very stuffy and close. Constance looked ineffably fastidious and uncomfortable, and Dolores gazed at the clouded window, and dull little lamp overhead, put in to enliven the deepening twilight. This avoiding of Uncle Reginald brought more before her mind a sense of wrong-doing than anything that had gone before. She was fond of this uncle, who always made her father's house his headquarters when in London, and used to play with her when she was a small child, and always to take her to the Zoological Gardens, till she declared she was too old to care for such a childish show, and then he and her father both laughed at her so much that she would never have forgiven anybody else; and she found he enjoyed it for his own sake far more than she did. However, he always did take her out for walks and sights that were sure to be amusing with him. Father, too, was quite bright and alive when he was in the house, and thus Dolores had nothing but pleasant associations connected with this uncle, and had heard of the chances of his coming like a ray of light, though without much hope, since the state of Ireland had prevented him from being able even to run over to take leave of her father. And now he was come, she must hide from him like a guilty thing! There was no spirit of opposition against him in her mind, and thus she could feel that she was doing something sad and strange. Moreover, she began to feel that her promise about the cheque had been a rash one, and the echo of her father's voice came back on her, saying, 'Surely, Mary, you know better than to believe a word out of Flinders's mouth.'

But then she thought of her mother's rare tears glistening in her eyes, and the answer, 'Poor Alfred! I cannot give him up. Everything has been against him.'

It was quite dark before Silverton was reached, at half-past five, with three quarters of an hour to spare before the other travellers were expected. Most of their fellow passengers had got out at previous stations, so that Constance was able to open the door and jump out so perilously before the train had quite stopped, that a porter caught her with a sharp word of reproof. She grasped Dolores's hand and scudded across the platform, giving the return tickets almost before the collector was ready. A cautious guard even exclaimed, 'What's those two young women up to?' but was answered at once, 'They're all right! That's nought but one of the old parson's daughters, as have been out with a return to Darminster.'

'A sweetheartin'?' demanded one of the bystanders, and there was a laugh.

Constance heard the tones and vulgar laugh, though not the words, and she was in such a panic as she hurried down the steps that she did not stop to look out for a cab. The place was small, and they were not very plentiful at any time, and she was mortally afraid, though she hardly knew why, of being over-taken and questioned by Colonel Mohun, who might know his niece, though he would not know her; but Dolores was tired, and had a headache, and did not at all like the walk in the dirt, and fog, and dark, after turning from the gas lit station.

'We were to have a cab, Constance.'

'We can't,' was the answer, still hurrying on. 'He would come out upon us.'

'He is much more likely to overtake us this way!' said Dolores, thinking of her uncle's long strides.

'Well, we can't turn back now!' said Constance, getting almost into a run, which lasted till they were past the paddock gate. Dolores, panting to keep up with her, had half a mind to turn up there and go straight home; but there might be any number of oxen in the way, and almost worse, she might meet Jasper and Wilfred, or if Uncle Reginald overtook her, what would he think?

The pair slackened their pace a little when they had satisfied themselves that the break in the dark hedge beside them was the gate. They heard wheels, and presently saw the lamps of a cab, bearing down, halt at the gate they had left behind, and turn in.

'We should have been off first,' said Dolores.

'If we could have got a cab in time?'

'One can always get cabs.'

'Oh! no, not at all for certain.'

'This is a nasty, stupid, out-of-the-way place,' said Dolores, wanting to say something cross.

'It isn't a vulgar place, full of traffic,' returned Constance, equally cross.

'Well, I never meant to walk home in this way! I'm sure my feet are wet. I wish I had waited and gone with Uncle Regie.'

'Now, Dolly, what do you mean? You would not have it all betrayed?'

'I've a great mind to tell Uncle Regie all about it.'

'Now, Dolly! When you said so much about the Mohun pride and scorn of your poor, dear uncle.'

'Uncle Regie is not proud. And he would know what to do.'

'But,' cried Constance, in a fright, 'you would never tell him! You promised that it should be a secret, and I should be in such a dreadful scrape with Lady Merrifield and Mary.'

'Well! it was your doing, and you had all the pleasure of it, flourishing about the platform with him.'

'How can you be so disagreeable, Dolores, when you know it was all on business. Though I do think he is the most interesting man I ever did see.'

'Just because he flattered you.'

However, there is no need to tell how many cross and quarrelsome things the two tired friends said to each other. They were sitting on opposite sides of the fire, one very gloomy, and the other very pettish, when the waggonette stopped at the gate, to put out Miss Hacket and take up Dolores. Hands pulled her up the step, and a hubbub of merry voices received her in the dark.

'Good girl, not to keep us waiting.'

'Oh, Dolly, Dolly, Macrae says Uncle Regie's come!'

'Oh, Dolly, it has been such fun!'

'Take care of my parcel!'

'Ah, ha! you don't know what is in there.'

'Here's something under my feet!'

'Oh! take care! 'Tisn't my—'

'Hush, hush, Val—'

And so it went on till on the steps was seen in full light among the boys, Uncle Reginald, ready to lift every one out with a kiss.'

'Ha! Dolly, is that you?' he said, as they came into the hall. 'I saw such a likeness of you at one station that I was as near as possible jumping out to speak to her. She had on just that fur tippet!'

'That comes of living in Ireland, Regie,' said Aunt Lily. 'Once in a shop at Belfast, a lady darted up to me with "And it's I that am glad to see you, me dear. And how's me sweet little god-daughter? Oh! and it isn't yourself. And aren't you Mrs. Phelim O'Shaugnessy?'" And under cover of this, Dolores retreated to her own room. She took off her things, and then looked at the cheque.

Professor Muhlwasser was a clever German, always at work on science, counting, in the most minute and accurate manner, such details as the rays in a sea anemone's tentacles, or the eggs in a shrimp's roe. He was engaged on a huge book, in numbers, of which Mr. Maurice Mohun had promised to take two copies—but whereas extravagances upon peculiar hobbies were apt not to be tolerated in the family, and it was really uncertain whether the work would ever be completed, Mr. Mohun had preferred leaving a cheque for the payment in his little daughter's hand, rather than entrust it to one of the brothers, who would have howled and growled at such a waste of good money on such a subject. Thus he had told Dolores to back the draft, get it changed, and send the amount by a postal order to Germany, if the books and account should come, which he thought very doubtful.

And now the professor was dead, Dolores looked at the cheque, and supposed she could do as she pleased with it. Mother helped Uncle Alfred. Yes, but mother earned all she sent him herself! Perhaps he would not ask again. How much more he had talked to Constance than to herself. Dolly wished she had not seen him to get into this difficulty. She was tired, cold, and damp. Oh! if she had never gone, and not been half caught by Uncle Regie!



CHAPTER XII.

A HUNT



Dolores was glad to recollect, when she awoke, that Uncle Reginald was in the house. It was as if she had a friend of her own there who might enter into all the ill-usage she suffered, and whom she could even consult about Uncle Alfred, so far as she could do so without disclosing all the underhand correspondence. She called doing so betraying Constance, but, in truth, she shrank more from shocking him with what he might think very wrong—since, after all, he belonged to that hard-hearted generation of grown-up people who had no feeling nor understanding of one's troubles.

As she went downstairs she was aware of an increasing hubbub, and frequently looking over the balusters, perceived the top of Primrose's wavy head above the close-cropped one of Uncle Regie, as, with her mounted on his shoulder, he careered round the hall, with a pack of others vociferating behind him;

There was a lull, for Lady Merrifield came out of her room just as Dolores had paused; Primrose was put down, the morning salutations took place, and Dolores had her full share of them. She was even allowed to sit next her uncle at breakfast; but her rasher of bacon had not been half eaten, before she had perceived that, as to possessing him as she used to do at home, he was just as much everybody else's Uncle Regie as hers, for during the time of their being stationed at Belfast, he had been so often with them, that he was quite established as the prince of playfellows.

'Uncle Regie, will you have a crack at the rabbits tomorrow? Brown said we might have a day, and we have been keeping it for you.'

'Uncle Regie, the hounds meet at the Bugle this morning, won't you come and see them throw off?'

'Oh, let me come too!' 'And me!' 'And me!'

'My dear children,' exclaimed their mother, 'I can't have the whole tribe of little ones and girls going galloping after your uncle. You will only hinder him.'

'No, no, Lily! the more Merrifields, the merrier the field. I'll drill them well. How far off is this Bugle?'

'Not two miles over Furzy Common.'

'Oh! not so far, Hal!'

'That's nothing. Who is coming?'

A general outbreak of 'Me's' ensued, but mamma laid an embargo on Primrose, who must stay at home and 'help her,' while Gillian looked wistful and doubtful, knowing that more efficient help than the little one's might be desirable.

'You had better go, my dear,' said her mother, 'if you are not tired. I don't like to send Mysie and Val without some one to turn back with them if your uncle and the boys want to go further.'

But whereas it was not nearly time to start, Uncle Reginald was dragged down to inspect all the live stock in the stable-yard, at their feeding-time, and went off with Val and Primrose clinging to his hands, and the general rabble surrounding him.

Nothing could have been more alien to Dolores's taste than going out to a meet on foot through mud and mire—she who hated the being driven out to take a constitutional walk on the gravel road or the paved path! But she had some hope that while all the others ran off madly, as was their wont, she might secure a little rational conversation with Uncle Reginald. So she came down in hat and ulster, and was rewarded with 'That's right, Doll; I'm glad to see they have taught you to take country walks.'

'It is all compliment to you, Uncle Regie,' said Gillian. 'She hates them generally.'

'Are we all ready? Where are Japs and Will?'

'Gone to shut up the dogs; and Hal is not coming.'

'Beneath his dignity, eh?'

'I think he has some reading to do,' said Gillian.

'Now mind, Reginald,' said Aunt Lily, coming on the scene, 'you are not to let those imps drag you farther than you like. It is a very different thing, remember, children, from going out with the hounds like a gentleman.'

'Yes, mamma,' returned Fergus. 'If you would only let me have the pony!'

'And send home the girls as soon as you find them in the way,' she added.

'All right,' answered he, and off plunged the party; but Dolores soon found that she was not to be allowed much of Uncle Reginald's exclusive society. He did begin talking to her about her father's voyage, last letters, and intended departure from Auckland, but Valetta kept fast hold of his other hand, and the others were all round, every moment pointing out something—to them noticeable—and telling the story of some exploit, delighted when their uncle capped it with some boyish tales of Beechcroft, or with some droll, Irish story.

With such talk, the strong, healthy young folk little heeded the surface mud or the lanes. Even Dolores when she heard her father's name in the reminiscences,' was interested for a time, and was always hoping that the others would fly off and leave her to her uncle; but she was much less used to country mud and stout boots than the others, and she had been very much tired by her expedition on the previous day, so that she had begun to find the way very long before they came out on an open green, with a few cottages standing a good way back in their gardens, and as their centre, one of the great old coaching inns of past days, now chiefly farmhouse, though a sign, bearing a golden bugle-horn upon a blue ground, stood aloft in front of it, over the heads of the speckled mass of tan, black, and white, pervaded with curved tails, over which the scarlet-coated whips kept guard, while shining horses, bearing red coats and black coats, boys, and a few ladies, were moving about, and carriages drew up from time to time.

There was a long standing about, and Colonel Mohun, being a stranger there himself, kept his flock on the outskirts, only Jasper plunging in, at sight of a mounted schoolfellow, while Gillian and Mysie told the names of the few they recognized. At last there was a move, and Jasper came back to point out the wood they were going to draw, close at hand. Should they not all go on and see it?

'Oh! let us! do come, Uncle Regie,' cried Mysie and Val.

'Look here, Gill,' said the uncle, 'this child doesn't look fit to go any farther.'

'I'm very tired, and so cold,' said Dolores.

'Yes,' said Gillian, 'we ought to go home now.'

Not me! not me;' cried the other two girls; 'Uncle Regie will take care of us.'

'I think you must come,' said Gillian, 'mamma said you had better come home when I do.'

'Yes,' said Wilfred, 'we don't want a pack of girls to go and get tired.'

'We shall go into all sorts of places not fit for you,' said Jasper; 'you wouldn't come back with a whole petticoat among you.'

'And Val would be left stodged in a ditch for a month of Sundays,' added Wilfred.

'I am afraid we had better part company, Gill,' said the colonel. 'I would take you on a little further, but this poor little Londoner won't have a leg to stand upon by the time she gets home.'

'More shame for her to come out to spoil our fun,' muttered Valetta, too low for her uncle to hear.

'Mamma will think we have gone quite far enough, thank you, uncle,' said the sage Gillian, 'and I think Fergus had better come too.'

'That he had,' said Jasper. 'Fancy him over Peat Hill.'

'He'll be left behind to be picked up as we come back,' said Wilfred.

'No, no, no! I can keep up better than you can, Wil! Take me, Uncle Regie.' The little boy was so near a howl that good-natured Colonel Mohun's heart was touched, and he consented to let him come on, though Jasper argued, 'You'll have to carry him, uncle.'

'No, I'll make you, master! Tell your mother not to wait luncheon for us, Gillian; we'll pick up something somewhere.'

'Hurrah!' cried Wilfred and Fergus, to whom this was an immense additional pleasure.

The girls turned away into the lane, Valetta indulging in an outrageous grumble. 'Why should Dolores have come out to spoil everything?'

Dolores did not speak.

'Just our one chance,' sighed Mysie, 'and perhaps we should have seen the fox.'

'We may do that yet,' said Gillian; 'he may come this way.'

'I don't care if he does,' said Valetta. 'I wanted to see them draw the copse. I believe Dolores did it on purpose to spoil our pleasure.'

'Don't be so cross, Val,' said Mysie. 'She can't help being tired.'

'Why did she come, then, when nobody wanted her?'

'For shame, Val,' said Gillian, 'you know mamma would be very angry to hear you say anything so unkind.'

'It's quite true, though,' muttered Valetta.

'Never mind, Dolly, dear,' said Mysie, shocked. 'Val doesn't really mean it, you know.'

'Yes, she does,' said Dolores, shaking her comforter off; 'you all do! I wish I had never come here.'

Mysie tried in her own persevering way to argue again that Val was only put out, and disappointed at having to turn back, to which Valetta, in spite of Gillian's endeavour to silence her, added, 'So stupid of her to come out! What did she do it for?'

Dolores, who hardly ever cried, was tired into crying now. 'You grudge me everything; you wouldn't let me speak one single word to Uncle Regie, and kept bothering about! I'll never do anything with you again! I won't.'

'Did you want to speak to Uncle Regie?' asked Mysie.

'To be sure I did! He is my uncle, that I knew ever so long before you did, and you never let him speak to me.'

'Mrs. Halfpenny always put us on the high chair, with our faces to the wall when we were jealous,' remarked Valetta.

'But did you want to say anything to him in particular?' said Mysie, revolving means of contriving a private interview.

'That's no business of yours! I wish you would let me alone!' broke out Dolores, in a fretful fright lest any one should guess that she had anything on her mind.

'To make up stories of us, of course,' growled Valetta, but Gillian here interposed, declaring with authority that if she heard another word before they reached the paddock gate, she should certainly tell mother how disgracefully they had been behaving. When Gillian said such things she kept her word. Besides, by way of precaution, she marched down the muddy middle of the road, with Dolores limping along the footpath on one side, and Val as far off as possible on the border of the ditch, on the other; the more inoffensive Mysie keeping by her side. They were all weary, and Dolores was very footsore also, by the time they reached home, at the very moment that the two Misses Hacket appeared coming up the drive. Lady Merrifield, having the day before invited the elder, as the purchases needed to be looked over, and preparations set in hand, and she did not then know that her brother was coming.

Dolores scarcely knew whether she was glad to see Constance. She had many doubts and qualms about that cheque. And if she had spent any quiet time alone with her uncle, she might have laid enough of her trouble before him to get some advice or help; but to ask for an interview, especially when 'everybody' thought it was to make complaints, was too uncomfortable and alarming; and she was inclined to escape from thought of the whole subject altogether by taking action quickly.

Gillian gave her uncle's message about not waiting; the dirty boots were taken off in the hall, and Constance followed her friend up to her room to take off her things.

Dolores sat on the side of her bed, too much tired at first to be willing to move, Constance's pity elicited tears, and that they had all been so very unkind to her; they were angry at her getting tired, and they were jealous of her even speaking to Uncle Regie. Again this alarmed Constance, 'You weren't going to tell him about Mr. Flinders— you know you promised.'

'He knows about him already, and he would tell me what to do.'

'Oh! but that would never do, darling Dolly. You told me all the family were hard and unjust, and he would tell Lady Merrifield, and we should never be allowed to see each other again. And only think of my poor little secret! I didn't think you would have turned from your poor relation in misfortune for the sake of this grand Colonel.'

The end of it was, that just as the gong was sounding, Dolores handed over to Constance an envelope directed to Mr. Flinders, and containing Mr. Maurice Mohun's cheque. It was off her mind now, she thought, as she shuffled down to dinner, lookup so pale and uneasy that her aunt made her have a glass of wine and some gravy soup to begin with, and, when dinner was over, turned all the parcels off the school-room sofa, and made her lie upon it during the grand unpacking, which was almost as charming as the purchasing, perhaps more so, since there was no comparison with costlier articles.

There was not very much time. This was Friday and Christmas Day was on Monday, so there were only two more clear week-days before the birthday and Miss Hacket would be church-decorating on the morrow; but Lady Merrifield would not send her daughters to help, as there were plenty of hands without them, and they were too young to trust in a mixed set, who were not always sure to be reverent.

Dinner had rested and refreshed them; they rejoiced in the absence of the man-kind, and Primrose was sent out for her walk while the numerous boxes and packages were opened, and displayed sconces and tapers, gilt balls and glass birds, oranges and bon-bons, disguised in every imaginable fashion. There was a double set of the tapers, and two relays of devices in sweets, for the benefit of the party of the second night, a list of whom Miss Hacket had brought, that heads might be counted, and any deficiency supplied in time through Aunt Jane. For Lady Merrifield had commissioned Gillian to lay in—unknown to the good lady—a stock of such treasures as are valuable indeed to the little maid: shell pin-cushions, Cinderella slippers holding thimbles, cases of hair-pins, queer housewives, and the like things, wonderfully pretty for the price, and which filled the kind heart of Miss Hacket with rapture and gratitude at such brilliant additions to her own home-made contrivances in the way of cuffs, comforters, and illuminated workbags, all beautifully neat; I though it was hard to persuade her of what Lady Merrifield averred, that such things ought to be far more precious than brilliant, shop-bought, ready-made ware, 'with no love-seed in it.'

'It is very hard,' she said; 'how fancy shops try to spoil all one used to be able to do for one's friends. The purses, and the penwipers, and the needle-cases that were one's choicest presents in my youth, are all turned out now smart and tight and fashioned, but without a scrap of the honest old labour and love that went into them.'

'But papa and mamma do care still,' cried Gillian; 'papa never will have any purse but the long ones mamma nets for him.'

'And mamma always will have the old brown and blue carriage-bag that Aunt Phyllis worked,' chimed in Mysie, 'though Claude did say he would throw it into the sea when we crossed from Dublin for it looked like an old housekeeper's.'

'Claude was in a superfine condition then—in awe of an old Sandhurst comrade. He would be gild enough to see the old brown bag now, poor fellow,' said Lady Merrifield, tenderly.

So it went on, with merry chat and a good deal of real preparation, till the early darkness came on, and a great noise in the haul announced the return of 'the boys,' among whom Lady Merrifield still classed her colonel brother. They were muddy up to the eyes, but they had seen a great deal more than was easy to understand in their incoherent accounts. Wilfed had rolled into a wet ditch, and been picked out by his uncle and hung up to dry at a little village inn, where—this seemed to have been the supreme glory—they had made a meal on pigs'-liver and bread-and-cheese before plodding home again—losing their way under Wilfred's confident pilotage—finding themselves five miles from home—getting a cast in a cart for the two little boys just as Fergus was almost ready to cry—Colonel Mohun and Jasper walking alongside of the carter for two miles, and conversing in a friendly manner, though the man said he knew the soldier by his step, and thought it was a pool-trade. Finally, he directed them by a short cut, which proved to be through a lane of clay and pools of such an adhesive nature that Fergus had to be pulled out step by step by main force by his uncle, who deposited him on some stones at the other end, and then came back to assist the struggles of Wilfred, who was slowly proceeding with Jasper's help.

'And that's the way we make you spend your Christmas holiday, Regie,' said Lady Merrifield.

'Never mind. Lily; mud was a congenial element to us both in old times, you know, so no wonder your brood take to it like ducks or hippopotamuses. I say, we ought to have come in by the rear. Couldn't that imp of a buttons of yours come and scrape us before we go upstairs?'

'You are certainly grown older, Regie. You never would have thought of that once.'

'No more would you, Lily—so do yourself justice.'

However, when five o'clock tea was spread in the drawing-room, and the Hacket ladies came in, Constance beheld such a splendid vision of a fine, fair, though sunburnt face, long, light moustaches, and tall figure, that she instantly assumed her most affected graces, and did not wonder the less that the Mohuns were all so very high.

Dolores's strong desire for a private interview with her uncle died away when Constance carried off the cheque. She knew he would tell her she had no right to give it, and she did not want to be told so, nor to have any special inquiries made. She was not sorry that an invitation from a neighbour kept him and Hal out shooting all Saturday, and, on the other hand, she so far shrank from Constance's talk about Mr. Flinders as not to be vexed that it was too wet on Sunday afternoon for any going down to Casement Cottages.

It was on that wet afternoon, however, that Uncle Reginald, crossing the hall for once without his tail of followers, saw her slowly dragging downstairs with a book in her hand.

'Well, Miss Doll,' he said; 'you don't look very jolly! What's the matter?'

'Nothing, Uncle Regie.'

'I don't believe in nothing. Here,' sitting down on the stairs, with an arm round her, 'tell me all about it, Dolly, we are old chums, you know. Have you got into a row?'

'Oh no!'

'Is there anything I can put straight?'

'No, thank you, Uncle Regie.'

'There's something amiss!' said the good-natured, puzzled uncle. 'What is it? I should have thought you would have got on with these young folks like—like a house on fire.'

'That's all you know about it,' thought Dolly. What she said was, 'One never does.'

'I don't understand that generalization,' answered her uncle; then, as she did not answer, he added, 'I am sure your Aunt Lily is very anxious to make you happy. Have you anything to complain of?'

'No,' said Dolores, 'I don't complain of anything.'

She was thinking of Valetta's notion that she wanted to 'make up stories of them,' and therefore she said it in a manner which conveyed that she had a good deal to complain of, if she would, though really she would have been a good deal puzzled to produce a grievance that a man like Uncle Reginald would understand, though she had plenty for sympathy like Constance's.

However, it was not to be expected that a private conference should last long in that house, and Mysie appeared at that moment, looking for her cousin, to say that 'Mamma was ready for her.' Dolores went off with more alacrity than usual, and Uncle Reginald beckoned up his other niece, and observed: 'I say, Mysie, what's the matter with Dolly?'

'She is always like that, uncle,' answered Mysie.

'Don't you hit it off with her, then?'

'I can't, uncle,' said Mysie, looking up, with a sudden wink now and then to stop her tears. 'I thought we should have been such friends; but she won't let me. I didn't mean to be stupid and disagreeable, like the girls in 'Ashenden Schoolroom,' but she doesn't care for anybody but Miss Constance and Maude Sefton.'

'I hope you are all very kind to her,' said Uncle Reginald, rather wistfully.

'We try,' said Mysie, who was not going to betray Wilfred and Valetta, and could honestly say so of herself and Gillian.

And there again came an interruption, in the shape of Gillian. 'Mysie, mamma says we may finish up our sacred illuminated cards, for it will be Sunday work.'

'Oh, jolly!' cried Mysie, jumping up. 'And will you give me one rub of your real good carmine Gilly-flower, dear.'

'And of my ultramarine, too,' responded Gillian, wherewith the two sisters disappeared, radiant with goodwill and gratitude; while poor Uncle Reginald, who had intended to devote this wet Sunday afternoon to writing to his brother that Dolores was perfectly happy and thriving in Lily's care, and like a sister to his other favourite, Mysie, remained disappointed and perplexed, wondering whether the poor little maiden were homesick, or whether no children could be depended on for kindness when out of sight, and deciding that he should defer his letter till he had seen a little more, and talked to his sister Jane, who could see through a milestone any day.

It was understood that mamma preferred home-made cards to bought ones, so there was always a great manufacture of them in the weeks previous to Christmas, the comparative failures being exchanged among the younger members.

The presents were always reserved for Valetta's birthday and the tree, and this rendered the circulation of the cards doubly interesting. In the immediate family alone, there were thirteen times thirteen, besides those coming from, and going to outsiders, so that it was as well that a good many should be of domestic manufacture, either with pencil and brush, or of tiny leaves carefully dried and gummed. And mamma had kept an album, with names and dates, into which all these home efforts were inserted, and nothing else! This year's series began with a little chestnut curl of Primrose's hair, fastened down on a card by Gillian, and rose to a beautiful drawing of a blue Indian Lotus lily, with a gorgeous dragon-fly on it, sent by Alethea. The Indian party had sent a card for every one—the girls, beautiful drawings of birds, insects, and scenery; the brother, a bundle of rice-paper figured with costumes, and papa, some clever pen-and-ink outlines of odd figures, which his daughters beguiled from him in his leisure moments!

As to the home circle, it is enough to say that their performances were highly satisfactory to the makers, and were rewarded by mamma's kisses, and the text or verse she had secretly illuminated for each. She had no time to do more, and the series were infinitely prized and laid up as treasures. There were plenty of ornamental cards from without to be admired: the Brighton and Beechcroft aunts; the Stokesley cousins, and whole multitudes of friends pouring them in as usual; so that the entire review seemed to occupy all those free moments of the Christmas Day, when the young folks were neither at church, nor at meals, nor singing carols themselves, nor hearing the choir sing in the hall, nor looking over photograph books and hearing old family stories. This last occupation was received in the family as the regular evening pleasure, ending in all singing, 'When shepherds watch their flocks by night.'

Dolores had a card from her aunt and each of her cousins, besides one of the parcel Uncle Reginald had brought. She did not think enough of the very bad drawing and smeared painting of the ambitious attempts she received, to feel at all disconcerted at having no reciprocity to offer. The only cards she had sent were to Constance Hacket, to Fraulein, and to Maude Sefton—the last with a sore sense of the long interval since she had heard.

However, there was a card from Maude, but it was a very poor one, looking very much like a last year's possession, and the letter was not much better, being chiefly an apology for having been too busy to write. Maude was going to lectures with Nona Styles—Nona was such a darling girl—and breaking off because she was wanted to rehearse Cinderella with this same darling Nona.

It made Dolores's heart go down farther, though there was a beautiful and unexpected card from Mrs. Sefton, one from her former servant, Caroline, also from Fraulein, and three or four from old friends of her mother, who had remembered the solitary girl. In truth, she had more beautiful ones than anybody else, but she kept these in their envelopes, and showed herself so much averse to free fingering and admiration of them that Lady Merrifield had to call off Valetta, remind her that her cousin had a right to her own cards, and hear in return that Dolores was so cross.

'Dolly,' said Uncle Reginald, in a low voice, since he was permitted to look over the cards with her, 'I think I have found out part of your troubles.'

She looked at him in alarm.

He put his finger on a card bearing the words, 'Goodwill to men.'

'Umph,' said she. 'I don't want everything of mine messed and spoilt.'

And as his eye fell on Fergus's cards, he felt there was reason in what she said.

Aunt Lily had taken her for a quarter of an hour that morning, trying to infuse the real thought underlying the joy that makes it Christmas, not only yule-tide. But it all fell flat—it was all lessons to her— imposed on her on a day that she had not been used to see made what she called 'goody.' Last year her father had shut himself up after church, and she had spent the evening in noisy mirth with the Seftons.



CHAPTER XIII.

AN EGYPTIAN SPHYNX



Aunt Adeline was afraid of winter journeys as well as of the tumultuous festivities of Silverton; so at twelve o'clock. Colonel Mohun drove the pony-carriage to meet the little trim Brownie who stepped out of the station, the porter carrying behind her a huge thing, long, and swathed in brown paper. 'It is quite light; it won't hurt,' she said, 'It must go with us. Put your legs across it, Regie. That's right.'

'Then what becomes of yours?'

'Mine can go anywhere,' said Miss Mohun, crumpling herself up in some mysterious manner under the fur rug, while they drove off, her luggage sticking far off on either side of the splashboard.

'What, in the name of wonder, are you smuggling in there?'

'If you must know, it is the body of a mummy over whose dissection you will have to assist.'

'Ah! Rotherwood is coming.'

'Rotherwood!'

'And his little girl. Just like him. Lily gets a note this morning from London, telling her to telegraph if she can't have them by the 5.20 train. I've just been ordering a fly. It seems that Lady Rotherwood, going to meet Ivinghoe at the station, coming from school, found he had measles coming out! So they packed off his sister to Beechcroft without having seen him, and thence Rotherwood took her to London.'

'And is having a fine frolic with her, no doubt; but he might as well have given Lily more notice, considering that a marquess or two makes more difference to her household than it does to his.'

'Oh! she is glad enough, only in some trepidation as to how Mrs. Halfpenny may receive the unspecified maid that the child may bring.'

'How jolly we shall be! I wish Ada had come.'

'I tried to drag her out, but it gets harder and harder to shake her up. You must come back with me and see her.'

'I say, Jane, have you seen Maurice's child lately?'

'Not very. She wouldn't come with the others last week.'

'What do you think about her? I thought leaving her with Lily would have been the making of her. Indeed, I told Maurice there could not be a better brought up set anywhere than the Merrifields, and that Lily would mother her like one of her own; and now I find her moping about, looking regularly down in the mouth. I got hold of her one day and tried to find out what was the matter, but she only said she would not complain. Can they bully her?'

'I'll tell you what, Maurice, Lily is a great deal too kind to her. She has a kind of temper that won't let them make friends with her.'

'Come now! She was a nice jolly little girl at home. She and I have had no end of larks together, and it is hard to blame her for fretting after her home, poor child—Aye! I know you never liked her, or she might have done better with you and Ada than turned in among a lot of imps.'

'I'm thankful it was otherwise!'

'Now do, Jane, set your mind to it. Don't be prejudiced, but make those sharp eyes of some use. I really feel bound to give Maurice an account of Dolly, and tell him what is best for her.'

'I believe,' said Jane, 'that there is some counter-influence at work, and I am trying to find it out; but, after all, I believe patience is the only thing, and that Lily will conquer her if nobody meddles.'

''Tis not Lily I am afraid of, but her children.'

'Nonsense, Regie; one would think you had never been turned loose into school to be licked into shape.'

'She is a girl, not a cub like me.'

'A worse cub, for she has not your temper, sir, and, moreover, you had had the wholesome discipline of a large family. Besides, nobody teases but Wilfred. Gillian and Mysie behave like angels to the tiresome puss.'

'Well, I'm bound to believe you, Jenny, but I don't like the looks of it.'

Aunt Jane's mysterious parcel was greeted rapturously, and conveyed into the dining-room, which had a semi-circular end, filled with glass, and capable of being shut off with heavy curtains when the season made snugness desirable. This bay had been set apart from the first for her operations, the tree, whose second season it was, having been taken up and already erected in the centre of the room, not much the worse for last year's excursion, for, if rather stunted, that was all the better. No one was excluded from the decoration thereof, since that was the best part of the sport to those too old for the mystery—and yet young enough to fasten sconces where their candles would infallibly set fire to the twigs above them. The only defaulters were Jasper, who had preferred going down to the meadows with his gun; and Dolores, who had retired to the drawing-room with a book, on having a paper star removed from immediate risk of conflagration. 'They were determined not to let her help,' she said.

So she only emerged when the workers halted for a merry, hurried meal in the schoolroom, where Jasper appeared, very late, very cross at having had to make himself fit to be seen, and, likewise, at having brought home no spoil, the snipes having been so malicious as to escape him. Having sallied forth before the post came in, it was only now that it broke on him that visitors were expected, and he did not like it at all.

'I thought we had got rid of a11 the enemy!' he growled, at his end of the table.

'That's what he calls Constance.' thought Dolores.

'Polite,' observed Gillian.

'This will be worse still, being lord and ladies grumbled on Jasper, 'I hate swells.'

'Oh! but these aren't like horrid, common, fine lords and ladies,' cried Mysie; 'why, you know all mamma's old stories about the fun they had with cousin Rotherwood.

'What's the good of that! That's a hundred years ago. He'll just make mamma and Uncle Regie of no good at all! And then there's a girl too—' (in a tone of inconceivable disgust) 'I don't want strange girls—an awful stuck-up swell of a Londoner, not able to do anything! I wish I had gone to spend Christmas with Bruce! I would if I had known it was to be like this.'

The speech brought Mysie to the verge of tears. Aunt Jane's sharp ears heard it, and she looked at the head of the table, expecting to hear a rebuke; but Lady Merrifield turned a deaf ear on that side. Only after the meal, she called her son, 'Jasper,' she said, 'I want to send a note to Redford, if you like to ride over with it. You need not come home till eight o'clock, if it is moonlight, it the boys are disengaged, and if you do really wish to keep out of the way.'

Jasper's eyes fell under hers.

'Mamma, I don't want that.'

'Only you said more than you meant, Japs. If it relieves your mind, it hurts other people. But I do want the note taken, so go and come back in time for the sports; which I don't think you will find much damaged.'

Meantime, Aunt Jane had ensconced herself behind the curtains; where she admitted no one but Miss Vincent and Uncle Reginald, and in process of time, mamma and Macrae. The others were still fully employed in garnishing the tree, though it was only to bear lights, ornaments and sweets. All solid articles had been for some time past committed to a huge box, or ottoman, the veteran companion of the family travels, which stood in the centre of the bay. Into its capacious interior everybody had been dropping parcels of various sizes and shapes, with addresses in all sorts of hands, which were to find their destination on this great evening. This was part of the mystery that kept Mysie and Valetta in one continual dance and caper. It was all they could do not to peep between the curtains when the privileged mortals went in and out, bearing all sorts of mysterious loads well covered up from all eyes. Wilfred did make one attempt, but something extraordinary snapped at his nose, with a sharp crack, and drove him back with a start.

A lamp had been taken thither, and there really was nothing more to do to the tree, the scraps of packing had been picked up, and the hands, tingling from fir-needle pricks, had been washed, though not without protest from Valetta that it wasn't worth while, and from Wilfred that it was all along of these horrid swells—!

The sound of wheels summoned Lady Merrifield and her brother from the place of mystery, and they were in the hall when a fresh gust of keen air came in from the door, an ulstered figure hurried in, and something small and furred was put into the lady's embrace.

'Here's my Fly, Lily—! Look, Fly, here they all are—all the cousins. Off with the hat. Let us see your funny little face.'

It was a funny little smiling face, set in short, light, wavy hair, not exactly pretty, but with a bright, quaint, confiding look, as if used to be shown off by her father, and ready to make friends on the spot. 'And how is your boy?' as the round of greetings was completed, and the wraps thrown off.

'Going on capitally, better than he deserves, the young scamp, for suppressing all symptoms for fear he should be hindered from coming home. His mother was in a proper fright, she showed him to the doctor on the way, who told her to put him to bed at once, and send his sister out of the house. She never set eyes on him, or I would not have brought her here.'

'I am exceedingly glad you have,' said Lady Merrifield, bending for another kiss.

'And Lily, I've done another awful thing. Victoria kept old nurse to help with Ivinghoe, and we brought the Swiss bonne, Louise, away with us, but the poor thing found her sister very ill in London, and I hadn't the heart to bring her away, so Phyllis said she would do for herself, if your maid, or some of them, would have an eye to her.'

'There! I'm doubly glad, Rotherwood! If I had any fears it was not of you, or Phyllis; but that like Vich Ian Vhor, she should have her tail on. And, oh! Rotherwood, do you know what you are in for?'

'High jinks of some sort, I've no doubt. We picked up a couple of boxes at Gunter's and Miller's with a view thereto. Who is master of the revels?'

'Jane. She's too deep in preparations to come forth at present. Gillian, will you take Phyllis to the nursery, and take care of her. We are to have a very high tea at half-past six; but, Rotherwood, I promise that another day you shall have a respectable dinner in this house.'

'Return to the prose of life, eh, Lily? Well, Fly, what do you think of it?'

'Oh, daddy, aren't you glad we came?' she cried, dancing off, in Gillian's wake, arm-in-arm with Mysie and Valetta, while he called after her, 'Find the boxes, and make them over to the right quarter.'

This was enough to make the whole bevy of children rush away, and only the three elders remained. Lord Rotherwood said, 'This is short notice. Lily; but I did not know Reginald was here, and I thought you might want help. Don't be frightened, only a queer thing has happened. I went to W.'s bank yesterday. I thought they looked at me as if something was up, and by-and-by one of the partners came and took me into his private room. There he showed me a cheque, and asked my opinion whether the writing was Maurice's. And I should say it decidedly was, but it was actually for seventy pounds, payable to order of Miss Dolores M. Mohun.'

'Seventy!'

'Yes, and dated the 19th of August.'

'Just before Maurice went.'

There was a sudden silence, for the door opened; but it was to admit Miss Mohun, who began, 'Oh! Rotherwood, you are too munificent. Why, what's the matter?' Lady Merrifield hastily explained, as far as she yet understood, what had brought him.

'How did they get the cheque?' she asked.

'Sent up from the country bank where it had been cashed—Darminster.'

'Ah!' came from both the aunts.

Lord Rotherwood went on. 'They asked me who Miss Dolores Mohun was, and I could do no otherwise than tell them, and likewise where to find her, but I explained that she is a mere child; and I told them I would come down here, so I hope you will have as little annoyance as possible.'

'It is very good of you, Rotherwood, but I can't understand it at all. Was her name on the back?'

'Certainly; I told them I thought the whole thing must be a well got up forgery, and a confidential clerk was to go down today to Darminster to try to find out who gave it in there.'

'Darminster! Flinders!' ejaculated Miss Mohun.

'Regie,' exclaimed Lady Merrifield; 'what did you say about having seen some one like Dolores at Darminster station?'

'I was nearly jumping out after her. I should have said it was herself, if it had not been impossible. Why she was with you at Rockstone, and it was a pouring, dripping day,' said the colonel.

'No, she was not. She begged to spend the day with Constance Hacket, and we picked her up as we came home. Poor child, what has she been doing? I have not looked after her properly.'

'But need she have had anything to do with it?' said Colonel Mohun. 'How should a cheque of Maurice's come into her possession?'

'She did tell me,' said Lady Merrifield,' that her father had left one with her to pay for some German scientific book that might be sent for him.'

'I see, then!' cried Miss Mohun. 'That wretch Flinders must have got into communication with her, and induced her to fill up her father's cheque for him.'

'But why should it be Flinders?' said Lord Rotherwood.

'Jane found out that he is living at Darminster, and has been trying to put me on my guard,' returned Lady Merrifield.

'It is all that fellow Flinders, depend upon it,' said Colonel Mohun. 'He is quite capable of it, and you'll find poor Dolly has nothing to do with it. Quite preposterous. And look here, Lily, let the poor child alone to enjoy herself tonight. Most likely Rotherwood's clerk, or detective, or whatever he may be, will have ferreted out the rights of the matter at Darminster. I sincerely hope he will, and have Flinders in custody, and then you would have upset her and accused her all for nothing.'

'I am glad you think so, Regie,' said Lady Merrifield. 'I am thankful enough to wait, and hope it will be explained without spoiling the children's evening.'

'All right,' said the visitor; 'I only hope I have not spoilt yours.'

'Oh! one learns to throw things off. I shall believe it is all Flinders, and none of it the child's,' said Lady Merrifield, carefully avoiding a glance that could show her any gesture of dissent on the part of her sister, and only looking up for her brother's nod of approval. 'Besides, how foolish it would be to worry myself when I have two such protectors! It was very good in you, Rotherwood, I only hope we shall take good care of your Fly, and that her mother will be satisfied about her.'

'She knew the little woman and I should have a lark together,' said he. 'The governess was safe out of reach, holiday-making, so I could have her all to myself. Victoria suggested her brother's, and we must go there before we have done, but business and the pantomime by good luck took us to London first. So when I wrote to you from the bank, I also let her know that I was obliged to take the little woman down here first. I couldn't take her to High Court till Louise is available again.'

'So much the better, I'm sure.'

'And what I was going to say is, that Rotherwood has been startlingly munificent and splendid,' said Aunt Jane. 'We shall have a set of new surprises.'

'I don't in the least know what I brought. I only told each of them to put up such a box as they sent out for Christmas concerns. Do precisely what you please with them.'

'Come and see, Lily, for I think there will be enough to reserve a fresh lot of things for Miss Hacket's affair. By-the-by, Regie, did you say it rained at Darminster?'

'Poured all the way down.'

'Well, we had it quite fine.'

'Was it fine here?'

'Yes, certainly,' said Lady Merrifield,' or Primrose would not have gone out. Take care of Rotherwood, Regie. You know his room.'

And the two sisters crossed the hall, where the 'very high tea' was being laid; hearing from the regions above sounds of exquisite glee and merriment, as perfect and almost as inexpressive of anything else as the singing of birds, so that they themselves could not help answering with a laugh, before they vanished into the chamber of mystery.

Indeed, Phyllis's conversation was like a fairy tale. Her brother's illness, which was not enough to damp any one's spirits, had prevented or hindered a grand children's party as the Butterfly's Ball, where she was to have been the Butterfly, and Lord Ivinghoe the Grasshopper, and all the children were to appear as one of the characters in Roscoe's pretty poem. Never was anything more delightful to the imagination of the little cousins, and they could not marvel enough at her seeming so little uneasy about anything so charming, and quite ready and eager to throw herself headlong into all their present enjoyments, making wonderful surmises as to the mystery in preparation.

Dolores heard the laughing, and it did not suit with her vaguely uneasy and injured frame of mind; feeling dreadfully lonely too, as she came downstairs, dressed for the evening, but not knowing where to go, for the dining-room was engrossed, the schoolroom was dark and the fire out, the drawing-room occupied by the two gentlemen. She crouched down in one of the big arm-chairs on either side of the hearth in the hall, and began to read by the firelight. Presently Jasper came in from his ride, and began taking off his greatcoat, leggings, and boots, whistling as he did so, then, perceiving the tempting object of a black leg sticking out of the chair, he stole up across the soft carpet, and caught hold of the ankle. He received a vigorous kick in return (which perhaps he expected) but what he did not expect was the black figure that rose up in outraged dignity and indignation. 'For shame! I won't be insulted!'

'Whew! I thought 'twas Val! I beg your pardon.'

'I shall ask my aunt if I am to be insulted.'

'Well, if you choose to take it in that way—A man can't do more than beg pardon! I'm sure I would never have presumed to touch you if I had known it was your Dolorousness.'

And he turned to walk away, just as the babbling ripple of laughter began to flow downstairs, and a whole mass of little girls intertwined together was descending. 'I always hop,' said a voice new to him, 'except on the great staircase, and mother doesn't like it there. But this is such a jolly stair. Can't you hop?'

Hopping in a threefold embrace on a slippery stair was hardly a safe pastime, and before Jasper had time to utter more than' Holloa there! take care!' there descended suddenly on him an avalanche of little girls, 'knocking him off his feet, so that all promiscuously rolled down two or three steps together. Fergus and Primrose, who had somehow been holding on behind,' remained upright, but nevertheless screaming. The shrieks of the fallen were, however, laughter. There was a soft rug below, and by the time the gentlemen had rushed out of the dining-room, and the ladies from the curtained recess, giggling below and legs above were chiefly apparent.

'Any one hurt?' was of course Lady Merrifield's cry.

'Oh no, mamma. Only we are so mixed up we can't get up,' called out Mysie.

'Is this arm you or me?' exclaimed Phyllis, following up the joke.

'Come, sort yourselves, ladies and gentlemen,' said Lord Rotherwood. 'What's this, a Fly's wing?'

'No, it's mine,' cried Val, as his hand pulled her out, and the others extricated themselves, still laughing, go that they could hardly stand, and Fly declaring, 'Oh, daddy, daddy, it is such fun! I am so glad we came,' and taking a gratuitous leap into the air.

'Every one to her taste,' said Lady Merrifield, 'I congratulate those to whom a compound tumble-down-stairs is felicity.'

'She has found her congenial element, you see,' said her father, as the elders proceeded upstairs to their toilette.' 'Tis laughing-gas with her to be with other children, and the most laughingest of all are naturally yours, old Lily.'

Meanwhile Jasper, risen on his stocking soles, looked all over at the little figure, dressed old picture fashion, in the simplest white frock with blue sash, and short-cut hair tied back with blue.

'Well, you are a jolly little girl,' he said, 'and a cool customer, too! What do you mean by knocking a fellow over the first time you see him?'

'And what do you mean by coming like a great—huge—big elephant in our way to stop up the stairs?' demanded Fly, in return.

'Do you mean to insinivate that 'twas I that made you fall?' said Jasper—'I, that was quietly walking up the stairs, when down there came on me a shower—not cats and dogs, but worserer, far worserer! Why, I'm kilt! my nose is flat as a pancake, I shan't recover my beauty all the evening for the great swells that are coming.'

'Jasper, Japs,' called his mother's warning voice, 'you must come up and dress, for tea is going in.'

He obeyed, rushing two steps at a time; but meeting, at the bottom of the attic flight, his sister Gillian, he demanded, 'Gill, what awfully jolly little girl have they got down there?'

'Why, Fly, of course, Lady Phyllis Devereux—'

'No, no, nothing swell, a comical little soul, with no nonsense about her, in a white thing.'

'Well, that's Phyllis. There's no one else there.'

'I say. Gill, 'tis like sunshine and clouds. She and the other, I mean. Why, I gave a little pull to a foot I saw in the armchair, thinking it belonged to Val, and out breaks my Lady of the Rueful Countenance, vowing she'll complain that I've insulted her; and as to the other, the whole lot of them tumbled over me together on the stairs, and she did nothing but laugh and chaff.'

'I hope she is not a romp,' said the staid Gillian, sagely, as she went downstairs.

But on that score she was soon satisfied. Phyllis Devereux was a thorough little lady, wild and merry as she was, and enchanted to be in the rare fairyland of child companionship. And that indeed she had, Mysie and Valetta, between whose ages she stood, hung to her inseparably, and Jasper was quite transformed from his grim superciliousness into her devoted knight. At tea-time there was a competition for the seats next to her, determined by Valetta's taking one side, in right of the birthday, and Jasper the other, because he secured it, and Mysie gave way to him because he was Japs, and she always did. While Dolores laid up a store of moralizings on the adulation paid to the little lady of title, and at the same time speculated what concatenation of circumstances could ever make her Lady Dolores Mohun. On the whole, it would be more likely that her father should gain a peerage by putting down a Fijian rebellion than that it should be discovered that his mother, Lady Emily, had been the true heiress of the marquessate, and even so, an uncomfortable number of people must be disposed of before it could come to him. She had one consolation, however, for Uncle Reginald, always kind to her, was particularly affectionate this evening, as if he would not have that little foolish Fly set up before her.

The tea and the tree both went off joyously. There is no need to describe the spectacle to folks who can count their Christmas-trees by the years of their life and the memorable part of this one was that much of the fruit that had been left hanging on it was now metamorphosed into something much more gorgeous—oranges had become eggs full of sugar-plums, gutta-percha monkeys grinned on the branches, golden flowers had sprung to life on the ends of the twigs, a lovely jewel-like lantern crowned the whole, and as to sweets, everybody- servants and all—had some delightful devices containing them, whether drum, bird, or bird's nest.

Before the distribution was over, it was observed that Aunt Jane and Uncle Reginald, also Harry, had vanished from the scene. There was a pause, during which such tapers as began to burn perilously low, were extinguished, an operation as delightful apparently as the fixing them. Presently a horn was heard, and a start or shudder of mysterious ecstasy pervaded the audience, as a tall figure came through the curtains, and announced:

'Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honour to inform you that a fresh discovery has been made in the secret chambers of the Pyramid of Chops, otherwise known as Te-Gun-Ter-ra. A mummy has been disinterred, which is about to be opened by the celebrated Egyptologist, Herr Professor Freudigfeldius, who has likewise discovered the means of making such a conjuration of the Sphynx that she will not only summon each of the present company by name, but will require of each of them to reply to a question. The penalty of a refusal is well known!'

Therewith the curtains were drawn back, and a scene was presented which made some of the spectators start. Behind was the semblance of a wall marked with the joints of large stones, and lighted (apparently) with two brass lamps. On the floor lay extended an enormous mummy, with the regulation canvas case, and huge flaps of ears, between which appeared a small, painted face, and below lay a long, gaily coloured scroll in hieroglyphics. Exalted stiffly in a seat placed on a seeming block of stone, was a figure, with elbows, as it were glued to its sides, and hands crossed, altogether stone-coloured and monumental, and with the true Sphynx head, surrounded with beetles, lizards, and other mystic creatures (very chocolate-coloured). And beside her stood the Herr Professor, in a red fez, long dark gown, and spectacles, a flowing beard concealing the rest of his face. How delightful to see such an Egyptologist! Even though one perfectly knew the family beard and fez; also that the gown was papa's old dressing-gown, captured for the theatrical wardrobe. And how grand to hear him speak, even though his broken English continually became more vernacular.

'Liebes Herrschaft,' he began, 'I would, nobles, gentry, and ladies say. You here see the embalmed rests of the celebrated monarch Nic-nac- ci-no. Lately up have I them graben, and likewise his tutelar Sphynx have found, and have even to give signs of animation compelled.'

Touching the effigy with his wand, she emitted certain growls and hisses, which made Primrose hide her face in alarm at anything so uncanny, and Lord Rotherwood observe—

'Nearly related to the cat-goddess Pasht; I thought so.'

'There was something of the lion or cat in the Sphynx,' said Gillian, gravely, while the three little girls clasped each other's hands with delightful thrills of awe and expectation.

'Observe,' continued the Professor, 'the outer case with the features of the deceased is painted. I should conclude that King Nic-nac, etcetera, had been of a peculiarly jolly—I mean frolich—nature, judging by the grin on his face. We proceed—'

As he laid his hand on the wrapper, the Sphynx gave utterance to sounds so like the bad language of a cat that some looked round for one. The Professor waved at her, and she subsided. He turned back the covering, and demanded, 'Will the amiable Fraulein there. Mademoiselle Valetta, come and see what treasures she can discover in the secrets of the tomb?'

Val, who in right of her birthday, had expected the first call, jumped up, but the Sphynx made awful noises as she advanced, and the Professor explained that she would have to answer the Sphynx's question first.

'But I don't know Egyptian,' she observed.

'Never mind, it will sound like English.'

It did so, for it was, 'How many months old art thou, maiden?'

Val's arithmetic was slightly scared. She clasped her hand nervously, and was indebted to the Professor for the sotto voce hint, 'twelve nines,' before she uttered 'a hundred and eight.'

The Sphynx relapsed into stoniness, and the Herr Professor guided the hands, which trembled a little, to the interior of the mummy, whence they drew out a basket, labelled (wonderful to relate) 'Val,' and containing—oh! such treasures, a blue egg full of needlework implements, a new book, an Indian ivory case, a skipping-rope, a shuttlecock, and other delights past description. The exhibition of them was only beginning when the Professor called for Primrose, who was too much frightened to come alone, and therefore was permitted to be brought by Mrs. Halfpenny. The Sphynx was particularly amiable on this occasion, and only asked 'When Primroses came?' and as the little one, in her shy fright did not reply, nurse did so, with, 'Come, missie, can't you find a word to tell that mamma's Primrose came in spring.' This was allowed to pass, and Mrs. Halfpenny bore off her child, clutching a doll's cradle, stuffed with pretty things, and for herself a bundle wrapped up in a shawl from Sir Jasper himself.

After Primrose was gone to bed, the Sphynx became much more ill- tempered and demonstrative, snarling considerably at the approach of some of the party, some of whom replied with convulsive laughter, some, such as Jasper, with demonstrations of 'poking up the Sphynx.' She had a question for everybody—Fly was asked, 'Which was best, a tree or a Butterfly's ball?' and answered, with truthful politeness, that where Mysie and Val were was best of all. She carried off a collection that had hastily been made of Indian curiosities, photographs of her two friends, and a book; and her father, after being asked, 'What was the best of insects?' and replying, 'On the whole, I think it is my house- fly, even when she isn't a butterfly,' received a letter-weight of brass, fashioned like an enormous fly, which Lady Merrifield had snatched up from the table for the purpose. The maids giggled at the well-known conundrums proposed to them, and Dolores had a very easy question —' What was the weather this day week?'

'A horrid wet day,' she promptly answered, and found herself endowed with a parcel containing some of the best presents of all, bangles from the Indian box, a beautiful pair of stork-like scissors, a writing- case, etc.

'The Sphynx's invention is running low,' observed Jasper to Gillian, when the creature put the same question about last week's weather to Herbert, the page-boy, as a prelude to his discovering the treasures of the mummy, as a knife and an umbrella. His view of the weather was that it was 'A fine day ma'am! yes, a fine day.'

Macrae came last, and the Sphynx asked him which of the two contrary views was right.

'It was fine, ma'am, that I know. For I walked down with nurse, and little Miss Primrose into Silverton, to help to carry her in case she was tired, and we never had occasion to put up an umbrella.'

Wherewith Macrae received his combination of gifts and retired; the mummy being completely rifled, and the construction of the body, a frame of light, open wicker-work, revealed. Aunt Jane had had it made at the basketmaker's, while as to the head and covering, her own ingenious fingers had painted and fashioned them. Everybody had to look at everybody's presents, a lengthened operation, and then there was a splendid game at blindman's-buff in the hall, in which all the elders joined, except mamma, who had to go and sit in the nursery with the restless and excited Primrose while Mrs. Halfpenny and Lots went down to the servants' festivity.

When she came down again, it was to quiet the tempest of merriment, and send off the younger folks in succession to bed, till only the four elders and Hal remained on the scene, waiting till there was reason to think the household would be ready for prayers.

'It was Dolores that you saw at Darminster, Reginald,' said Miss Mohun, quietly.

'You Sphynx woman, how do you know?'

'You said it was raining at Darminster.'

'Yes, that it was, everywhere beyond the tunnel through the Darfield hills.'

'Exactly, I know they make a line in the rainfall. Well, here it was dry, but Dolores called it a wet day.'

'Now I call that too bad, Jane, to lay a trap for the poor child in the game,' cried Colonel Mohun, just as if they had still been boy and girl together.

'It was to satisfy my own mind,' she said, colouring a little. 'I didn't want any one to act on it. Indeed, I think there will be no occasion.'

'Besides,' he added, 'it is nothing to go upon! No doubt, if it wasn't raining, it was the next thing to it here, and bow was she to recollect at this distance of time? I won't have her caught out in that way!'

'I am glad she has a champion, Regie,' said Lady Merrifield. 'Here come the servants.'



CHAPTER XIV.

A CYPHER AND A TY.



Dolores was coming down to breakfast the next morning when Colonel Mohun's door opened. He exclaimed, 'My little Dolly, good morning!' stooped down and kissed her.

Then, standing still a moment, and holding her hand, he said—

'Dolly, it was not you I saw at Darminster station?'

It was a terrible shock. Some one, no doubt, was trying to set him against her. And should she betray Constance and her uncle? At any rate, almost before she knew what she was saying, 'No, Uncle Regie,' was out of her mouth, and her conscience was being answered with 'How do I know it was me that he saw? these fur capes are very common.'

'I thought not,' he answered, kindly. 'Look here, Dolly, I want one word with you. Did your father ever leave anything in charge with you for Mr. Flinders? Did he ever speak to you about him?'

'Never,' Dolores truly answered.

'Because, my dear, though it's a hard thing to say, and your poor mother felt bound to him, he is a slippery fellow—a scamp, in fact, and if ever he writes to you here, you had better send the letter straight off to me, and I'll see what's to be done. He never has, I suppose?'

'No,' said Dolores, answering the word here, and foolishly feeling the involvement too great, and Constance too much concerned in it for her to confess to her uncle what had really happened. Indeed, the first falsehood held her to the second; and there was no more time, for Lord Rotherwood was coming out of his room further down the passage. And after the greetings, as she went downstairs before the two gentlemen, she was sure she heard Uncle Regie say, 'She's all right.' What could it mean? Was a storm averted? or was it brewing? Could that spiteful Aunt Jane and her questions about the weather be at the bottom of it?

The fun that was going on at breakfast seemed a mere roar of folly to her, and she had an instinct of nothing but getting away to Constance. She soon found that there would be opportunity enough, for the tree was to be taken down in a barrow, and all the youthful world was to carry down the decorations in baskets, and help to put them on. She dashed off among the first to put on her things, and then was disappointed to find that first all the pets were to be fed and shown off to Fly, who appreciated them far more than she had done—knew how to lay hold of a rabbit, nursed the guinea-pigs and puppies in turn, and was rapturous in her acceptance of two young guinea-pigs and one puppy.

'I can keep them up in daddy's dressing-room while we are at High Court, and it will be such fun,' she said.

'Will he let you?' asked Gillian, in some doubt.

'Oh! daddy will always let me, and so will Griffin—his man, you know, only we left him in London because daddy said he would be in your butler's way, but I can't think why. Griffin would have helped about the tree and learnt to make a mummy when we have our party. Louise would not let me have them in the nursery, I know, but daddy and Griffin would, and I could go and feed them in the morning before breakfast. Griffin would get me bran! That is, if we do go to High Court; I wish we were to stay on here. There's nobody to play with at High Court, and grandpapa always keeps daddy talking politics, so that I can hardly ever get him! Mysie, whatever do you do with your father away in India?'

'Yes, it is horrid. But then, there's mamma,' said Mysie, whispering, however, as she saw Dolores near, and feared to hurt her feelings.

'Ah!' said Fly, with a tender little shake of her head; ''tis worse for her to have no mother at all! Is that why she looks so sad?'

'Cross' is the word,' said Wilfred. 'I can't think what she is come bothering down here for!'

'Oh! for shame, Wilfred!' said Fly. 'You should be sorry for her.' And she went up to Dolores, and by way of doing the kindest thing in the world, said—

'Here's my new puppy. Is not he a dear? I'll let you hold him,' and she attempted to deposit the fat, curly, satiny creature in Dolores's arms, which instantly hung down stiff, as she answered, half in fright, 'I hate dogs!' The puppy fell down with a flop, and began to squeak, while the girls, crying, 'Oh! Dolly, how could you!' and 'Poor little pup!' all crowded round in pity and indignation, and Wilfred observed, 'I told you so!'

'You'll get no change but that out of the Lady of the Rueful Countenance,' said Jasper.

Mysie had for once nothing to say in Dolores's defence, being equally hurt for Fly's sake and the puppy's. Dolores found herself virtually sent to Coventry, as she accompanied the party across the paddock, only just near enough to benefit by their protection from the herd of half- grown calves which were there disporting themselves; and, as if to make the contrast still more provoking, Fly, who had a natural affinity for all animals, insisted on trying to attract them, calling, 'Sukkey! sukkey!' and hold out bunches of grass, in vain, for they only galloped away, and she could only explain how tame those at home were, and how she went out farming with daddy whenever he had time, and mother and Fraulein would let her out.

The tree meantime came trundling down, a wonderful spectacle, with all its gilt balls and fir-cones nodding and dangling wildly, and its other embellishments turning upside down. There were greetings of delight at Casement Cottage, and Miss Hacket had kissed everybody all round before Gillian had time to present the new-comer, and then the good lady was shocked at her own presumption, and exclaimed—

'I beg your ladyship's pardon! Dear me! I had no notion who it was!'

'Then please kiss me again now you do know!' said Fly, holding up her funny little face to that very lovable kind one, and they were all soon absorbed in the difficulty of getting the tree in at the front door, and setting it up in the room that had been prepared for it.

Dolores had hoped to confide her alarms to Constance's sympathetic ear, but her friend, who had written and dreamt of many a magnificently titled scion of the peerage, but had never before seen one in her own house, had not a minute to spare for her, being far too much engrossed in observing the habits of the animal. These certainly were peculiar, since she insisted on a waltz round the room with the tabby cat, and ascended a step-ladder, merrily spurning Jasper's protection, to insert the circle of tapers on the crowning chandelier. There was nothing left for Dolores to do but to sit by in the window-seat, philosophizing on the remarkable effects of a handle to one's name, and feeling cruelly neglected.

Suddenly she saw a fly coming up to the gate. There was a general peeping and wondering. Then Uncle Reginald and a stranger got out and came up to the door. There was a ring—everybody paused and wondered for a moment; then the maid tapped at the door and said, 'Would Miss Mohun come and speak to Colonel Mohun a minute in the drawing-room?'

There was a hush of dread throughout the room. 'Ah!' sighed Miss Hacket, looking at Gillian, and all the elders thought without saying that some terrible news of her father had to be told to the poor child. They let her go, frightened at the summons, but that idea not occurring to her.

'There!' said Uncle Regie, 'she can set it straight. Don't be frightened, my dear; only tell this gentleman whether that is your writing.'

The stranger held a strip so that she could only just see 'Dolores M. Mohun,' and she unhesitatingly answered 'Yes'—very much surprised.

'You are sure?' said her uncle, in a tone of disappointment that made her falter, as she added, 'I think so.' At the same time the stranger turned the paper round, and she knew it for the cheque that had so long resided in her desk, but with dilated eyes, she exclaimed, 'But—but— that was for seven pounds!'

'That,' said the stranger, 'then, Miss Mohun, you know this draft?'

'Only it was for seven,' repeated Dolores.

'You mean, I conclude, that it was drawn for seven pounds, and that it was still for seven when it left your handy?'

'Yes,' muttered Dolores, who was beginning to get very much frightened, at she knew not what, and to feel on her guard at all points.

'There's nothing to be afraid of, my dear,' said Uncle Reginald, tenderly; 'nobody suspects you of anything. Only tell us. Did your father give you this paper?'

'Yes.'

'And when did you cash it?' asked the clerk.

Dolores hung her head. 'I didn't,' she said.

'But how did it get out of your possession?' said her uncle. 'You are sure this is your own writing at the back. It could surely not have been stolen from her?' he added to the stranger.

'That could hardly be,' said that person. 'Miss Mohun, you had better speak out. To whom did you give this cheque?'

There was a whirl of terror all round about Dolores, a horror of bringing herself first, then Uncle Alfred, Constance, and everybody else into trouble. She took refuge in uttering not a word.

'Dolores,' said her uncle, and his tone was now much more grave and less tender, thus increasing her terror; 'this silence is of no use. Did you give this cheque to Mr. Flinders?'

In the silence, the ticks of the clock on the mantel-piece seemed like a hammer beating on her ears. Dolores thought of the morning's flat denial of all intercourse with Flinders! Then the word give occurred to her as a loophole, and her mind did not embrace all the consequences of the denial, she only saw one thing at a time, 'I didn't give it,' she answered, almost inaudibly.

'You did not give it?' repeated her uncle, getting angry and speaking loud. 'Then how did it get into his hands? Is there no truth in you?' he added, after a pause, which only terrified her more and more. 'Whom did you give it to?'

'Constance!' The word came out she hardly knew how, as something which at least was true. Colonel Mohun knocked at the door of the room she had come from. It was instantly opened, and Miss Hacket began, 'The poor dear! Can I get anything for her, I am sure it is a terrible shock!' and as he stood, astonished, Gillian added, 'Oh! I see it isn't that. We were afraid it was something about Uncle Maurice.'

'No, my dear, no such thing. Only would Miss Constance Hacket be kind enough to come here a minute?'

'Oh! My apron! My fingers! Excuse me for being such a figure!' Constance ran on, as Colonel Mohun made her come across to the room opposite, where she looked about her in amazement. Was the stranger a publisher about to make her an offer for the 'Waif of the Moorland.' But Dolores's down-cast attitude and set, sullen face forbade the idea.

'Miss Constance Hacket,' said the colonel, 'here is an uncomfortable matter in which we want your assistance. Will you kindly answer a question or two from Mr. Ellis, the manager of the .... Bank?'

Then the manager politely asked her if she had seen the cheque before.

'Yes—why—what's wrong about it? Oh! It is for seventy! Why, Dolores, I thought it was only for seven?'

'It was for seven when you parted with it, then, Miss Hacket,' said the manager; 'let me ask whether you changed it yourself?'

'No,' she said, 'I sent it to—' and there she came to a dead pause, in alarm.

'Did you send it to Mr. Alfred Flinders?' said Mr. Ellis.

'Yes—oh!' another little scream, 'He can't have done it. He can't be such a villain! Your own uncle, Dolores.'

'He is no uncle of Dolores Mohun!' said the colonel. 'He is only the son of her mother's step-mother by her first marriage.'

'Oh, Dolores, then you deceived me!' exclaimed Constance; 'you told me he was your own uncle, or I would never—and oh! my fifteen pounds. Where is he?'

'That, madam,' said Mr. Ellis, gravely, 'I hope the police may discover. He has quitted Darminster after having cashed this cheque for seventy pounds. We have already telegraphed to the police to be on the look out for him, but I much fear that it will be too late.'

'Oh! my fifteen pounds! What shall I do? Oh, Dolores, how could you? I shall never trust any one again!'

Perhaps Uncle Reginald felt the same, but he only darted a look upon his niece, which she felt in every nerve, though to his eyes she only stood hard and stolid. The manager, who found Constance's torrent of words as hard to deal with as Dolores's silence, asked for pen and ink, and begged to take down Miss Hacket's statement to lay before a magistrate in case of Flinders's apprehension. It was not very easy to keep her to the point, especially as her chief interest was in her own fifteen pounds, of which Mr. Ellis only would say that she could prosecute the man for obtaining money on false pretences, and this she trusted meant getting it back again. As to the cheque in question, she told how Dolores had entrusted it to her to send to her supposed uncle, Mr. Flinders, to whom it had been promised the day they went to Darminster, and she was quite ready to depose that when it left her hands, it was only for seven pounds.

This was all that the bank manager wanted. He thanked her, told Colonel Mohun they should hear from him, and went off in a hurry, both to communicate with the police, and to leave the young ladies to be dealt with by their friends, who, he might well suppose, would rather that he removed himself.

'Put on your hat, Dolores,' said Colonel Mohun, gravely; 'you had better come home with me! Miss Hacket, excuse me, but I am afraid I must ask whether you have been assisting in a correspondence between my niece and this Flinders?'

'Oh! Colonel Mohun, you will believe me, I was quite deceived. Dolores represented that he was her uncle, to whom she was much attached, and that Lady Merrifield separated her from him out of mere family prejudice.'

'I am afraid you have paid dearly for your sympathy,' said the colonel. 'It certainly led you far when you assisted your friend to deceive the aunt who trusted you with her.'

The movement that was taking place seemed like licence to that roomful, burning with curiosity to break out. Mysie was running after Dolores to ask if she could do anything for her, but Colonel Mohun called her back with 'Not now, Mysie.' Miss Hacket came forward with agitated hopes that nothing was amiss, and, at sight of her, Constance collapsed quite. 'Oh, Mary,' she cried out, 'I have been so deceived! Oh! that man!' and she sunk upon a chair in a violent fit of crying, which alarmed Miss Hacket so dreadfully that she looked imploringly up to Colonel Mohun. He had meant to have left Miss Constance to explain, but he saw it was necessary to relieve the poor elder sister's mind from worse fears by saying, 'I am afraid it is my niece who deceived her, by leading her into forwarding letters and money to a person who calls himself a relation. He seems to have been guilty of a forgery, which may have unpleasant consequences. Children, I think you had better follow us home.'

Dolores had come down by this time, and Colonel Mohun walked home, at some paces from her, very much as if he had been guarding a criminal under arrest. Poor Uncle Reginald! He had put such absolute trust in the two answers she had made him in the morning; and had been so sure of her good faith, that when the manager brought word that the cheque had been traced to Flinders, who had absconded, he still held that it was a barefaced forgery, entirely due to Flinders himself, and that Dolores could show that she had no knowledge of it, and he had gone down in the fly expecting to come home triumphant, and confute his sister Jane, who persisted in being mournfully sagacious. And he was indignant in proportion to the confidence he had misplaced; grieved, too, for his brother's sake, and absolutely ashamed.

Once he asked, when they were within the paddock, out of the way of meeting any one, 'Have you nothing to say to me, Dolores?'

It was not said in a manner to draw out an answer, and she made none at all.

Again he spoke, as they came near the house:

'You had better go up to your room at once. I do not know how to think of the blow this will be to your father.'

It was so entirely what Dolores was thinking of, that it seemed to her barbarous to tell her of it In fact she was stunned, scarcely understanding what had happened, and too proud and miserable to ask for an explanation, for had not every one turned against her, even Uncle Reginald and Constance—and what had happened to that cheque?

She did not see Uncle Reginald turn into the drawing-room, and letting himself drop despairingly into an armchair, say, 'Well, Jane, you were right, more's the pity!'

'She really gave him the cheque!'

'Yes, but at least it was only for seven. The rascal himself must have altered it into seventy. She and the other girl both agree as to that. There's been a clandestine correspondence going on with that scamp ever since she has been here, under cover to that precious friend of hers— that Hacket girl.'

'Ah! you warned me, Jenny,' said Lady Merrifield 'But I'm quite sure Miss Hacket knew nothing of it'

'I don't suppose she did. She seemed struck all of a heap. Any way they've quarrelled now; the other one has turned King's evidence—has lost some money too, and says Dolores deceived her. She's deceived every one all round, that's the fact. Why she told me two flat lies this very morning—lies—there's no other name for it. What will you do with her, Lily?'

'I don't know,' said Lady Merrifield, utterly shocked, and recollecting, but not mentioning, the falsehood told to her about the note. Lord Rotherwood said, 'Poor child,' and Colonel Mohun groaned, 'Poor Maurice.'

'Then she did go to Darminster?' said Miss Mohun.

'Yes; that came out from this Miss Constance, who seems to have been properly taken in about some publishing trash. Serve her right! But it seems Dolores beguiled her with stories about her dear uncle in distress. We left her nearly in hysterics, and I told the children to come away.'

'What does Dolores say?' asked Jane.

'Nothing! I could not get a word out of her after the first surprise at the alteration of the cheque. Not a word nor a tear. She is as hard—as hard as a bit of stone.'

'Really,' said Lady Merrifield, 'I can't help thinking there's a good deal of excuse for her.'

'What? That poor Maurice's wife was half a heathen, and afterwards the girl was left to chance?' said Colonel Mohun. 'I see no other. And you, Lily, are the last person I should expect to excuse untruth.'