The Pillars of the House; Or, Under Wode, Under Rode, Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Charlotte M. Yonge

K. T.

---

'So black of hue,
With orange tawny Bill.'
Midsummer Night's Dream.

---

The town-hall at Ewmouth was a good fifteenth-century building. The common herd sat on chairs and gazed at the speakers behind the table on the dais. There were the Lord Lieutenant and the local peer (he with whom Clement would not dine), Sir Vesey Hammond, and Mr. Welsh, together with Geraldine's old acquaintance, Lord de Vigny, who was sure to turn up at every sort of dilettante gathering in the kingdom, made words on the benefits of local research, and compliments on local hospitality; and then some wise man gave an excellent compendious sketch of the history of the city and neighbourhood, notifying the connection of the spots it was intended to visit, beginning with the Castle that very afternoon. Meantime there was not much opportunity for greetings; people were all in rows on the same level, looking into the fabrics on the crania of their neighbours in front.

'That's the way with ladies,' said William Harewood; 'they'll go anywhere to see one another's bonnets. That's the real point, whatever the excuse may be.'

The remark was made in all good humour. Everything had been smooth all these ten days. Had not Robina copied out his whole essay in her beautiful clear script, and tied it up with purple ribbons? Had she not toiled early and late at effective shaded diagrams of his father's seals? had she not listened intelligently to his own supplemental lecture on the unconscious poetry those queer devices expressed? and had she not rescued an important letter of his from the slit in Clement's S.P.G. box, which he was always taking for the post?

The lecture over, there was a dispersion to lunch at various houses or hotels. The Underwoods were of Mrs. Welsh's party, where Geraldine was made much of under Lady Hammond's kind protection, and Robina remained in enviable obscurity at a side-table. Lady Hammond's age obliged her to ascend to the Castle afterwards in her carriage, and she insisted on taking her lame young friend with her. Every one else walked—Robina with her brother and Will, for both the Major and his father had fallen in with old acquaintance and gone their own way.

Other parties debouched from other streets; and as Robina climbed the Castle hill, she was aware of Lord Ernest de la Poer in the act of greeting her.

'You here!' she exclaimed.

'I am at Eweford with Milwright.'

'But your reading!'

'Here I am, improving my mind.'

'Hardly in the needful manner.'

'Nay, but why is this holiday month to be all play and no work to every one but dis here unlucky nigger?'

'You've not earned the right to play.'

'Nor ever shall at home. You know what a farce it is to "call it either work or play."'

Felix did not wholly like the tone of this dialogue, but just then a brother of the press entreated a few moments' conversation. It was to ask for a recommendation, which he was now in a condition to give; and he was obliged to leave his sister to Will's care, intending speedily to overtake her.

Meanwhile, Lord Ernest went on, with somewhat less of reserve, 'Now I put it to you, which is which under the K.T. influence—Greek or croquet?'

'The last is not her influence.'

'No, nor her nature, but her uncle's drill into complaisance. She is a victim to filial piety, and drags me to the same shrine.'

'Just what she does not want to do.'

'No, but now you are gone, the games would never end if one didn't get her through a hoop occasionally.'

Robina averted her head, for there was a general halt and a silence, and a voice made itself heard, explaining that here was the Roman masonry.

The Castle was a large place, containing the county hall, and having likewise a small garrison of artillery to take care of the sea defences, on which modern science had of late been busy. The lecturer led his flock literally from pillar to post, stopping to expound all points of interest, and handing round drawings and photographs. There was nothing to do but to follow, and hope to fall in with some of the others. Of Geraldine there was no hope; old Sir Vesey had tucked her under his vigorous arm as soon as she stepped out of the carriage; Lord de Vigny had claimed her as an acquaintance, and her lameness gave her brevet rank for the nonce, for she was thrust into the forefront among the dames of high estate, and had a near view of everything. Felix had vanished; and Will, whose arm would have been very convenient to Robina in the throng, hung a little aloof, wearing an almost quaintly desperate air of surliness, while Lord Ernest hovered close, speaking to her at every pause in the lecture.

This uncomfortable trio were far in the rear, and a good deal jostled about, without very clear ideas where they were going or what they were seeing. Now it was along a moat; now out on a rampart with a green slope open to the sea, a very living looking cannon in the embrasures; now gazing up to a machicolated turret, then dragged up its spiral stair to be handed out on a leaden roof, and get a grand view, and a general impression that one of the King Henrys had done something there; then diving down to a doleful dungeon, where somebody had been starved to death, but as it was not true, it did not signify who it was. Such were all the ideas that Robina or either of her cavaliers could have given of their perambulation of Ewmouth Castle. It was lucky for the Pursuivant that they were not its caterers.

By the time she had ascended a dusky stair into the great hall of columns, which had never been a chapel, Robina found that the tour was ended, and moreover that Will—as well as all the rest—had been lost in the throng, and that no one was near whom she knew but Ernest de la Poer.

'I wonder where they all are!'

'We had better stand near the door,' he answered; 'they must pass this way.'

They waited while the stream of people flowed past; and when an acquaintance came, who was going to shake hands with Robina's companion as one of the many brothers, she piteously asked for tidings of her party.

'I saw Miss Underwood in Lady Hammond's carriage at the other door.'

'That accounts for it,' said Lord Ernest; 'I saw there was an eddy in the flood. Shall we go across?'

The move was a relief, and Robina hoped to find Felix waiting for her at the other door, for the hall was emptying fast, and they were the last to make their exit by the opposite porch. Not only were the carriages gone, but the foot-passengers; and the policemen were shutting the doors behind them, so that there was no returning across the hall.

'I will go round to the High Street again,' said Robina. 'Some of them will be sure to come back to look for me.'

'Where did you have luncheon? Will not they be there?'

'At Mr. Welsh's; but I don't think we were to go back there. We were to get in at the inn where the carriage was to be put up, only I don't know the name of it. My brother drove there after setting us down.'

Lord Ernest applied to a policeman for the name and locality of the principal stables. 'The Antelope,' he said; but it proved to be in the opposite direction to Mr. Welsh's, and so distant that Robina doubted whether Felix could have gone thither. She begged not to delay her companion; and he answered, as she knew he would, that he was quite at her service; indeed, she was quite at her ease so far as he was personally concerned, and if it had been any other town in the kingdom except perhaps Bexley, Oxford, or Minsterham, she would sooner have trusted to him in a difficulty than to any one whose name did not end with wood. He was too considerate to worry her with talking during the quick walk, and with some difficulty he caught a busy ostler, who averred that Mr. Underwood's carriage had not been there at all—no, not the horse, which he knew perfectly well. He evidently thought the new Squire's family rightly served for deserting their ancient haunt, and he ran away instead of answering whether there were other yards nearer Mr. Welsh's.

Nothing remained but to retrace their steps up the steep High Street that climbed the Castle cliff, meeting many a load of happy people who had found their carriages. Presently they came full on Mrs. Fulbert Underwood, who had been one of the callers in the last week, but who would have passed without recognition, but for Robina's despairing entreaty, 'Could you tell me where our carriage can be put up?'

'What! Rosina Underwood! I am surprised!'

'I have missed the others in the crowd at the Castle. I thought I should have met them at the Antelope, but our carriage has not been there.'

'We always put up at the Antelope,' said Mrs. Underwood; 'there may be inferior stables, but I do not know them. I have not been to all this lecturing—I don't like such things for ladies; but I can go round by Vale Leston, and set you down.'

'No, thank you. I could walk if that were all, only I must find the others, for they will not go without me.'

'Oh! if you are better off—I did not see that you had a beau. Mr. Harewood?'

'No,' said Robin, in her fiercest straightforwardness, 'Lord Ernest de la Poer. You know I am his sisters' governess. He is kindly helping me to find my brother and sister.'

'Oh! I leave you in good hands. Good-bye. If I meet any of your party, I will mention that I have seen you.'

Robina had been reddening all the afternoon. She was crimson now, but she was resolved not to make things worse by visible discomposure.

'Who was that obliging lady?' asked Lord Ernest.

'The last Mr. Underwood's daughter-in-law,' said Robin, so angry as to disclaim connection as much as possible; 'perhaps one is well off to have only one odd sort of relation.'

'I see a man who dined with Milwright yesterday,' exclaimed Lord Ernest. 'He may not be above all inns but the Antelope.'

He charged across the street, and brought back intelligence of a Fox's Brush in Castle Street, and of a short cut through a narrow alley and the churchyard; but there seemed risk of another miss, and besides, something like a waggonette was discerned near the top of the hill. It proved to be a break full of strangers; and by that time Robina, though bravely breasting the hill, was so tired and breathless that Lord Ernest offered his arm, but was refused with a certain weary sharpness.

At last the corner of Castle Street afforded a view of another hopeful looking vehicle a good way down; and at the same moment, Felix, very pink, hurried up from one quarter, and Will Harewood, fiery red, dashed down from another.

Felix had been to the Antelope by the by-street, and had met Mrs. Fulbert, then had posted after to overtake them; Willie had been all round the Castle, trying every gate in vain; Mr. Harewood was on the quest in another direction.

Robina thanked her escort, Felix did so more coldly, Willie gave a savage little bow, and they parted. Cherry was waiting in the waggonette, with the Major, who might not be overwalked, sitting on the box, holding the horse; and as Will was about to plunge after his father, Cherry called, 'Pray put on your hat! you look like a mad hatter instead of the March hare.'

'Enough to drive one mad,' muttered Will, sharply, pulling his hat nearly down to his eye-brows, and disappearing just as his father came soberly back from inquiry at Mr. Welsh's.

This time it was decided to drive down the High Street—always a slow operation, since it required a drag; and Felix left the reins in John's more practised hands, through the difficult navigation. They drew up at sight of Will in confabulation with Mrs. Fulbert, not much to the improvement of the serenity of his manner as he bestowed himself within the vehicle. Geraldine begun taking all the blame on her own bad chaperonage, and pitying Robina for being heated and tired.

'Well she may!' said Will, 'after galloping all over the place with that donkey.'

'A four-legged donkey might have been convenient,' said Cherry, laughing; 'but how came you to be left to him? I thought you safe with the Squire.'

'The Squire was called off to speak to some one,' said Robina.

'And I am afraid you were remiss, William,' said the Librarian.

'She seemed well satisfied,' he growled.

'I think you forget yourself,' said his father, gravely, as if his first-class son were still a little boy. The most courteous of men himself, he was always trying to teach manners to his family, but had egregiously failed excepting with the Major.

That Robina's adventure was relished by no one, might be gathered from the fact that none of the five alluded to it, and no objection was made when she came down the next morning in a stay-at-home garb, and announced her intention of remaining to assist in preparing for 'the spread' of Wednesday.

Cherry could not help remembering Wilmet's allegation that Robina was apt to attach much importance to ordinary attention; but at least if there were an error, it was on the side of precaution; and Cherry had so many qualms of conscience at taking her pleasure and devolving the trouble on Wilmet, that she was glad to leave so effective an assistant.

The day's entertainment was Mr. Harewood's lecture and another in the morning, and then a sort of picnic at the Roman villa. Lord Ernest found the Vale Leston party out, and Cherry thought he looked a little blank; but he took to cultivating her, and in the absence of her more distinguished cavaliers, made himself very pleasant, though she discerned that he cared not a rush for its baths and mosaic pavements; but she liked him so much, and thought him so genuinely kind and attentive, as to acquit him of all but humane courtesy to his sisters' governess, only hoping Robina so understood it.

That night Felix was dutifully writing his summary of the proceedings of the day, when a knock came to his study door, and as his boding soul anticipated, it was the prelude to Robina's entrance. With a solemn directness, not unlike that when she had dealt the death-blow to his early dream, she thus addressed him: 'Brother, are you very busy, or can you speak to me?'

He felt a cold dismay, and only said, 'Well!'

'It hardly seems right even to tell you, but I have this letter, and I want you to help me.'

'A letter!'

'Troublesome ass!' was at the tip of his tongue, but he was thankful it had gone no further, when Robina answered, 'Yes, from Lady de la Poer, and from Grace. You brought them from the second post.'

'You are in no scrape, I trust?' he said, somewhat relieved, but not enough for warmth or encouragement.

'Not that I know of,' said Robina, 'though I don't know whether I shall be able to go back after this.' And the tears came into her eyes.

'And what is this?' said Felix. 'Don't be afraid to tell me, my dear; I know you mean honestly.'

She seemed to have some difficulty in beginning, and finally put a note with a coroneted cipher into his hand. He read—

MY DEAR MISS UNDERWOOD,

I hope you are in full enjoyment at home. I believe Grace keeps you fully informed of the doings here, so I will not waste time over the wherefore of the inquiry I feel constrained to make—among other reasons, to satisfy myself of the children's truth. Cecil has told Lady Caergwent, on Susan's authority, that his brother Ernest told you that K (or C) T were the two most troublesome letters of the alphabet, an unmitigated bore except in cricket. As you know, Susan always holds fast to Cecil; and for their sakes we trust to you to tell us what was said or misunderstood. We should, of course, apply to Ernest himself, but he went on Thursday to the Ballford cricket-match, and we do not know how soon he will return: otherwise I should not disturb your holiday. Susie and Annie seem lost without you; and I rather suspect that idleness was in this case the mother of mischief, though some foundation there must have been, and I am sure you will let me clearly understand what it was.

Yours very sincerely,
FRANCES DE LA POER.

Felix drew a long breath; then smiled, and asked, 'What does it all mean?'

'Don't you see? K T. Katie—Lady Caergwent.'

'And did you really receive this extraordinary confidence?'

'Not quite like that.'

'Is this your Countess in her own right, who was said to be engaged to one of the De la Poers?'

'To Lord Ernest, yes;' and to Felix's satisfaction, there was no shrinking from his eye—she looked clear and innocent. 'The slip you sent me from that paper was altogether impertinent and premature. There is no engagement yet, but there is to be.'

'In spite of this opinion about the letters of the alphabet?'

'That is no more than one of Bear's growls. You must know, Lady Caergwent is an odd girl. She is only twenty, very clever at any headwork, but curiously childish about anything real. Her uncle and aunt, with whom she lives, were obliged to go abroad with Mrs. Umfraville's sick brother; and she is a ward in Chancery, and could not go, so she has been at Repworth all the summer. I believe the elders have settled it. Colonel Umfraville says if she does not marry young she will never marry at all.'

'Are you in his confidence too?'

'No, but Lord de la Poer talks to Lord Repworth, and he tells Grace. They are all open-hearted; and, except Lady Fanny, none of them can help talking.'

'Well, I didn't know mariages de convenance went on still.'

'No, indeed; they really like each other. No one could doubt it some time ago, when they were not thinking about it; and there is a sort of understanding that it will be, though it is not to come on formally till he has done with Oxford. Well, that understanding has spoilt every one's comfort.'

'I should think so!'

'Will you not see, Felix, that they really care for one another, only he is a little ashamed of the good match, and its all being made up for them. Then this summer has been unlucky: he was to read with Mr. Crichton, the Curate, a very clever man, a friend of Lord Repworth, who teaches Cecil and some of the girls Latin.'

'Is he married?'

'Oh dear yes!'

'Then he is a K T?'

'Twice over, by name and nature. It would have done very well for Lord Ernest to read with him, as he did last year, if they had been let alone. Not that Lady Caergwent wants to interrupt. Her uncle has taught her a good deal of those kind of things; indeed, she spurred Adelaide up to it, and only wanted to work with her and her brother.'

'Spurring leads to recalcitration—eh?'

'If you would only understand. She is not at all what you are fancying. She is a sort of intense child. She is slight and feminine, a great coward, as nervously excitable as Cherry, and showing it more, so that her eagerness quite overdoes people. Then, she is very shy, and so much hates to take the initiative, that people think her proud and ungracious. I soon found the only way to set her at her ease was to behave as if we were two girls on equal terms. It is so provoking, when she has just been the life of the whole schoolroom, to see her shrivel up as if a stranger was a blight—especially a shy one. And the more she makes a conscience of being agreeable, the worse it is, for the nervous fright paralyzes her. There never was any one with so little presence of mind. She can't get on without being under somebody's wing. And another unlucky thing is that she has no dexterity of hand, and hates all games that turn on it, like croquet. There's no keeping out of them, for there is a garden-party at Repworth to all the neighbours every Tuesday in the summer; and there would be quite a fuss among the natives if Lady Caergwent did not show herself. I believe her uncle put her under a solemn promise not to sit in the pollard in the park with Addy all the afternoon. So she plays like a martyr, infinitely worse than among ourselves, and some one always has to get her through to end the affair. The last day before I came home I had stayed in with little Susan, who was upset with the heat, and had been naughty enough to be kept in as a sort of sedative penance. I thought she was asleep on her board when Lord Ernest came in. Now, Lady Caergwent had been all the morning poking out some dates and marking some books she knew he would want; and she had left them with me for him to take when he came in for the two hours' reading he always was to take before dinner, and which she never let him off. If I had seen at first how hot and fuming he was with the bother first of her croquet and then of her hints, I should have put off executing my commission; but unluckily I gave my message, and he broke out, "Crichton, croquet, (pronouncing the t,) K T for ever—the most intolerable conjunction in the alphabet—nothing tolerable spelt with them." I laughed, and said, "Is cricket in that category?" and he answered, "The only one that is not an unmitigated bore."'

'But, Robin, what would Wilmet say to your having him gossipping in your schoolroom?'

'It is not my schoolroom, it is Miss Oswald's, and the brothers are all tame about her like their sisters. Indeed, this was a mere accident; and when I found he meant to stay and grumble, I made an excuse about looking for Annie, and left him. Now hear what Grace says:—

"We have an awkward mess just now, and I hope you can help us out of it. You know how Papa dislikes that cricket mania which makes playing at a match a sort of public duty, to which everything is to be sacrificed; and how the boys say he would not mind if Colonel Umfraville had not worked him up. At any rate, as it was understood that Ernest was reading, and could not play in matches, the Breretons need not have summoned him fiery-cross fashion to their Oxford eleven. Kate broke out in the middle of breakfast, that it was a great shame, and she hated bondage; and he was provoked to answer, 'So did he.' Mamma hushed it down; but Kate's blood was up, and she never knows when to let a thing alone, so she hunted him into a corner after breakfast, and argued with him; and you know no man could stand that."

'No, indeed,' said Felix. 'It is quite enough to have to marry a Countess!'

'Don't, Felix! If you could only see the slight clinging thing! It all comes of her eager faith in her uncle. It is imploring, not domineering.'

'Well, go on; was that what drove him here?'

'Gracie goes on—

"They must have been very near a quarrel, for she rushed off, and unluckily came full pelt upon Papa. She did not speak, but he had seen tears in her eyes, and that brought it to a crisis. He accused Ernest of trifling with her, and amusing himself with everybody else; and Ernest made some answer that I am afraid was very foolish, and went off to Ballford. I met him in the hall, and he said things were past endurance, he should like to enlist as a private soldier, and he did not know when he was coming home, but I thought he only meant whether it would be Saturday or Monday. Kate was vexed, but would not show it; and when she found Cecil dawdling in a fit of the nothing-to-does, she suggested some sensible employment, and that exasperated him into telling her Ernest had gone away because he said that all K Ts were horrible. I don't think Kate would have mentioned it; but she turned white, and Addy was there, and was furious with Cecil, and it came to such a row that Mamma came in. Cecil stood out that Susie heard him say it to you, and Susan added that it was because Kate is so tiresome at croquet, and set him such a long lesson. Mamma thought she should have it out with him if she went to fetch him home from Ballford and had him all to herself; but when she came there, he was gone, and none of the Breretons could tell where. I fancy it may be to Eweford, for Mr. Milwright wanted both him and Repworth for his ecclesiological meeting. If you see him, pray talk to him and send him home, for Kate has been in great trouble about it, laying the blame on herself, (as well she may,) and she has actually written to her other uncle, Mr. Wardour, to propose going to him. It is very horrid. Papa feels keenly that she has been—what he calls insulted in his house by his sons; and yet we can't do much, because—oh why is she not only Kate Umfraville? The light is gone out of her brown eyes, and she looks as she did before the Colonel came home. She wants to be too proud to show it to us, but there is no pride in her, and she can't act it. If you could only get at that boy and send him home, it would all come right. There's the whole story: I hope it will not spoil your pleasure; but if you have a scrap of time, write, and comfort your poor loving

G. DE LA P."'

There was an odd look in Felix's face as he said, 'Poor young man!'

'It is too bad of him!' said Robina, hotly.

'And are you armed with a long whip to send him back to his Countess and his book?'

'Please, Felix, be in earnest! It is a serious matter.'

'Because it concerns such exalted personages.'

'No,' said Robina, the tears burning in her eyes, 'because Grace is my friend, and Kate Caergwent a dear bright girl, who must not have her life spoilt—nor he either. Felix, you never were unfeeling before!'

'Have you let them know where to find their truant?'

'I had begun a letter this morning, but had no time to finish.'

'But you can give your evidence on the K T case by to-morrow's post.'

'Yes, if you can get my letter to Ewmouth before nine o'clock.'

'I will take care of that; and then you will have done all that ought to be expected of you.'

'Oh! I must speak to Lord Ernest.'

'Really, Robina, I am so thankful to see you so well out of the scrape that I don't see why you should thrust yourself into it. Surely, when the boy's parents know where to find him, they are competent to act.'

'Don't you see, they will not get my letter till the day after to-morrow, and by that time Lady Caergwent will have gone. Now, if he would only go back to-morrow of his own accord, it would have a much better grace. Why do you laugh, Felix?'

'I profess not to understand lords and ladies,' said Felix, recovering his gravity; 'but I doubt the effectiveness of the remonstrance, and I greatly fear your burning your own fingers.'

'There's no fear of that,' she said, with dignity. 'It is a duty to friends who are dearer and kinder to me than any one here believes!' And the tears started on her cheeks.

'Of your duty you are the best judge. I see you must have been discreet, to have earned so much affection and confidence. I own I should have thought the fewer who meddled in such a concern the better! and that—though I daresay it is very shocking—there was something rather wholesome in the poor boy's exertion of free will.' He was near laughing, the whole affair struck him as so ludicrous, especially Robina's look of dismay.

'Oh! His sisters! Lady Caergwent! His mother, and all! Oh no! If I don't try my utmost to get him home, I should feel treacherous—as if I were encouraging him here.'

'Honestly, do you think your being here has anything to do with his coming?'

'N—no! At least, I think the sight of you all so bright and pleasant at the station put it into his head. He is very much amused with Angela; but—oh no! I am certain he does not come after any one—least of all me!'

'There is one person who seems to think otherwise, if I may judge from his manner,' said Felix, tentatively.

'It is very unjust and unfair!' cried Robina, flaming up. 'He ought to know and trust me better. I will not heed such unworthy fancies. A son of the house, indeed! He ought to know that if there were no other reason, I should think it dishonourable.'

'Yet was it not on that account that you stayed at home to-day?'

'Yes,' she said more softly; 'but that ought to content him. I cannot give up a duty for unworthy suspicions.' And her neck bridled, and her eyes shone with hurt dignity through her tears.

'Well, Robina, you know best. You understand your own affairs, I suppose, and I see you are really trying to act rightly and honourably. I will give you any opportunity I can of speaking to this youth, though, for your own sake, I should strongly advise your only giving him his mother's letter, and letting it speak for itself.'

Robina shook her head. It was useless to argue it further. Like a woman, and a young woman, she was resolved to run all risks in her friend's cause, deeming it ignoble to make any concession to William's unfounded jealousy, and not appreciating Felix's doubts of any young man, especially one in a chafing refractory mood, going back to the yoke at the behest of his sisters' governess.

Felix did not like it at all, but he was always slow to act where he did not understand his ground; and the tone of the two letters showed such confidence in Robina, that he felt that her prudence might be trusted; while as to William Harewood, an unrecognised engagement did not deserve consideration from the family.

So he kept her counsel, and let things take their course, on the busy confused morning that preluded the first attempt of the family at an entertainment.

Breakfast was enlivened by a discussion whether precedence was to be respected, and next what that precedence was. 'Ought the Baron, or the Marquis's younger son, to come first and take Miss Underwood?'

'The Baron, I hope,' said Cherry. 'Old men are twice as nice as young ones, though your friend is very pleasant, Bobbie. Which is it to be? You are the experienced one.'

'Not I,' said Robina. 'Of course I don't dine late, and they go into luncheon nohow, as I should say was the best way here. Let Felix take Lady Hammond, and leave the rest to settle it. Depend upon it, they know their places better than we do.'

'"Ladies and Gentlemen, sort yourselves," as the parson said, when he had married five couple all at one go,' said Bernard.

'Don't they sometimes stick in the door-way curtseying? They do in books,' said Cherry.

'Not out of them,' said Robin. 'If there is a choice, I think age gets it more than actual rank.'

'There's nothing Lord Ernest hates like dowagers,' cried Angela, 'when all the jolly girls are out of reach.'

'What do you know about it, Angela?' said Felix, rather sharply.

'I've heard him say so twenty times. We are prodigious allies, and it was very sly of Robin never to tell me he was coming. Bear and I would have got up Dobby for his special edification.'

'You will do no such thing, for him or any one else!' broke forth in displeasure from Felix.

Angela shrugged her shoulders. 'Our Squire has grown very peremptory since he came to his kingdom,' she said; and perhaps he thought so, for he said to her at a quiet moment, 'Angela, perhaps I should have given you credit for not meaning what you said. You must know the impropriety of playing tricks on our guests, more especially when concerned with the world of spirits.'

The words appealed to the more accessible side of her nature, and she was silent. He considered whether to warn her about Lord Ernest, but was deciding that it would only excite her to further mischief, when he was summoned to admire the preparations that had absorbed the home party all the previous day.

The screen, a high wooden carved one, entirely cut off the end of the long room appropriated to the household prayers. The long table was laid with the fine old damask, the wealth of plate, glass, and old china, to which the substantial cold viands, and the jellies and creams, compounded by Wilmet and her ingenious Krishnu, were now to be added. The only failure had been in the unlimited lobsters, which had been all absorbed by Ewmouth itself; but then, Marilda, hearing all about it from Lance on his way through London, had actually sent them last night two venison pasties and a grouse pie, ready made, besides a great deal of her best fruit.

All stood admiring except Geraldine, who cried, 'Oh, that big epergne! Oh, those dahlias! They are just like a pincushion, or Protheroe's window! Stella—Bear—Bobbie—for pity's sake get me some fuchsias—traveller's joy, Bougainvillia—anything trailing—and I'll get a little of the stiffness out before Wilmet comes, and then she'll never find it out! And where's my salt-cellar? Oh for Lance!'

When Wilmet came upon the scene, she found Cherry seated as the centre-piece on the table, contending with the difficulties of adorning without concealing the curious old salt, the table-cloth bestrewn with green leaves and fallen fuchsia bells, and the epergne, the triumph of her art, the subject of her distant admiration at the last dinner party of the olden time, (Clement's christening feast,) relegated to a much inferior station, its formal glories of purple and crimson quilled dahlias obscured by loose streamers of passion-flower and hoary clematis.

Other people besides Robina had something to bear that day, but there was nothing in which John's influence was more shown than in the mutual forbearance of Wilmet and Geraldine. The latter took the initiative with a torrent of thanks and apologies; and Wilmet, remembering whose house it was, submitted with a good grace, and concealed her vexation by hurrying to the kitchen to take the jellies out of their moulds. There at least she was supreme. Martha was only too glad to have her to sympathize with her new glories, and for her sake could even bear with 'that there blackamore chap.'

Robina, in a nearly sleepless night, had decided on giving William a word or two of explanation as to her having a message from home for Lord Ernest; but in the rush after flowers, Angela had carried Bill off to rob a wisteria of its second bloom, and by the time they came back, Felix was hurrying his party into the waggonette.

Only the gentlemen went; the ladies had enough to do at home, since it was only too true that Cherry's improvements had doubled their work, and she felt herself the more graceless that she could not run about to supply the labour she had created. Indeed, all were watching lest she should overtire herself; but she was one of those who never feel weariness while excitement lasts.

The last jelly was scarcely in its place, the last wine-glass adjusted, when Angela announced a carriage turning over the bridge; and the long approach up the lane, and down the drive enabled Cherry, by the united efforts of her sisters, to cast her housewifely slough, don her white dress and mauve ribbons, and seat herself in the drawing-room, with Clement as her supporter.

Luckily Cherry had never been afraid of people, and she faced the inroad with great composure. This proved to be only the advanced guard, namely, Mr. Milwright, bringing Lord Ernest and a fellow ecclesiologist with whom he wanted to hold a private discussion over the fragments of a shrine in the south transept; and Clement went to show his discoveries.

So cruelly were opportunities wasted, that Robina was in the far end of the west wing, dressing herself and Angela, while Lord Ernest was having a twenty minutes tête-à-tête with Cherry, whom he consulted as to joining Will Harewood's reading party, and told her that the Vale Leston choir was renowned as the best in the neighbourhood; and that old Milwright, being unable to go in out-and-out for the mediæval, let things alone, and was content with two fiddles and a flute. Wherefore he should walk from Eweford on the ensuing Sunday, to this—simply the most charming place he had ever seen. Whereupon Miss Underwood innocently invited him to luncheon between the services.

Robina could only come down just as Felix returned, immediately followed by the whole multitude, exceeding the expectations of the family so much, that Marilda's pasties were a comfortable reflection, and Wilmet's imagination fell to reckoning knives and forks. Places at the table must be hopeless for many; and when Felix, in desperation, offered an arm to Lady Hammond, he left a chaos behind which he hoped would, as Bernard said, 'sort itself.'

People must have been quite as curious about the Underwoods as about their Priory, for the most improbable guests had come, even the undesirable peer, whose earldom complicated matters. He assumed, however, that the eldest and handsomest bonnetless lady must be her of the house, and accordingly gave his arm to Mrs. Harewood; Lord de Vigny, who knew better, took his old acquaintance, Miss Underwood, and dipped her once more in the dear old world of art; the others paired somehow, and, as Robina had foreseen, Lord Ernest left himself behind with the common herd, who, after the seats at the long table were occupied, betook themselves to the cushioned embrasures of the windows, and to catering for themselves at the side-board, where, happily, there was no lack of supplies. It was great fun, and Angela agreed with Lord Ernest in pronouncing it so much jollier than a wedding-breakfast, as there were no wretched victims to be turned off. If there were any victims, one was Robina, who was penned up in a corner by Mr. Henry Shaw, doing his best to be polite; and the other was Will, who had on his hands two ladies, a gushing mother and daughter, who had just discovered him to be the author of those delicious songs, signed March Hare!

The discourse, the occasion of all, began in the long room, Mr. Milwright taking up station after station, while people herded round to look at what he pointed out. This tour must be Robina's opportunity. There were a good many stragglers from the troop of listeners; and among them was Angela, keeping close to Lord Ernest, and delighted to take him on a counter round, displaying all the charms of her new home.

This Robina had expected. She knew that it might be said that the two young Miss Underwoods were running after that young man, and she wanted to speak as soon as possible, to put an end to the pursuit. So when Angela had led him to a shed where resided an owl captured in the church tower, she took the bull by the horns. 'Angel, I have a message from Repworth to deliver. I must ask you to leave us a little while.' And she opened the door leading into the walled kitchen garden. Angela shrugged her shoulders, but fell back.

'And so you have betrayed me? Could not you let a poor fellow breathe a little free air for once in his life?'

'Read that!' was all her answer.

The effect of his mother's letter resembled that on Felix; he burst out laughing, much more unreservedly exclaiming, 'Well done, Cecy!'

'But it is not what you said!'

'Wasn't it? Then my words fell short of my thoughts. What was it the King of France said when he had got away from captivity or Catherine de Medici (his K Ts, you see)—"I am yet a man and a brother."'

'Please don't make light of it. Grace is in such distress.'

'There generally is a commotion when a prisoner breaks loose. I thought better of you, Miss Underwood, than to suppose you a detective in disguise.'

'I only want you to realize how wrong it is that you should be here.'

'I assure you it is all for the family honour. Tout est perdu fors l'honneur.—That was the fellow's sentiment—wasn't it?'

'I don't see the application.'

'Don't you? Sha'n't I be ploughed to a dead certainty if I go on trying to carry this on at home!' said Lord Ernest, much more seriously. 'How about l'honneur then?'

Robina could not deny the danger, and knew not how to answer. He saw his advantage, and pursued it. 'Was not reading, under the circumstances, a delusion? You won't speak treason? Never mind, I see it in your eyes. You know that between all the K Ts within and without doors, it was providential that I retained sufficient combination of ideas to effect my escape before I was quite distracted.'

'I don't think you guess the distress you have caused,' said Robina, gravely.

'What, Gracie has written you a deplorable letter? Gone to the bad entirely, am I? My mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister sobbing, our K T wringing her hands—' Then, as she moved decidedly away, with a gesture expressive of deep displeasure, 'Nay—I declare they are re-assured. Even if you haven't—I have written to my father; and they know by this time that the vortex I have rushed into is nothing worse than a conglomeration of antiquarian old fogies.'

'Oh! if you have written—' she began, feeling that Felix had been right, and she herself more or less of a goose.

'Yes. I have written to explain that my brain won't stand being beset within doors and without, and to propose joining Harewood's reading-party.'

Robina fairly started. 'Do you know if he will have you?'

'I hope he can. He is a crack coach, you know, little as he looks it. Wonderfully able man when he makes the most of himself.'

'I think he has as many pupils as he has room for,' said Robina, highly gratified, but hoping to avert what might drive Will beyond all bounds.

'I hope not. Your sister seemed to think it might be managed.'

'What, Angela?'

'No; Miss Underwood—is she not? The one who was in the room first. What a delightful countenance she has, by-the-by, it strikes me more than Mrs. Harewood's. It is a rare thing to meet so much beauty afloat in one family.'

However complimentary, he must not be allowed to run on in this way; and his monitor returned abruptly to the charge. 'I allow that it is hard to read at the Towers; but before you make any other arrangements, I think you ought to go home this very evening and explain things. There is a train at 4.11, at Church Ewe.'

'Have you got a policeman outside to give me in charge to?'

'No,' she answered, with some anger; 'but Lady Caergwent is going away to-morrow!'

His first impulse was a little whistle of dismay; but he caught it up, and coolly said, 'Joy go with her, a K T clasm! You have not let Grace cram you with all that?'

By this time Robina was thoroughly sensible of the false position she had got herself into, and had only to get herself out of it as fast as she could, so she took the path between the espaliers and scarlet-runners which would soonest lead back to public haunts, saying decidedly, 'I do not want to hear anything about it.'

'It seems to me,' said her companion, with more of the man than he had yet assumed, 'that having entered on this, you should allow me to remind you that this is a free country, and these are not the days of family compacts. I will not go home, to be badgered whatever I say or do. I will strike out my own line, and work for myself.'

'But your father—!'

'If I know my father, he will like me the better for it. The Colonel has a way of making him see things in his point of view, and it was a tidy little plan; but there are not so many men in this world born for prince-consorts, and they have not got hold of one of the sort. There, now, you have discharged your duty! You may tell Grace what I say—the whole houseful, if you like.'

'Very well,' said Robina coldly, glad to have nearly reached a door opening upon a laurel path. 'It is of no use to say any more. You have written, and I have no more to do with it.'

'I didn't think you were on the enemy's side!' he proceeded, as if pleading with her displeasure. 'I know you are one to like a fellow the more for having a spark of independence. Come, you may as well say so; it is in your nature, I've seen it, and you owe me compensation for all that you have rehearsed to me in the spirit of the K Ts.'

This was in a tone between warmth and raillery, that made it very difficult to know how to reply; and all she could think of was, 'You can be the only judge of what is right and manly.'

'There then!' as if he had done with the subject. 'Oh! don't open the door. Let us have another turn. I want to tell you about my plans. This is almost as good as losing ourselves.'

'I can't,' said Robina, with much repressive displeasure, 'I am wanted. I only came to show you your mother's letter;' and she plunged into the laurel-walk.

'Then I am much obliged to my mother's letter,' was the reply, in a tone that conveyed more than the words.

Therewith, at the other end of the path, were seen Mrs. Fulbert Underwood, Miss Martha Hepburn, and Mr. Harry Shaw. They met; Robina shook hands; Lord Ernest moved his hat; but though 'Jane' made a low curtsey, her observation was marked—'Oh! so you have lost yourself again, Rosina!'

'My name is Robina, if you please,' she exclaimed, glad to have something to contradict.

'Ah! I never can remember! It is so peculiar!'

'Peculiarly pretty,' said Lord Ernest. 'It puts one in mind of all sorts of pleasant associations.'

'It is Scottish, after Miss Hepburn,' said Robina, severely turning from him.

'Yes,' said Miss Martha. 'It is a very old name with us, but we never called my sister by it; we call her by her name of Elizabeth, it is less romantic but more sensible.' And Miss Martha, frightened at speaking so like Isabella, laughed a little to diminish the stern effects.

Robina hoped to shake off Lord Ernest by joining them, and said politely, 'I did not know you were here.'

'Harry and I thought we would just come over to see what the learned men think of the poor old place; but after all, it is only Mr. Milwright, and one can hear him any day, so we came round just to have a look at the old conservatories, which I used to dote on.'

'You have had some luncheon?'

'Yes, thank you, we got some cold pigeon pie. My dear, what a pity your sister did not apply to me! I could have recommended her to Patakake, who always did things for us. Whom could you have had?'

'Kerenhappuch,' said Robina solemnly, for, in spite of all her trouble, she was awake to the fun of the thing, and she greatly tickled Lord Ernest by the tone and the name.

'Well, so Miss Martha said, but I could not believe it. Done entirely at home?'

'Yes.'

'Excuse me, my dear Ros—Robina, but it was a mistake in a position like yours.'

'I am sorry if anything was not good.'

'Oh! that's not it. It is style that is the thing, especially in your position. It will not do to fall short of it!—You agree with me, my Lord, air is everything.'

'I much prefer good food,' he answered; at which Harry Shaw broke into a hearty laugh, and Robina could not help joining. Perceiving, perhaps, that his dictum would go for something, Lord Ernest gravely added, 'If good food and good taste combined are the right thing, I am sure we had it to-day. I never saw a more thoroughly pretty or graceful set out—so well appointed too.'

And though the two ladies agreed that the poor young man was very far gone, and that there was something artful about that girl, yet it silenced the lamentations for Patakake. Mrs. Fulbert declared it wonderful how those girls had managed it—but, of course, they had been brought up to such things; and Miss Martha—more good-naturedly—made it known that 'that young nobleman had never seen anything equal to it for style and good taste!'

'Of course, simplicity was a relief after the jaded life of a man of fashion,' added Miss Isabella.

'What, the Earl was there! What a pity those young people should get into such a set!'

By the time the lawn was reached, the discourse was ended, and people were scattered about on the garden-chairs, partaking of further refreshments handed by Krishnu, who had assumed his white and scarlet, and had an imposing effect, leading forth sundry footmen in diverse liveries as his assistants. Lord de Vigny had detected Geraldine's studio, and insisted on seeing her portfolio. She had somewhat flagged since her object had been attained, and among the excitements of the last year; and the old gentleman gave her a real scolding for wasting such powers in little desultory half-finished memorial kind of sketches. It was impossible not to laugh at the exaggerated feeling of the kind old courteous amateur; but after all, the stimulus was good for her. She did not exactly accept the assurance that it was the first duty of her life to produce something every season for the Exhibition; but the fresh eye, and the criticism, which had reality in it, though it was complimentary, stirred her up; and she felt that it was not doing justice to the gift of which she was a steward, to shrink, as she had done of late, from the train of attention and detail which the maturing an original subject cost her, besides that contributions to the housekeeping were really felt by all that could work for themselves to be almost due to him who toiled so freely for them and for his conscience. As to the neighbours, they only then and there discovered that the little lame Miss Underwood was an exhibitor at the Royal Academy, and that the queer old nobleman, with the loose grey hair, raved about her drawings. They regarded her the more or the less according as they most esteemed genius or gentility; and as Miss Martha Hepburn said, 'No one would ever have found it out.' 'As if they expected me to go about in a white turban and a palette on my thumb, like the pictures of Angelica Kaufman!' said Cherry, laughing, as Angela reported this speech while the home party stood under the porch, after seeing off their last guests.

There was plenty of indulgence in self-gratulations, and a universal contribution of the observations each had received, almost all resulting in declaring their house-warming a great success. In the midst, some correspondence of eye between Robina and her eldest brother, brought the colour into her cheek as she drew nearer to him. He held out his hand to her, and when the others dispersed to their rooms, they began to walk together under the wall.

'You spoke to him?'

'Yes. Oh! I wish I hadn't. You were right. He had written to his father, after all!'

'Then it is off your mind?'

'Yes. No—it would be—' She fell into a terrible tangle of hesitation and broken words, out of which he thus interpreted,

'You found the situation awkward?'

'Oh! I ought not to complain, for it was my own doing when you warned me, and I don't believe he meant it; but—but—it just amounts to this, that I can never freely say again that he never said, or tried to say, a word like flirting—to me. And I suppose it is my duty to tell, and—give them all up—'

'I suppose you had rather not tell me what he really said?'

'It was not words so much as manner—assuming that I was on his side at heart, and half laughing at me all the time. Then, when he had told me quite seriously that the family compact was all nonsense, he grew a little more like that—wanted me to hear his plans, and stay away from the rest—said it was as good as our being lost.'

'Is that all?'

'Yes; except that, when I said why I began, he answered, "Then I am much obliged to my mother's letter."'

'Then, if there is no more, you had much better let things alone. If he has written to his father, a post or two will decide his recall; and in the meantime, such a confession, though quite conscientious, would only make you ridiculous.'

'Yes, I see that. I had much rather not. Wilmet thinks I am always fancying such things—but you don't, Felix! I only wish it were—'

'I don't think you so silly, my dear,' said Felix. 'No one can judge of manner without seeing it; but so little as you have to tell seems to me nothing to cry out about, and your confession might be misunderstood.'

'Of course I don't want to do it; but to keep it back when I write seems treacherous.'

'Don't write!'

'Not to Grace?'

'She knows you are much occupied; and even if she do think you a little remiss, really even such a dreadful idea seems to me preferable to any fresh reports coming between this young man and his family, at what may be the turning-point of his life.'

'I should not send a false report!'

'You could not help sending an excited one; and if it were the actual short-hand notes of what passed, word for word, what could it do but give all the ladies something more to talk about? If Lord de la Poer be the same man in private life as in public, he and his son will understand one another much better without the interposition of any women's tongues, or pens, however kindly-intentioned.'

'So he said—that his father would understand, and like him the better for being independent.'

'For my part, I could not understand what you told me!'

'He is so fond of Colonel Umfraville, and would be glad to see one of his children like a son to him. I can't help hoping it will come right, for poor dear Lady Caergwent's sake.'

'Then, once more, let it alone!'

She obeyed, with a sigh. It was a quiet evening, Felix and the Harewoods went to the soirée; and the next day was that of the excursion to Stoneborough, for which Robina had not much heart, but that dreadful imputation of being apt to make a fuss about nothing prevented her from backing out. She did not understand William, who had dropped his surly petulant manner, and was only exceedingly grave and quiet, keeping out of the way, and looking dejected and subdued. She longed to speak to him, but he specially avoided her, and this time Felix made her his special charge, transferring Cherry to John Harewood's guidance. Both understood, almost without even a glance, that he wished to be free; and Cherry could not have had a more devoted cavalier than her brother-in-law, who never left her, except when the ascent of the Tower made Gertrude May hang back, declare she had had enough of that, and beg to take Miss Underwood under her protection, to rest in her sister's drawing-room.

And there Gertrude, in one of those curious accesses of confidence that congeniality sometimes produces, poured out a great deal of what was most individual to herself. Daisy had never set up a friend before, and had always been rather contemptuous of intimacies; but this was a case of love at first sight. Geraldine was about six years her elder, and not in the category of 'tiresome girls,' and while her sister's beauty was talked of, no one said much about her; so Daisy fancied this a discovery of her own, and became devoted to her, especially when she began to touch on Felix, and found that for hero-worship nothing could rival the sister. Geraldine had her reserves, but to find such a listener to the achievements of Felix was enough to open all her heart. And when the interruption came at last, all Gertrude thought of was when and how to meet again.

Nothing worth note befell Robina; and on the Saturday the only event was Mr. Harewood's departure, and his son's disappearance immediately after. It turned out that he was walking to Penbeacon to make his final arrangements; and when regrets were expressed that he had not borrowed a horse, John warned the proprietors against trusting a beast in Will's hands; and Wilmet declared that, in mercy to his pupils, she should drive over next week and see whether the rooms were fit for anybody. Clement spoke well of them, but she had little faith in him.

On Sunday, just as the church bells were calling, and the Priory ladies were proceeding to the bench they had placed in the south transept, when leaving the chancel to the choir, there appeared the not very welcome outline of an aquiline young profile, with loose shining brown hair, peering about over the big oaken boxes that fenced up the central aisle; and it was Angela who popped up her head to guide him to a local habitation.

If it were true that Vale Leston rejoiced in the best choir in the neighbourhood, Ewshire could not be well off, thought those who were used to the Bexley organ and choir under Lance's presidency. Clement had done a good deal in the past year with his boys, and had a good schoolmaster as organist; but the best voices did not appertain to the best men, and those best men, being the most imbued with Hepburnism, viewed the gallery as a much more honourable place than the chancel, and would infinitely rather have sung in a dissenting chapel than in a surplice; but though they were little cultivated, and were still in what their vicar called motley, his voice, with the Squire's practised one, and Will's with its old chorister training, told enough to make the general effect far above the country average, and to merit the admiration with which Lord Ernest replied to Angela's exaggerated despair at the dissonances.

On the way through the Cloister he contrived to say to Robina, 'I've heard from Papa—it is all right.' She could only reply, 'That is well!' with a real look of congratulation, though she felt that the use of the strictly domestic appellation was another dangerous implication of familiarity. After dinner she crept up to her own room, resolved to give neither encouragement to him nor offence to William, thinking it hard that the latter's last Sunday should be spoilt. The school would, she knew, keep Angela out of mischief, and Cherry would look after the guest if he deserved to be entertained. What had become of poor Lady Caergwent?

Perhaps the sun was too hot in her southern room, for Robina grew restless over her books, and wandered into Cherry's painting room, gazing listlessly from the windows. Then she saw a sight that surprised her—Will and Lord Ernest under the cedar, in a conference that lasted till the smallest bell began to ring.

Felix was still more surprised by Will's address to him some hours later.

'I just want to know one thing. Do you want that young fellow licked into shape—that young De la Poer?' he added, meeting Felix's look of blank amazement. 'He wants me to take him in hand at Penbeacon. I told him I did not know if there was room—I really don't; but the real question is—' and there he came to a dead stop.

'The real question is—' repeated Felix.

'Whether you think it a good thing?' continued Will, his head bent over a cat's-cradle of string in which he had tied up his fingers.

'A very good thing for him, and pecuniarily not a bad one for you.'

'Botheration! that has nothing to do with it. Can't you see what I mean? Is it good for—her?' and the poor little monosyllable came out with a sort of groan.

Felix pitied him enough to help him forward with, 'For Robina, do you mean? You are under a misapprehension, if you think it makes any difference to her!'

'Then you don't approve of it? You don't want to put a stop to it?'

'There is nothing to put a stop to, that I know of!'

'Ah! then you don't know!' said Will, lapsing into deep dejection.

'I know she would consider what you imply as dishonourable and treacherous!'

'No, no!' cried Will, vehemently; 'no such thing! Your sister in your house—as well-born a lady as any in England—a match for any man in the realm!'

'There are other reasons, besides her position in the family, which would make her think it treason to encourage what, I believe, has no existence.'

'Ah, then—you don't know what—' and again he stopped short between dismay and oppression.

'What do you mean?'

'No, no; you shall not have it from me. I'm only sorry I said a word.' And the poor fellow was going away.

'Hold, Bill! Tell me what you mean? I believe I can explain it!'

'There's only one expla—No; what am I saying? She has every right. You'll hear it soon enough!'

He was turning the handle of the door, when Felix said, 'If you mean that Robina spoke to him in the kitchen-garden on Thursday, I know all about that!'

'Indeed!' His face altered instantly.

'She had a letter from his mother that she thought he ought to see. She told me what she intended.'

'Queer people, to find such a channel of communication,' said Bill, gruffly. 'And that was all?'

'The whole.'

'Well! I never meant to act the spy; but I'll tell you how it was, Felix. I had heard all Milwright's prose, and was sick of all the humbug; so I went into your study for a little peace, and there I heard Theodore fretting awfully in the next room—'

'I know. You were so kind as to take him out.'

'He wanted you, and he wanted to be out; and he was plagued and bothered at so many strangers about, and Sibby was nearly demented with having to keep him quiet and wash up the thingumbobs. So this watch—it belongs to John, came from his aunt's; but I've got it while mine is refitting—and it plays all manner of tunes. Theodore will come anywhere after it; so I got him into the kitchen-garden, thinking there would be peace there, and into the old root-house, and there what does he do but go to sleep on my knee!'

'Yes; he had had a bad night. I was writing later than was good for him, and he was excited by the preparations.'

'So while I was pinned down, I saw—from the little window—those two walking up and down at the further end of the garden,' and he made a gesture of utter despair. 'It was no good showing myself—I was out of hearing; but—And so,' he added, 'I thought if I could anyway conduce to making him fit for her, it was all I could do for her.'

'Very kind! but you might have trusted her!'

'Trust! If I had any right!'

'She thinks you have!'

'She!' and the face lighted up. 'You don't mean that she holds to that? Of course you know nothing about it, though? Some childish nonsense passed years ago, but I never durst believe she remembered it.'

'She knows it ought not to bind you, but—'

'Bind! What should bind but the love of my whole heart, ever since I knew I had one? I durst not speak again of it. When I came to perceive what I had done, I thought it not fair towards her to renew it, till I had the means to keep her as she ought to be kept; for you know I've not got a preserve of old aunts, like Jack!'

'Quite right, Will!'

'And when she had been among all those swells, how did I know what she might not be wanting to take up with—never being much of a fellow to look at, any time?' he added wistfully.

'I think you might have known her better!'

'You see,' he broke out, 'I don't want her to be held to me only by what took place long ago, when she was a child of thirteen. That would be a downright shame, and I never meant to remind her till I had a home to offer her. There have been times when I made sure we understood one another; but to this hour I don't know whether she likes me a bit better than John, and if she—likes—this young man better—she has a perfect right!' concluded poor Will, with a great sob from his big honest chest.

'That you had better ascertain!'

'Do you tell me so?' he exclaimed.

'I am not exactly the person to tell you to do so; but though I honour your conduct with all my heart, I think the mutual uncertainty is causing you both much unnecessary unhappiness and anxiety.'

'I can answer for one! But she? People always preach that long engagements wear out a girl's life.'

'If you were sixteen and thirteen over again, I should say, "Don't!" very decidedly; but having gone so far, I think you had best go on. I really believe that not only would an understanding be a great present relief, but that an avowed engagement would be a great comfort and protection to her.'

'I'll never let her go back to that drudgery!' cried Will.

'That you must settle with her,'

'Then I have your sanction?'

'Yes; but I'm not your father!'

'Oh! he'll be jolly and glad! He never interferes with anything in reason! I wonder how Wilmet will look!'

'That must be ascertained by experiment. We must shut up now, Will, or poor Tedo will have another restless night. Good-night!'

'Pah! I should like to go out and halloo!'

'Write a poem instead, and work off the steam!' said Felix, turning down the lamp to get rid of that most unpoetical-looking poet.

Will had announced an intention of walking to Penbeacon in early morning, and when rallied by Angela on having overslept himself, the great audacious slap-dash fellow proved to have turned as shy as a girl. He kept on blushing up to the ears, looking sheepish, and losing opportunities from sheer awkwardness. If the space had been as small, or Felix as punctilious as at John's courtship, the crisis could hardly have come on; but Felix had put off going to Bexley, to see the affair through, and was resolved that the mutual infliction of misery should last no longer. So finding matters in statu quo at dinner-time, he ordered the waggonet, and declaring suddenly that he would protect Cherry through the visits she had to return, he packed in three sisters, declaring, with a twinkle in his eye, that he knew Bobbie wanted to finish her sketch of the church. Clement was gone to the far end of the village, and Bernard was fishing, so that the coast was clear.

But the drawing went on in solitude under the cedar for a quarter of an hour; and when at last a sort of irresolute saunter resulted in a big loosely-built personage reclining on the grass at the sketcher's feet, a good many more minutes were spent in pulling up tufts, while she was too glad to have him there to suggest that he was doing the work of a dozen chaffer-grubs. Indeed, she soon saw that he was ill at ease, and her painting felt the influence of his restlessness, which began to alarm her, though she durst not disturb it. He might mean to have it out with her—he might be composing a poem—to which last opinion she inclined when he at length lay prone on his back, his straw hat entirely over his face; and she expected either a heroic utterance, or a hasty demand for a pencil and a page of her sketch-book. Instead of which, after a deep sigh, came the portentous words—'Double-distilled donkey!'

'Indeed, I don't think he's quite that!' justice compelled her to say.

'There! I knew how it would be! Nothing but an unmitigated idiot could have thought otherwise for a moment!'

'Thought what?' said Robina—not exactly liking to consider the 'unmitigated idiot' meant to apply to herself, the most obvious antecedent.

'Why, I was ten thousand asses for coming out here!'

'Indeed!'

Something in the tone of that 'indeed' raised him to a sitting posture, with his arms embracing his knees, a resolute and deplorable attitude. 'I say, Robina, tell me at once, and put an end to it, whether you care for that sprig of nobility!'

'I!' she cried, her eyes flashing. 'How can you suspect me!' and indignation made it sound like—'insult me!'

'Don't be in such a fury with a poor fellow that has been driven nearly to desperation!' said William, putting an elbow on the chair where her apparatus stood.

'It was your own fault!' said Robina; she meant it to be sternly, but it was softly. 'I wanted to explain to you, but you never would let me!'

'I did not know that you—I mean, that I felt that I had no right to ask!'

'O Willie!'

'Robina! Robin—dearest! Are you thinking of that evening?—Bah! what's this?' as his start forward upset the chair against him.

'The water I was painting with! Let me wipe it. It is making a green stream over your face!' at which they both laughed hysterically; and what Will tried to do to the hands that were drying his face may be inferred from—'Now, don't! Let me do it properly! Be quiet, let me look!' And as he half sat, half knelt, she turned up his great freckled face with her hand under his chin. 'There's a green drop still in the corner of your left eye! Let me take it out.'

'The last drop of the green-eyed monster, I promise you, Robina. Now, don't you know what they always do to good little boys, who have had their faces washed nice and clean?'

'But you haven't been a good little boy! You were very naughty, making me ever so unhappy!' and, smiling as she was, there was a tear not green in her eye.

'Ah! You could never have been so wretched as I was; not knowing whether what was my deepest earnest was child's play to you, and not daring to ask.'

'Just like me!' she whispered.

'And now, is it not like waking out of a horrible dream, or getting out of a mist of darkness, to find that we have had one another's heart ever—ever since? my Robin—mine own—mine own!'

'Oh! indeed it is! I don't think we quite knew what we were doing then, but it has only grown as we have grown older.'

'And will grow for ever, Robina!'

'I trust so!'

'Isn't this rest?' he said presently.

'After all those worries! Oh! I must tell you about Lord Ernest!'

'I don't want to hear a word about Lord Ernest, or Lord Anybody! Bless me, I forgot! I was to let the fellow knew if I could have him up at the farm; and in fact I was waiting to know whether you wanted him made a man of for you!' and Will laughed merrily. 'I'd have done my best, Robin!'

'I do want him made a man of, but not for me,' said Robina, stroking his face, by way of reward for a generosity she could not speak of. 'You'll do it, Willie?'

'He'll be off with it, now!'

'Nonsense! that had nothing at all to do with it. He had been trying to read at home, and it did not answer.'

'Never does!'

'He got bothered, and came to Eweford in a fit of temper. The family did not know where he was, and I thought I ought to show him their letters, and let him see how vexed they were. Felix said I had better let it alone, and I found after all that Lord Ernest had written to his father.'

'Felix knows about us. How is that?'

'I was uncomfortable at his not knowing. I once tried to tell Wilmet, when I was afraid I ought not to keep the nid d'avis; but she said I was a silly child, and would not listen.'

'How lucky! What a delicious time we had at Barèges! It is like a stream of sunshine in my mind. Won't we go there again some day! That would have settled my business, even if there had been no summer evening at home. I've got your sketches up in my rooms, and this one will follow them.'

'If you haven't gone and spoilt it! Look! There's a great dab of blue, that you made me make, half way up the church tower.'

'Make it Clement, in a sky-blue scarlet vestment, pronouncing a benediction!'

'For shame, Willie! that's as bad as Angela. Besides, he isn't gone up as high as that yet!'

'Make it a forget-me-not, then!'

'Up there! and as big as the window?'

'Make it something! I won't have it washed out. It marks the prime moment of my life—when I came from darkness into sunshine. You must come some day and do our Cathedral from the meads, and I'll show you where I cut out our initials and 1861.'

'No! did you?'

'Of course; and all the more because you would not break a sixpence. You will now?'

'With all my heart!'

'I declare I haven't got one now! Only a three-penny bit, again.'

'Here's one!' said Robina. 'Give me the three-penny, and then it will be half from each.'

'That's not the right arrangement,' said Will, as he frowned horribly over the difficulty of dividing the coin. 'I say, I'll get you a ring to-morrow, though it won't be such a one as Jack's.'

'No, it will be much better!' said Robina, taking the scissors at her chatelaine, (from a Repworth Christmas-tree,) and snipping a lock from his head, while he was still struggling with the sixpence. 'There, I shall make that into a ring! Yes it is the only one I will have—the only gold I care for.'

'If you call that gold, it is decisive,' said Will, laughing, as she twined the ruddy thing in her fingers. 'You must have something to set it in?'

'Yes; I must wait till the chestnut horse comes home, for a few hairs of his mane for a foundation—black would show through.'

Bill protested in favour of 'a real one,' but without much effect. Was not the sixpence yielding at last? and had she not that precious bird's-nest, which she had not dared to wear during his displeasure, unwitting that this grieved him the more? They were very earnest over the old-fashioned ceremony of the sixpence; they scratched a W and an R on each moiety, and made a hole, and Robina undertook the finding a cord for each. It was playfully done, but with great depth beneath.

'It has been the homely token of a great deal of simple trust!' said Will.

'And I am sure we are poor enough!' added Robina.

'But you will never go back to that abominable harness?'

'Indeed I must! No, Will! Cannot you see how wrong and foolish it would be to be living on Felix, with nothing to do, and no one wanting me?'

'No one?'

'Cherry is all the world to Felix, and teaches Stella. Angela takes the parish work; and it would be a sin and shame to waste my education in dawdling here. Even dear old Lancey is too much taken up with his music to want me to keep house for him. I should only be in his way; and I do not want to enter on all the questions about society there!'

'No; Bexley would not do for you!'

'And when I am getting one hundred pounds now, and am to have one hundred and fifty after Christmas, when Miss Oswald goes, would it not be sheer waste and laziness to come and prey on Felix, when I might be earning a nice little nest-egg to furnish our house with?'

'That's to coax me; but I can't stand your working for me!'

'I might as well say I can't stand your working for me, you silly fellow! You don't see me crying at your keeping pupils at Penbeacon.'

'Yes, but I'm the right one!'

'I declare you've been learning of my godmothers, who say it is unworthy of a man to let his womankind work. A regular Mahometan notion, isn't it? And I shall get my holidays whenever you are available. Don't you see?'

'I see it exactly in Miss Hepburn's light. Men must work!'

'And women weep! Eh? I've no intention of weeping! I much prefer working, and I do no more than is wholesome for any person's well-being. I believe it is Green-eyes again?'

'No; I'm not afraid of you, my own, own steady-hearted Bird! I never would have been, had I known whether you viewed that evening walk as play or earnest. I've done with that sort of trouble; but I should like to lift you out of all the drudgery of work-a-day life, and give you all that heart could wish!'

'The heart of a bird of paradise!' said she, looking into his face; 'the heart of a robin red-breast gets much nearer what it wishes when it is working—working for you, you know! Ay! that's so sweet, that you want to get it all for yourself!'

'My sweetest Bird! before you have talked me quite out of my senses, with your poetical way of putting it, let me say that you and I don't work on equal terms. There's the rub!'

'Oh! You're ashamed of the governess?'

'No indeed, dearest; but that you—you—equal to any in birth—should be in an inferior position!'

'Lord Earnestlypoor!' announced Amelia, in one single word, as she advanced on them from the house, with the gentleman following. 'He asked for Mr. Harewood.'

Up they sprung, holding out their hands.

'I thought I might walk over for my answer,' he said, with a sense of interrupting something.

William gave a conscious laugh. 'I'm afraid I've not been up to Penbeacon yet.'

'I think,' said Robina, rallying her powers, 'we had better make our avowal at once. Lord Ernest, we want your congratulations. We have been engaged this long time, and my eldest brother has just given us leave to make it known.'

Good breeding and self-command might perhaps be what prevented all sign of aught but frank friendliness. 'Indeed! I wish you joy with all my heart. Does Grace know?'

'I am going to write to Grace.'

'She will be very unselfish if she rejoices.'

'I don't think it will make any difference for some time to come,' said Robina.

'You see,' said Will, 'we neither of us have anything; and she will have it that she is so happy among your sisters, that it is no hardship to go on as she is.'

'My mother will say that it is as great a compliment as ever she received.—Well, Harewood! when you can think of such sublunary matters as pupils, will you let me know? I wouldn't have interrupted you, but I had no notion anything so interesting was going on!'

He was so genuinely simple and hearty, that Will was impelled to try whether he still wished to be his pupil, by asking whether he would object to sleeping at a cottage. 'Not in the least!' he said, 'it would be rather jolly! All I want is for you to work me up. I feel more bound than ever not to come to grief, now they have let me take my way,' he added, with frankness satisfactory to both.

Will entered into particulars of the accommodations, and Robina interposed warnings against his statements till verified by her sister's inspection. These two were really lovers of too long standing to be overwhelmingly engrossed, but were rather like beings lightened of a heavy load of suspense; and when the question between the two gentlemen began as to the books he should write for from home, he diversified it by saying to Robina—'I brought my father's letter. Would you like to see it?'

Probably he had meant to read selections, and gave it to her only because this was impossible, and he really wanted to justify his recent words.

Lord de la Poer fulfilled the assertion that he would not be displeased with his son's independence, provided he should persevere in exertion. There was a kindly expressed but not the less real warning, that the examination at Oxford would be the test whether this were a manly spirit or mere restive impatience. Full permission to read with Mr. Harewood, or any one he preferred, was given. Mr. Crichton had perceived that the system of study at home did not answer. 'When the class-list comes out,' wrote the Marquess, 'it will be time to consider of the future; but I promise that you shall not find yourself withheld from any suitable course, by any wishes that may have been prematurely expressed. That whole subject may be considered as closed. If your present plans are inspired by any other views, I trust to your treating me with confidence.'

That was the only sentence in which any suspicion could be detected. How Robina rejoiced that Felix had prevented the confession that would have been so ridiculous now! Of Lady Caergwent there was not a word. If Lord de la Poer knew of any grief at the defection, he regarded himself as in honour bound not to betray her.

Robina was waiting to restore the letter for a pause in the discussion of Greek plays and moral philosophy, which was the prelude to the licking into shape, though in externals the tutor looked by far the most in need of the process, when Amelia made another incursion, and this time announced, 'Miss Hepburn'—who proved to be two of the sisters—Bridget and Isabella; but introductions not being the prevailing custom at Repworth Towers, Robina did not feel called on to make any, and indeed William had been at Vale Leston as long as she had. But they had never met face to face before, and the ladies resented the omission, returned the bows stiffly, and when she said, 'My sisters are gone out to make morning visits,' the answer was, 'Yes, my sister Martha saw them, and we thought you would be alone.'

'Thank you. Will you come into the drawing-room, or do you like sitting out-of-doors?—Willie, please ring, and ask for some tea.'

'No, thank you! We will not disturb you. We did not know you were engaged!'

Will took the word technically, and started; Lord Ernest kept his countenance with difficulty; but Robina had sense enough to understand, and say, 'I only stayed at home to finish a sketch. These afternoon lights and shades are particularly becoming to the church.' And Lord Ernest, bringing some chairs to the rescue, applied himself with ready courtesy to make talk, though praise of the choir was hardly a happy subject to start. He did his best with Miss Isabella, while Robina faltered through ten minutes of cold commonplace with Miss Bridget.

About a quarter of an hour later, Major Harewood, who was working out the problem whether prudence would allow him to exchange military engineering for high farming as the Squire's agent, looked up at the sight of his wife in hat and parasol.

'Are you going out, my dear? Is it not too hot?'

'Only to the Priory.'

'There's nobody at home. Kit saw "Uncle Fee" and all the aunties going out in the carriage.'

'Not Robina. Miss Isabella Hepburn has just been here, to warn me that she found her sitting on the lawn, alone with two young men!'

'Bernard and Theodore?'

'No, no; of course she knows them by sight. I shall go down. I expect it is that young De la Poer; and either Robin does not know how to get rid of him, and will be glad to see me, or else she ought to be!'

'Those are the ladies that are said to have but one tooth,' said John, taking up hat and stick.

'There's no need to disturb you. Only I feel it the more expedient to be near. I am much vexed at this beginning. I never expected it from Robina. She is worse than Angel!'

'Poor Robin! There's been something amiss with her all the week, as well as with Bill. I wonder if there is anything in the Bailey joke about them?'

'Most certainly not,' said Wilmet; 'I am much more afraid of the other thing. I always thought her choosing to stay at Repworth suspicious!'

'I don't believe it! I saw them come up after she had been lost at Ewmouth, as innocent as lambs! Her manner was perfectly simple and natural.'

'I don't understand Robina's manner,' said Wilmet.

Walking down the hilly slope of the path, they presently were aware of a pair with arms and hands doubly interlaced, in the fashion peculiar to the circumstances.

'John!'

'Wilmet! Was there never a blackberry lane in our lives?'

'Not without—Robina!'

They turned, but without confusion, without loosing of arms, or if Robina had attempted it, it was checked.

'Oh! there you are, John!' exclaimed Will 'So you see we have settled it at last!'

'I do not know what you mean,' said Wilmet, gravely.

'O Wilmet!' said Robina. 'I told you all about it, long ago, at Barèges.'

'If you consider that as any intimation—' she began; but her husband interrupted her. 'I suppose Felix has yet to hear this?'

'Oh no!' both cried; Will adding, 'Felix created this vast solitude on our behalf!'

'Your father?' added Wilmet.

'He went away a day too soon; but there's no fear of him, is there, Jack?'

'You all seem to me demented!' said Wilmet aghast.

'Nay, Mettie, if you knew it at Barèges, you can't say a word!' said John, much amused.

'Always sending us up the mountains together!' added Will. 'No one ever gave me such a happy time of it!'

'Giving me leave to keep the brooch!' continued Robina, chiming in with their humour.

'Why, 'tis your doing,' summed up the Major; 'and I trust it is a good work for both!' he gravely proceeded. 'I wish you joy, with all my heart, though I fear I must wish you patience too!'

'And prudence!' put in Wilmet, but softening into sweetness. 'Dear Robin—dear Willie—don't think I don't care!' as she gave a sisterly kiss to each. 'It is because I do care so very much for both that I am anxious!'

'Anxiety was your meat and drink so early in life that you can't shake it off now!' said John, affectionately; 'and Harewood as I am, I should share it with you, if I didn't know that Bill's choice much resembles her elder sister!'

'You may say that!' observed Will. 'Why, she wants to go on in harness at Repworth!'

'That is wise!' responded Wilmet.

'But, halloo!' cried John, 'did your friend see double, Mettie?—or what have you done with your other young man, Robina?'

'Walked him to the little gate! He came to settle about reading with Willie.'

'I say!' cried William, laughing, 'did the Graiæ go and send Wilmet to put on her Gorgon's head, and charge down on us? I thought they were looking as sour as verjuice!'

'You see,' proceeded Wilmet, 'we must all be careful! It won't do to fancy one can do anything in the country. These old ladies don't do it out of ill-nature, like Lady Price, but they are almost worse!'

'However, Mettie, as these poor things have been subjected already to one Oxonian and two hags, I think you and I had better relieve them of our presence, and let them finish their walk in peace.'

Putting things together, Robina thought she had not wholly escaped doubt at Repworth, for she received no letter between the inquiry into the K T case, and the answers to her own communication, and these so overflowed with affection and cordiality, as to suggest that they were a reaction. Lady de la Poer wrote warm congratulations, and spoke of her eldest son's high opinion of Mr. Harewood; she was rejoiced at Miss Underwood's decision to return to her post, and she gave a few words of thanks for the explanation about the children's chatter: 'Susie has been well lectured on Russian scandal!' was her conclusion.

Lady Grace was rapturous enough to think she had seen the future dawning at the station. Poor Grace! she certainly was rather gushing, and probably it was the contrast that made her so devoted to the staid Robina. She let out that she was 'so glad to write again. Mamma had advised her not, for fear of more misunderstandings, till it was settled about Ernest; and now he must bring Mr. Harewood to Repworth for her to see. As to Kate, she was still at the Towers; the Wardours had the small-pox in their parish, and could not have her.' Grace had evidently been put under some reserve as to the Countess; but there was a note from herself—quaint and hearty, like all she did, and with a little sadness in it. There was no such intimacy as to render it necessary, and Robina interpreted the writing of it to mean that there had once been bitter feelings towards her, and that this was their recall.

MY DEAR MISS UNDERWOOD,

Gracie tells me you have been well employed. I heartily wish you joy. A university tutor seems to me as mighty a power of influence as any in existence, but I suppose it is your mission to spoil him for that. Lucky girl that you are, to have work and brothers and all! You don't know how much it saves you from. One brother is all I would have asked, if only to prevent me from signing myself,

Yours affectionately,
CAERGWENT.

The secret history must evidently wait for Robina's return, and before that there was a great deal of conscientious hard work at Penbeacon, the tutor resolutely refraining from walks to Vale Leston, except when, on Sunday, he and his whole party marched down to what he called 'prayers and provender,' at Vale Leston. Also there was one, only one, picnic given by the Penbeaconites to the Vale Lestonites, during the week when the Squire inexorably went to Bexley, and sent Lance to be the merriest of the merry on the last of August, and to make acquaintance with the hares and partridges on the 1st of September.

At the end of that week, in the early charms of September, with the sheaves glorifying the fields, the fruit glowing on the trees, the pears drooping in russet drops, the apples piled in red and golden heaps, the geraniums and verbenas flaming on the lawn, Felix brought Mr. and Mrs. Froggatt, for what was probably as happy and exultant a visit as ever they paid in their joint lives. To see Felix in his glory was almost as much to them as if he had been their own child, and they were intimate enough to make it possible to provide for their entertainment perfectly to their satisfaction. The home-farm, which was to be let to Major Harewood, with a tariff for the articles needed for family consumption, afforded Mrs. Froggatt great amusement in studying chickens and ducks; and the agent's house, a pretty cottage on the opposite bank, was being improved at John's expense, so as to be ready for occupation as soon as he could effect his retirement and break up from Woolwich; and every one knows the resource house-building is to the leisurely holiday-maker. Indeed, Mr. Froggatt wanted nothing but his book and newspaper, and a little talk and garden fancying; and the petting Cherry and Stella gave him. The tender reverent affection all the young people showed to both, as to their true friends and benefactors, warmed their hearts.

One state-dinner—in spite of his disavowal of dinner visiting—Felix had always resolved to give, chiefly for the sake of the satisfaction he knew Mrs. Froggatt would for ever feel in it. He had to pick the other guests, but he secured a sufficiency. Dr. May had promised himself and his two daughters. Of Mrs. Staples Cherry was afraid, but Mr. Staples came, and Mr. and Mrs. Welsh, which was the more amiable in him because there had been a time in his life when Mr. and Mrs. Froggatt would have been far above him. Lord Ernest came down from Penbeacon, and thus, with the Harewoods and the large home-party, the numbers were quite imposing; especially with the display of all the plate, champagne, ices, Krishnu, and even Cherry's abomination, a hired waiter in white gloves!

It was not thrown away. Mrs. Froggatt was indeed a little awed in the Bismarck brocade and blonde cap she would have been so sorry not to have aired; but Dr. May found the way to her heart, even before dinner, by admiring the testimonial inkstand which adorned the drawing-room writing-table, and its story and all it led to lasted more than half through dinner, and Gertrude caught echoes even while fraternizing with Major Harewood over her brother in the engineers. After dinner, good-natured little Mrs. Welsh, to the manner trained, took to entertaining the old lady, and though the style was too electioneering for Cherry's taste, it suited the purpose exactly, and made Mrs. Froggatt pronounce her a very pretty and affable young lady.

Even if there had been less enjoyment at the time, that dinner-party would have been one of the chief events of Mrs. Froggatt's life. She never wearied of dilating on it to all the friends who called on her, on her return. 'She should have thought it a privilege only to see that dear young gentleman in his proper sphere; but for him to treat the old people as he might any lord in the land, and show himself as attentive, as filial, she might say, as if he still had his bread to earn!' and there she always began to cry.

'One effect your dinner-party has had,' wrote Lance to Cherry, 'it has wholly destroyed the small remains of Madame Tanneguy's peace of mind. What she does not believe of the glories of the Priory it would be hard to say. She angled full two half-hours for an invitation last time the Squire was here, between her affection for you—and then poor little Achille's health. And the effect upon that stony-hearted old Giant was, that he sent two ten-pound notes to Miss Pearson, with a request to take lodgings for her and the children at Dearport for a month. Wherewith Miss Pearson trotted confidentially to me, to assure me that she could not use them, since nothing on earth ailed Achille. I advised her to keep and apply them; for not only do I know he would not take them back, but it is no bad form of intimating that she may change to any air save Vale Leston. And the absurd part of it is, that the more she aspires, the more poor Lamb casts his hopeless sheep's-eyes at her!'

---

[CHAPTER XXXIX.]