Aldyth's inheritance

"Thank you," said that gentleman; "let me see."

He paused, stroking his chin meditatively."Suppose we say four o'clock; I can hardly be ready before that hour."

"Very well," said Guy, "the carriage shall be here at four.Good-day for the present, Mr. Greenwood."

Mr. Greenwood was ready punctually at the hour named, and in due time arrived at Wyndham.Stephen Lorraine was awaiting him, and the two were closeted together until dinner-time, when the lawyer sat down at his client's table.

Guy, who then joined them, could scarcely conceal his restless irritation, and the squire contributed little to the conversation; but Mr. Greenwood's cheerful flow of small talk never failed.

And yet the solicitor, with whom Guy was a favourite, was anything but pleased with the business he had been called upon to effect.Ere leaving the house, he managed to draw Guy aside and say a few words to him.

"Look here, young man, whatever is wrong between you and your uncle, my advice to you is—patch it up as quickly as possible."

"That is more easily said than done," replied Guy, moodily.

"Oh, I don't know.I have known your uncle a good many years now, and he is not bad to deal with, if you only take him the right way."

"You mean if you let him have his own way," returned Guy.

"Well, surely you can humour an old man.I can tell you, Mr. Guy, it is worth your while to do so.I have said all I dare for you; but, but—it lies with you to set matters right."

"But suppose my uncle requires me to do something that I cannot do?"said Guy.

"Well, then, I can only say it is a very great pity.But surely you can find a way out of the difficulty.Depend upon it you make a great mistake if you quarrel with your uncle now.There, I must not say more, but I hope you will so manage things that I may soon be called to repeat my visit with a happier result.Do you understand?"

Guy understood too well for his peace of mind.How could he make things right?He could not and he would not marry his cousin, nor could he bear the thought of giving up Hilda Bland.

Mr. Greenwood passed on to the library to take his leave of Mr. Lorraine, and presently departed from Wyndham, carrying with him a rough draft of the new will his client had desired him to draw up.

CHAPTER XIII.

SORROW AND JOY.

ON the afternoon of New Year's Day, Aldyth, coming down the London Road, met Kitty Bland and Gwendolen, then at home for her holidays, on their way to the river, carrying their skates.

"Oh, Aldyth, we were thinking of calling for you," said Kitty."Charlie brings us word that the ice is splendid, so we are going to try it.Do come with us!"

"Oh, do," implored Gwen."It will be so jolly to have you with us."

Aldyth hesitated.The sleet had long ceased, and the sun was making attempts to break forth.The prospect of skimming over the ice was very tempting.

"I was going to see Hilda," she said."How is it she is not with you?"

"Oh, Hilda is good for nothing," replied Kitty."She will not stir out to-day."

"Do you mean that she is ill?"asked Aldyth.

"Well, no, not exactly—she has a headache," said Kitty.

Gwen moved on a few paces; it was not pleasant to stand in the keen wind.

"The fact is, Aldyth," said Kitty, hurriedly, in lower tones, "Hilda has been crying till she is worn out.Your uncle came to see mother yesterday afternoon, and made a grand commotion.I never saw mother so upset.You know she does not often get put out, but when she is angry, she can be very warm, and I can tell you mother was angry with Hilda last evening."

"With Hilda!"said Aldyth, in surprise."Why, what has Hilda done?"

"Oh, do not ask me," said Kitty; "you had better hear the story from her own lips.I must say I am disgusted with Hilda.Do try, Aldyth, to put a little common sense into her, if you see her.But won't you get your skates and come with us?"

"I think not, thank you," said Aldyth."I had better go to Hilda, if she is in trouble.I suppose she would like to see me?"

"Of course she would," said Kitty; "she will get some sympathy perhaps from you.I am afraid I have not given her much.She says I cannot understand her, and really she is right."

In spite of a warm protest from Gwen, Aldyth went on her way, full of wonder as to what had occurred to disturb Mrs. Bland and make Hilda unhappy.

Mrs. Bland was engaged with visitors, so Aldyth went at once to her friend's room.

Hilda had risen by this time, but she wore her dressing-gown, which was a very becoming one of pale blue, so that she looked charmingly invalidish as she sat in her easy-chair by the fire.It would not be correct to say that she looked ill.Her face was not more colourless than it always was; but she leaned back in her chair with a listless, languid air, and her expression was melancholy in the extreme, whilst her reddened eyelids testified to past weeping.She uttered a faint exclamation of pleasure as her friend entered the room.

"Oh, I am glad to see you," she said; "how good of you to come!"

"Why, Hilda dear, what is the matter?"Aldyth asked."I met Kitty, and she gave me a most bewildering account of you.Do tell me what it is all about."

"Oh, Aldyth, I am the most miserable girl in the world!"Hilda exclaimed, and again burst into tears.

"But why?"asked Aldyth, surprised and grieved."Why do you speak so of yourself?"

"Because it is true," sobbed Hilda."Oh, Aldyth, you do not know how unhappy I am.And four days ago I was so happy!I little thought the New Year was going to bring me such misery."

"But what is it, Hilda?"asked her friend."Do tell me!"

Then, as Hilda continued to sob and utter incoherent ejaculations, Aldyth added, "Has it not something to do with Guy?"

"Yes, Aldyth; I thought you must guess it," replied Hilda, brokenly; "that you must see how he cared for me; though I did not know myself, for certain, till last Thursday.He came to call after the party, you know, and mother and Kitty had gone to Chelmsford, and I was alone, practising, and he told me that he could never care for any one but me, and he asked me to promise to marry him.But we were not to tell any one about it at present."

A startled exclamation broke from Aldyth.

"Ah, you think it was wrong!"said Hilda.

"I think it very wrong of Guy," said Aldyth, warmly; "I call it most dishonourable conduct—if I understand aright that he asked you to engage yourself to him without seeking your mother's consent."

"We only meant to keep it to ourselves for a little while," said Hilda."Guy knew his uncle would be so angry; but we were most unfortunate.Guy asked me to meet him at Wood Corner yesterday afternoon, and unluckily Mr. Lorraine drove to the farm just at that time and saw us together.Ah, you are shocked at me, Aldyth."

"I really am surprised," Aldyth felt obliged to say; "I wonder you could do such a thing, Hilda."

"Oh, do not you find fault with me, please!"said Hilda, beseechingly."If you only knew what I have gone through!Mr. Lorraine came here in such a rage, and told mother she did not look after her daughters properly.You should have seen how angry mother was.She told me I had no self-respect, that my deceit was detestable, that I had disgraced her, and, what pains me most, she will not hear of my being engaged to Guy.Mr. Lorraine told mother he meant to disinherit his nephew if he did not give me up, and mother declares she will never let me marry him unless his uncle gives his consent.And I know he never will do that.Oh, I feel as if my heart would break!"

Aldyth listened to her friend's confidence with mingled feelings.She was sorry for Hilda, but it was a shock to her friendship to discover that she could be so easily led into crooked conduct.Aldyth could feel some sympathy with Mrs. Bland in her indignation at the revelation of her daughter's duplicity.It was with a curious sensation, too, that she heard of Guy's profession of attachment to Hilda.What would be the effect upon her friend, she wondered, if she told her how recently Guy had asked her, Aldyth, to be his wife?But she had not the heart to inflict such a blow on Hilda.

After a minute she said, in a rallying tone—

"Nonsense, Hilda; hearts do not break so easily, and I am sure I would never break my heart for such a one as Guy."

"Aldyth," said Hilda, reproachfully, "why do you always speak so slightingly of your cousin?You seem unable to appreciate him."

It was impossible for Aldyth to resist laughing.

"Do I?"she said."Well, truly, at the present moment I am vexed with Guy.I think he has behaved very badly to you, Hilda.A man has no right to ask a girl to engage herself to him without the knowledge of her friends."

"But he loves me," murmured Hilda."It was because he loved me so.You do not know what love is, Aldyth."

"I am very glad I do not, if that is the kind of thing it does," said Aldyth, stoutly."But I do not believe in the saying that all things are fair in love.A true and noble love, it seems to me, should make man or woman act worthily."

"Now, I will not have Guy found fault with," said Hilda."He is dear to me, if not to you.Such a strong, brave fellow as he is!"

"Strong?"repeated Aldyth."Ah, physically you mean; for although he is my cousin, and I have an affection for him, I cannot say that I think Guy is at all a strong character."

"Aldyth, it is too bad of you!I will not hear you!"protested Hilda, showing a disposition to relapse into tears."You are not fair to your cousin."

"I hope I am not unfair to him," said Aldyth, thoughtfully."I do not deny that he has good qualities.He is very kind-hearted and generous; and he is good-tempered too.I am often surprised to see how much he will put up with from uncle.The servants at the Hall are very fond of him.Hilda, dear, forgive me if I have vexed you; but I do wish you would try to look at this matter sensibly."

Hilda put up her hand to check Aldyth's words.

"It is of no use speaking so," she said."You do not understand me; you do not know how deep my feelings are.Listen to me.I shall never cease to love Guy: and if my love is disappointed, I shall die.Now do not smile like that, Aldyth, for I shall.My father's sister died of consumption, and I shall go into a decline too, if I am made so unhappy.Indeed, I should not wish to live!"

All this was a great strain upon Aldyth's power of sympathy.She felt for her friend; but she could not avoid some secret amusement at the idea that it was Guy who had inspired such desperate feelings.

Hilda sank back into her chair, saying to herself, with a new pang of disappointment, that Aldyth understood her no better than Kitty.

"Why do you not find something to do, Hilda?"asked Aldyth, as she rose to take her departure."It is a pity to sit there brooding over what has happened.Does your head ache too much for reading?"

"Oh, I cannot read!"said Hilda, wearily."As soon as I begin, my thoughts fly off in one direction.Aldyth, mother is very unkind."

"I cannot think so," said Aldyth, loyally; "I cannot imagine Mrs. Bland unkind.She may seem so to you; but, depend on it, she has your real good at heart."

"I hate to hear about my 'real good!'" said Hilda, impatiently."What good can life have for me if I am separated from Guy?"

It was vain to argue with her.Aldyth kissed her, begged her not to imagine herself more unhappy than she was, but to hope that the future might brighten; and then left her, with an uneasy sense that she had failed fully to meet Hilda's expectations in the matter of sympathy.

"I certainly do not understand what love is," she said to herself; "it may well be called blind, for Hilda can perceive none of Guy's faults.It has transformed him into a hero.Oh, dear!I shall never be able to love in that fashion."

It was too late to join the skaters.Aldyth did a little shopping in the High Street, and then turned homewards.As she entered the house, a letter lay on the hall table awaiting her.Aldyth recognized with delight the thin foreign envelope addressed by her mother's hand.She went into the dining room, and sat down to read her letter.She had not read far ere her heart gave a wild bound, and her face grew pale with sudden vivid emotion.The words which caused it were these:—

   "Our long-talked-of visit to England is at last to be realized.    We have arrived at a decision rather rapidly, and sail in a week's time, so that we shall be actually on our way home when you receive this.    Mr. Stanton's health has of late caused me anxiety, but we hope the voyage will set him up.    It is on his account that we start with so little preparation.    We propose taking a furnished house in London as soon as we arrive, and shall probably remain at home for two years.    I cannot tell you, my dearest child, how I look forward to our meeting, so long-deferred.    You must come to us as soon as we arrive in London.    We are all coming.    Cecil is to study medicine at one of the hospitals.    Your sisters are counting on seeing you at last."

There was much more in the letter, which Aldyth read again and again, and yet seemed unable fully to grasp.All her being was thrilled with a shock of joy.Could it be true that her mother—her beautiful mother—the mother she had missed and yearned for through so many years—was coming home to her at last?There was awe mingling with her joy.She was glad beyond measure to think of her mother's return, and yet she was half afraid of her happiness.The unknown brother, and sisters too—she was to meet them at last.Was it any wonder that Aldyth's heart throbbed with a tumultuous emotion that had fully as much pain in it as pleasure?She was glad, and yet the tears would come.Faster and faster they came, till they rained down her cheeks.

"Why, Aldyth, my dear child!What is the matter?"cried Miss Lorraine, coming in briskly from the cold.

"Oh, auntie, such news!"exclaimed Aldyth, holding out the letter."Mother is coming; she is on her way now."

"You don't mean it?Really coming at last!Well, it is startling, certainly; but I would not cry about it," said Miss Lorraine.

She laid her bag and her muff deliberately on the table, and took the letter from the girl.Any one less excited than Aldyth would have seen that the news did not give her aunt unmixed satisfaction.

"So," she said presently, "they are coming at last, and you will have your heart's desire, Aldyth; though no one would think it, to see you crying like that."

"Oh, aunt, I cried because I was so glad," said Aldyth, hastily drying her eyes."You cannot think what it is—after so many years, to know that my mother is coming to me."

"I suppose not," said Miss Lorraine, drily."Well, child, I am glad that you are so pleased."

But as she spoke her face had a wistful, pained expression.Aldyth, since her babyhood, had been her care, and the feelings of a mother had grown up in her heart towards the child she had cherished.Could Eleanor Stanton, simply because she had given her birth, be so much more to Aldyth than the aunt who had comforted her childish sorrows and nursed her through all her childish ailments?Would she be as likely to understand the girl?Miss Lorraine felt aggrieved by the emotion Aldyth displayed, even whilst she told herself it was wrong and unreasonable to feel so.

But Aldyth, thrilled and excited, had no thoughts to spare for her aunt, and failed to see that she was hurt.

And Miss Lorraine was thankful that for once her niece was so unobservant.

CHAPTER XIV.

A LONG-DEFERRED HOPE IS REALIZED.

A FORTNIGHT later, on a raw, gloomy afternoon, Aldyth and her aunt stepped from a train on to the platform of Liverpool Street Station.A telegram received late on the previous evening had acquainted them with the fact that the Stanton family had arrived in London, and Aldyth was now on her way to meet her mother.

Aldyth's face was white and eager, and Miss Lorraine, too looked excited.Aldyth had been disposed to maintain silence all the way, and the journey had never seemed to her so tedious; but excitement had had the contrary effect on her aunt.Unchecked by her niece's reluctant rejoinders, she had talked the whole time, chiefly on matters of little or no importance.But when they were in a cab, driving to the West-end hotel where the Stantons were to be found, Miss Lorraine, too, became silent, and her eyes were often turned upon her niece with a rather anxious expression.

It was no new thing to Aldyth to be in London.She and her aunt not seldom came up for a day's shopping in town, or gave themselves a few days' enjoyment of sight-seeing.They found such delight in the pleasures of town as only country people can, to whose ordinary experience it offers so sharp a contrast.

But to-day Aldyth had no eyes for the shop windows, nor for the beautiful equipages they met as they drove westwards.She saw nothing that they passed.There was a strange combination of thoughts—if thoughts they could be called—in her heart.Every now and then tears would rise to her eyes as she told herself how happy she was going to be.Life must be different for her from henceforth.All she had known or read or dreamed of a mother's love was to be realized at last.She started as from a dream and flushed crimson when her aunt suddenly laid her hand on her arm.

"We are almost there, Aldyth.See, this is Charing Cross."

And, still with a dreamy sense of unreality, Aldyth recognized the wide space before her, the fountains, the lions, the statues, with the omnibuses taking up passengers, the carriages dashing to and fro, and all the bustle and stir of London life.

"Oh, Aldyth!Oh, my dear child!"said Miss Lorraine, taking the girl's hand in hers, and speaking in agitated tones.

Aldyth looked at her wonderingly; but whatever Miss Lorraine was about to say—if indeed she knew—was never said.

Their cab was making its way through a crowd of vehicles.There was a bump and a jar which startled Miss Lorraine, always somewhat nervous when driving in London.Happily there was no cause for alarm; all was right in a moment.But ere Miss Lorraine had recovered from her fright, they were at the door of the hotel, and an obsequious servant stood ready to help them to alight.

Aldyth made an effort to subdue her excitement as they followed a waiter up the steps; but in spite of her will, her heart beat uneasily, and she felt quite faint as the man threw open a door and announced them.She need not have experienced any nervousness, however.The room they entered was a large one, with three windows overlooking the Embankment, and at first sight it appeared to be empty; but a young lady rose hastily from the depths of a great easy-chair by the fire, and came forward with outstretched hand.

"Aldyth!Do we meet at last?"she said, and kissed her affectionately."How strange it is to think that you are my sister, and we have never seen each other till now!And this is your aunt, I suppose?How do you do, Miss Lorraine?I cannot claim you as an aunt, although Aldyth is my sister.Pray come near the fire; you must be dreadfully cold.I never knew anything like the cold of London."

Aldyth sat down, but her eyes were fixed upon the door which communicated with the next room.Was her mother there?Why did she not come to her?

"You are Gladys, I suppose?"said Miss Lorraine, pitying Aldyth's suspense."Mrs. Stanton is quite well, I hope?"

"Oh, perfectly well, thank you," said Gladys."She will never forgive herself for not being here to welcome Aldyth; but papa wanted her to go out with him.I think they were going to inquire about a house, and of course we did not know exactly when you would arrive.But mamma will be very vexed."

Aldyth said nothing.She could not have spoken without betraying how disappointed she was.All the way to London she had had a vision of her mother awaiting her, eager for her coming, longing to clasp her in her arms. This reality was so different from her anticipations that she experienced a painful revulsion of feeling.

"Do come nearer the fire," said Gladys Stanton, seeing her turn pale and shiver."And you will like some tea—tea is always refreshing after a journey."She rose and rang the bell as she spoke.

Aldyth now looked more attentively at her sister.She was very fair, with large blue eyes, and an abundance of pale, silky hair twisted in a sort of picturesque confusion about her head.Her tall, willowy form was almost too slim, but it was a pleasure to watch its easy, graceful movements.The small, oval face, framed by the masses of bright hair, had faulty features; but its expression was winsome, and the long blue eyes had a way of looking and the mouth a trick of smiling, the fascination of which Aldyth soon began to feel.

When the waiter appeared, she ordered tea, and then inquired where the ladies' rooms were, and if their luggage had been taken up.

"Did the ladies want rooms in the hotel?"asked the man, with an air of surprise."I am afraid that is impossible; I believe every room is taken."

"Oh no, that cannot be," said Gladys; "Mrs. Stanton has engaged the rooms. You are making a mistake.Please go and inquire about them."

"Of course he must be mistaken," she said, when he had gone."I know mamma meant to engage rooms for you."

But when the waiter reappeared with the tea, he brought word that there were indeed no rooms to be had.The clerk declared that no extra rooms had been engaged for Mrs. Stanton's party.

"Oh, dear!Then mamma must have forgotten it.How tiresome of her!"said Gladys."What will you think of us?"she added, turning with a pretty, deprecating air to Aldyth."But you know we only arrived yesterday, and mamma has had so much to think of.She lost one of her trunks, too, and that has put her out very much.What is to be done now, I wonder?"

"We must go to another hotel, of course," said Miss Lorraine, promptly; "there are several others in this neighbourhood."

Here the waiter interposed, and said that the ladies could have rooms in a private hotel on the opposite side of the street.

"Oh, that might do," said Gladys, as she poured out the tea; "you would be close by, and could be with us all the time.Would you mind that so very much?"

"Not at all; we should do very well there," said Aldyth, who by this time had conquered her wounded feelings and regained self-control.

"We must see the rooms before we agree to take them," said Gladys, promptly, with a business-like air."Now do drink your tea whilst it is hot, and then I will go across with you and see if the place is fit for you."

Aldyth was beginning to feel much interested in her pretty sister.There was something surprising to her in the self-possession and savoir-faire of this girl of nineteen.She could have imagined that Gladys was older than herself, for Gladys' rich dress and the jewellery with which her person was lavishly adorned gave her a mature air.Her gown of ruby silk was more gorgeous than anything Aldyth ever wore, and had she possessed such a one, she would have deemed it only suitable for a dinner or evening party.

Aldyth was still on the watch for her mother's arrival; but Gladys did not appear to expect her immediate return.

"We are to dine here at seven, as a family party," she said, glancing round the room."Mamma thought it would be nicer than going to the table d'hôte to-night.Perhaps you would like to go to your rooms now; you would wish to change your dress, I dare say—not but what you look as nice as possible."

Miss Lorraine assented with some eagerness.She was anxious to be assured of comfortable quarters for the night before it grew later.

Gladys caught up a handsome travelling cloak and a large hat with drooping feathers which lay on a chair, hastily arrayed herself in them, thrust her jewelled fingers into a tiny muff, and declared herself ready to accompany her visitors.They had but to walk a few steps, across the street, and they were in the other house.

The rooms were very nice.Gladys found some fault with them, perhaps because she felt duty bound not to be too easily satisfied on behalf of her friends.She lingered for a while, offering to help Aldyth to unpack and evidently anxious to do all she could for her new-found sister.

When at last Aldyth assured her there was nothing more she could do, Gladys threw her arms about her a gave her a loving little hug and kiss.

"I am sure I shall like you," she said, impetuously."I am sure we shall get on well together, although you are older than I am."

"I should be very sorry to think that we should not get on together," said Aldyth, her heart going out in warm response to this welcome affection."You do not know how I have longed for a sister.It has seemed so hard to have sisters whom I could never see."

"Oh, I hope you will not be disappointed," said Gladys, impressively."I do hope you have not romantic ideas about sisterly affection; for, if so, I am sure we shall shock you, since Nell and I are for ever quarrelling.But now I will leave you.Be sure to come over as soon as you are ready."

"She seems a nice girl, although so over-dressed," said Miss Lorraine, popping her head into Aldyth's room as soon as her sister had gone; "I hope you will like her."

"I do like her; I am sure it will be easy to love her," said Aldyth, warmly.

"I wish you would come and see if you can open the register in my room," said her aunt; "I fancied the room felt stuffy when I entered, and now I find that the chimney is fast closed."

Aldyth went at once, soon had the chimney open, and rendered several other little services to her aunt.Miss Lorraine refrained from any comment on the fact of Mrs. Stanton being absent when her daughter arrived, and Aldyth was grateful for her silence.

When she went back to her room, Aldyth bolted her door, sat down and burst into tears.She was so disappointed; there was no disguising the truth, though she tried to persuade herself that she was unreasonably disappointed.It was but too clear that her coming was not to her mother what her mother's coming was to her.And how should it be?Aldyth asked herself, trying hard to rally her common sense Had not her mother three other children, and was there not for her all the excitement of returning to England after an absence of twenty years?

And yet—and yet, Aldyth could not argue away her pain.Something within her heart would say that their meeting should have been more to her mother than all beside.The one ray of pleasure that lightened Aldyth's disappointment came from the kindness of her sister Gladys.The warmth of her loving caress and frank, impulsive words seemed to remain with Aldyth.

Aldyth did not long give way to tears.She remembered that time was passing, and that she must prepare for the meeting with her mother.Slowly and with more deliberation than she often bestowed on it, she began to make her toilet.She took down and shook out her long, dark hair, brushed it till it shone like satin, then combed it straight back from her brows, and plaited it into a beautiful coil at the back of her head.

As she surveyed the effect, she smiled to think what a contrast her appearance presented to that of Gladys."I should feel so untidy if I wore my hair in such a tangle," she thought; "and yet she looks very pretty so.I wonder if that is an Australian fashion."

With some anxiety, Aldyth put on her gown—a soft grey cashmere with a vest of pale pink.It had won much admiration from Hilda Bland, but now Aldyth felt doubtful about it.She looked wistfully at herself in the mirror.

"Shall I look old-fashioned beside Gladys?"she asked herself."Oh, I do hope mother will like the look of me."

She smiled at the absurdity of the thought, but with the smile came tears.Were not mothers generally disposed to like their children's looks?

There was a tap at the door, and she opened it to admit her aunt.Miss Lorraine wore her best black silk and a dainty little head-dress of lace.

"Ah, you are ready," she said; "then we had better go across.It is half-past six."

"Shall I do, auntie?"asked Aldyth, anxiously.

"Do!You will always do, child," said Miss Lorraine, playfully."Yes, indeed, you look very nice—far more suitably dressed than Gladys, in my opinion."And she kissed Aldyth.

After all, she told herself with secret pleasure, Aldyth was her child, and belonged to her far more truly than to that strange mother, just come across the sea.

Aldyth was trembling again as she went up the stairs of the hotel.Gladys met them in the corridor, took Miss Lorraine to their private sitting room, but drew Aldyth back as she was about to cross the threshold.

"Come with me," she said; "mamma hates scenes, and she would rather see you alone first.We will go to her room."

They passed along the corridor; but Aldyth was aware of nothing till a door was thrown open, and she found herself in the presence of a tall and handsome lady.Then she had a momentary bewildering sense that the photograph had deceived her, and this was not the form she had imaged to herself.But ere she could receive any distinct impression, the lady had folded her in her arms, and a voice exquisitely sweet, and full, and caressing said, tenderly—

"My dear child!Can it indeed be my little Aldyth come back to me like this?"

For a few moments Aldyth could not speak.It Was like a dream-the tender pressure, the soft kisses, the caressing tones, and mingling with them the subtle, sweet perfume that pervaded her mother's dress.

In that brief interval, Aldyth tasted the bliss for which she had yearned.But the next minute, Mrs. Stanton's arms loosened their clasp; she drew back a step or two, and stood looking at her daughter, evidently awaiting her inspection.

Aldyth looked at her mother with eager, wondering eyes.She could see a likeness to the portrait now; but she saw also great differences.The rich waving hair, abundant as ever, was now silvery grey—a change which gave a striking effect to the handsome, clear-cut features and the large, flashing dark eyes, which had lost little of the brilliancy which in youth had made them so irresistible.Few women of her years could have borne to wear their hair rolled high up above the brows as hers was; but, despite her grey hair, Mrs. Stanton had no look of age.Her cheeks were well rounded, her complexion fresh, and her full, red lips closed over perfect teeth.She had the appearance of a full-blown beauty of the period when it was the fashion for ladies to powder their hair, by way of accentuating their bloom.Her figure was full and well-formed; and the daring simplicity of her black velvet gown, with square-cut bodice showing the round, white throat, set it off to perfection.Her beautiful arms were bare from the elbow, and adorned with heavy gold bracelets.

A glow of admiration might well kindle in Aldyth's eyes as she observed her mother.

"Well," said Mrs. Stanton, at last, not ill-pleased with the expression she read on Aldyth's face; "am I at all what you expected?What do you think of me?"

"You are not what I expected," Aldyth replied, slowly, in a low, fervent tone; "but—you are very beautiful."

Mrs. Stanton laughed.She was well pleased with her daughter's simple, ingenuous remark.

"Ah, you are a flatterer, I fear," she said, lightly; "but really your appearance is not altogether flattering.I did not expect to see such a woman.You make me feel quite old.Let me see—what is your age, by the by?"

"I was twenty-one last March," said Aldyth, a little surprised that her mother should need to ask.

"Ah, to be sure, I had forgotten," said Mrs. Stanton, carelessly, "and Gladys is just nineteen.But now Mr. Stanton will be impatient to see you, and you have yet to make the acquaintance of Cecil and Nelly.Come, darling."

So saying she led the way to the sitting room.

Mr. Stanton did not look as if he were impatient to see Aldyth or any one.He was a weary-looking man, with bald head and stooping shoulders.His manner was singularly nervous and shy, and though he greeted Aldyth not unkindly, he seemed to have nothing to say to her.But his wife was well able to supply his lack of words.She talked both for him and for herself.

"I have been telling Aldyth how anxious you were to see her, Robert.Now, is she what you expected?Not at all like me, is she?No, she resembles her father.It is very strange that not one of my girls is really like me.Gladys resembles me most; but then she is fair, like your family, and her features are not like mine.I often wonder how it is that people will persist in saying she is like me.Oh, here is Nelly!Come, Nelly, and let me introduce you to your sister Aldyth."

Nelly appeared by no means desirous of the introduction.She was a big, awkward girl of fifteen, dark, heavy-browed and somewhat sullen-looking; but with good eyes, and a certain resemblance to her handsome mother, although she was undeniably plain.She seemed to have inherited her father's nervous, shy manner.She shook hands with Aldyth without looking at her, and rushed away to the further end of the room, where, hidden by a curtain, she leaned on a window sill and watched the outer world.

Cecil did not appear till dinner was on the table.He was a good-looking lad of seventeen, bright and pleasant in manner, though somewhat foppish in his person, and not without the conceit common to youths of his age.Still, Aldyth felt that she should like him when she knew him better.But all her impressions that evening seemed vague and unreal.She felt like one in a dream as she sat listening to the talk that went on, and replying to the remarks addressed to her.

Mrs. Stanton, as seemed to be her habit, not only spoke for herself, but said everything that her husband should said, whilst he, sitting opposite to her, silent and melancholy, occasionally murmured an assent.She had many questions to ask respecting Woodham and various families residing in the vicinity, to which Miss Lorraine was only too pleased to make full replies.

Gladys, whose vivacity seemed inexhaustible, chatted fast with her brother and Aldyth; Mr. Stanton and Nelly were the only silent ones.The latter, seated opposite to Aldyth, made good use of her opportunity of observing the appearance of her half-sister.

If Aldyth's glance met hers, she looked away hurriedly; but her eyes returned to the inspection, and Aldyth was conscious that they travelled over her, and that, apparently, no detail of her person escaped their notice.But as soon as dinner was over, Nelly buried herself in a book and made no attempt to converse with Aldyth.

"Aldyth," said her mother, coming up to her and laying her hand on her shoulder, "I am glad to hear that your uncle, at his great age, keeps so hale and well.To-morrow we must, have a quiet talk together, and you shall tell me all about him and your cousin Guy."

"Yes, I will," said Aldyth, her heart throbbing with joy at the thought of that confidential talk."Oh, mother!I am so happy to think that I can talk to you at last."

"Darling!"said her mother, pressing her hand."But don't call me 'mother' in that solemn way, Aldyth.It makes me feel so—I don't know what.Say 'mamma,' as Gladys does."

The lightly-spoken words jarred on Aldyth in her vivid emotion.But nothing could be more tender and caressing than her mother's manner to her throughout the evening; and when, on parting for the night, Aldyth found herself again folded in her mother's arms, her heart was too full of happiness to have any doubt.

"You are sure that you and your aunt will be quite comfortable there—you are sure you have everything you want?"asked Mrs. Stanton, with an air of maternal solicitude."Mr. Stanton was so vexed—were you not, Robert?That he forgot to order rooms for you in the hotel."

Mr. Stanton looked slightly surprised at his wife's appeal to him, but replied to her words in the affirmative.Then, at her suggestion, he found his hat and coat, and escorted Aldyth and her aunt across the street to their lodgings.

CHAPTER XV.

ALDYTH WAKES FROM A DREAM.

ALDYTH did not have the promised talk with her mother on the morrow.

Several days passed, all so full of occupation that Mrs. Stanton had no leisure hour to spare for her eldest daughter.

"When we get into our own house, we shall have more time with each other, darling," her mother would say with a smile and caress, and then drive away with her husband and Gladys to visit friends or inspect houses.

Aldyth and her aunt went about sight-seeing in London with Nelly and Cecil.Aldyth tried hard to win the favour of her younger sister, but for some time with poor success.Nelly's shyness was not to be overcome.When they were out, she kept as much with her brother as possible, and Aldyth thus often found herself her aunt's companion.

Nothing definite had been spoken on the subject, but the Stantons seemed to take it for granted that Aldyth would remain with her mother as long as she was in England.Miss Lorraine's appetite for town entertainments was not easily sated; but when a week had passed, she began to talk of returning to Woodham.Mrs. Stanton, however, begged her to remain with Aldyth till early in the following week, when they would move into the house which had been taken at Bayswater.

On the afternoon of the last day of her stay in town, Miss Lorraine decided that she would like to call on one or two friends, and, rather to Aldyth's surprise, did not invite her niece to accompany her.Aldyth went across to the hotel to find out what her sisters intended to do.She found Nelly by herself, hanging over the fire in the sitting room, and looking far from amiable.

"What, all alone, Nelly?"she said."Where are the others?"

"Oh, mamma and Gladys have gone shopping.I never knew anything like their shopping; there is no end to it.And papa and Cecil have gone to the hospital to make arrangements for Cecil studying there."

"So!And you are left all alone.Well, I am in the same lonely condition, for auntie has gone off to pay visits, and never so much as asked me if I would like to go with her."

"Oh, I am used to that sort of thing," said Nelly, forlornly."Mamma never cares to have me with her.I am too ugly and awkward."

"Oh, Nelly!How can you say such things of yourself?"exclaimed Aldyth.

"It is true," said Nelly."Mamma feels that I am no credit to her, and she is ashamed for me to be seen.Oh, you need not look shocked, Aldyth.You do not know mamma yet."

"I hope you are mistaken in so judging her," said Aldyth, gently."But now, Nelly, what shall we do, since we are left to ourselves?"

"I don't care," said Nelly, indifferently.

"Would you like to go across to the National Gallery?We seem to have neglected that just because it is so near.There are some of the finest pictures in the world to be seen there.But perhaps you do not care for looking at pictures."

"I care very much," said Nelly, brightening."I really like pictures more than Gladys, only I do not make such a fuss about them as she does."

So they went to the Gallery, and spent a couple of hours there very pleasantly.Aldyth found that Nelly took a real and intelligent interest in the pictures.Aldyth, who was a devout disciple of Ruskin, had a profound admiration of Turner, and she soon kindled in Nelly a like enthusiasm for his paintings.Together they studied the slight sketches, which give such interesting indications of the gradual development of his genius.

As they talked them over, Nelly grew confidential, and told her sister of her great desire to study art—a desire which would not be quenched by the efforts of all her family to throw cold water upon it.

"I want mamma to let me study at South Kensington," she said; "but she says it is of no use, for I should never do anything worth doing.She is going to look for a school for me as soon as she can find time.I am to go as a weekly boarder.Is not that horrid?"

"Perhaps you will like it better than you expect," said Aldyth."No doubt there will be a good drawing master."

"Ah, that would be nice," said Nelly."But all mamma wants is to get me out of the way.You know mamma means to get Gladys married whilst we are over here."

"Nelly!"said Aldyth.

"Ah, you are shocked at my saying so; but it is perfectly true.Mamma is determined that Gladys shall marry well.As for me, I don't know what mamma will do with me.I am afraid no one will ever want to marry me, and mamma will think it so disgraceful to have a daughter an old maid."

Aldyth could not help laughing at the way her sister said this.

"Indeed, Nelly, there is no disgrace in being an 'old maid,' as you call it," she said quickly; "it is far better to remain single than to make an unhappy marriage.And there are many honourable careers open to women.You might be all artist, perhaps."

"Ah, that would be delightful," said Nelly, her eyes kindling; "a great deal better than being married."

When they returned to the hotel, Nelly declared that she had thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon, and Aldyth was glad to feel that it had drawn them closer together.But she herself was far from experiencing perfect content.Day by day, in spite of her efforts to stifle it, a feeling of disappointment was growing stronger within her.

"You do not know mamma yet," Nelly had said.Was it so indeed?Had she yet to learn her mother's true character, and was it so totally different from all that she had conceived it to be?The thought was full of pain.Aldyth tried to put it away from her—tried to persuade herself that she was attaching too much importance to the words of a thoughtless, ill-tempered child; but with all her endeavours, the doubt was not to be dismissed.

And yet, as she watched her beautiful mother and marked her queenly movements, her graceful kindliness, Aldyth found it hard to believe that her charming appearance masked a selfish, worldly spirit; for she saw her mother at her best.Eleanor Stanton was delighted to be again in London; her husband was completely under her sway; there was no one to oppose her will, and she was enjoying herself thoroughly.It was easy for her, as for many another woman, to be charming and lovable as long as her life was what she wished it to be.

It was close upon the dinner hour ere Miss Lorraine returned from her visits.

"You will be surprised when I tell you where I have been," she said as her niece helped her to change her dress—"I have been to Highgate to see Mrs. Glynne."

"Auntie!"exclaimed Aldyth in a tone of surprise.

"Yes, I thought I should like to see Susie again; we were great friends at school, and now I know her son so well, I thought it would be nice to go and see her.And I am glad I went, for she seemed very pleased.I did not see Mr. Glynne, for he is at Woodham.The school reopened last week."

"Yes, I know," said Aldyth.

"She is a sweet woman," said Miss Lorraine, talking as fast as the exigencies of her toilet would permit."They live in a tiny house; but everything is as neat and as nice as possible.Aldyth, what are you thinking of?Not that cap.And I saw the daughter, a pleasant girl, not pretty, but clever-looking."

"Oh, auntie, I wish you had taken me with you," exclaimed Aldyth.

"Oh, my dear, that would not have done at all," said her aunt, decidedly.

Aldyth coloured, and refrained from inquiring why it would not have done.

It was not without regret that she saw her aunt start for Woodham on the following day.

"It does seem strange that you should go home without me," she said."If it were not that I am to be with mother, I should be sorry."

"I shall miss you dreadfully," said Miss Lorraine."Home will seem strange without you.Now mind, you come down, Aldyth, whenever you can.Bring one of your sisters with you, if you like; but be sure to come when you want a little country air."

"Of course I will," said Aldyth."Remember me to uncle and Guy, and do not forget my message to the Blands.Good-bye."

Then the train glided out of the station, and Aldyth went back to her new home and new life.

"Have you not a letter from your uncle?"Mrs. Stanton inquired of Aldyth one morning, a few days later, as they sat at the breakfast table.

By this time they were settled in the house at Bayswater, and beginning to feel at home there.

Aldyth replied in the affirmative.

"I thought so," said Mrs. Stanton."I thought I could not be mistaken in the clear, old-fashioned writing, though it is, many years since I have seen it.Does he send me any message?"

"No, he does not," said Aldyth, a little embarrassed by the question.

"Oh, I did not expect it," said Mrs. Stanton with a laugh."I know he is no friend to me.How is the poor old man?"

"He does not say how he is," replied Aldyth."He tells me about the horses and dogs, and the meet last week at Wood Corner."

"Do you ever hunt?"asked Gladys, eagerly.

"No," said Aldyth; "Guy has often tried to persuade aunt to let me, but she does not like the idea of a lady's hunting.Kitty Bland has ridden after the hounds once or twice, but her mother is very nervous about it."

"I would not mind what your aunt thinks," said Gladys, coolly; "I would go if I were you, Aldyth."

"My dear Gladys," said Mrs. Stanton, reprovingly, "I am glad that Aldyth has a better notion than you of what is becoming conduct in a young lady towards her seniors."

Gladys shrugged her shoulders and made a grimace.

"Does not your cousin Guy write to you, Aldyth?"asked Mrs. Stanton, in so meaning a tone that it brought a quick flush to the girl's cheek.

"Oh dear no," she said, hurriedly, "that is the last thing Guy would think of doing.He will never write to any one unless he is obliged."

"Indeed," said Mrs. Stanton, and let the subject drop.She watched her daughter intently for a few seconds.She had already questioned Miss Lorraine pretty closely as to the relations subsisting between Aldyth and her cousin, and had drawn her own conclusions from that lady's reluctant replies.

Some time later, as Aldyth sat writing a letter in the breakfast room, her mother entered, her wool work in her hand, and settled herself in an easy-chair by the fire, evidently intending to remain there.

"How cold it is!"she said, holding out her hands towards the blaze."I have sent Gladys to take a walk in the park with her father.He does not like walking alone, and it is better he should have company, for I am still anxious about him.To tell you the truth, Aldyth, he had a slight stroke of paralysis before he left Australia, and that, you know, is very alarming."

"Yes, indeed," said Aldyth, looking startled; "I had no idea his illness was so serious as that."

"It was, and after that, you know, one cannot tell what may happen," said Mrs. Stanton, in an easy, comfortable tone as she warmed her hands; "I am sure no one knows what anxiety I have gone through.He has had so much worry in his business; the doctor insisted on his giving up everything and coming away at once.He is in partnership with his brother; but they don't work well together, somehow.But I must not talk to you now, you are busy."

"Oh no; this letter is of no consequence," said Aldyth, laying down her pen."I am only too happy to listen to you, mother—mamma, I mean."

She rose from her place at the table, and took a seat opposite to her mother.

"Thank you, dear," said Mrs. Stanton, sweetly, "that is right.Now we can have a nice cosy talk; but we will not discuss my troubles.Tell me about your life at Woodham, my dear child."

"I think you have heard all that there is to tell," said Aldyth; "you know it is a very quiet place."

"Detestably quiet," said Mrs. Stanton; "I never could bear Woodham.I always disliked it when as a girl I used to go over there from Colchester, and my great dread when I became engaged to your father was that he would want we to live at Woodham.Well, I have escaped that, have I not?Do you often go to Wyndham?"

"Almost every week," said Aldyth."Uncle always complains if I let a week pass without his seeing me."

"Ah, you are a great favourite with your uncle; I am very glad of that," said her mother, fervently."Now tell me about your cousin—what sort of a man is he?"

"He is tall," said Aldyth, with a sparkle of fun in her eyes, "and he has broad shoulders, and he is very strong.His hair is light, and his face ruddy; his eyes, I think, are blue; he has good features, and many people consider him good-looking.He rides well, is a bold hunter, a crack shot, and altogether a splendid specimen of a country gentleman."

"Oh, my dear!I don't want all these details," said her mother."Tell me, do you like him?Are you great friends?"

"Yes, we are good friends," said Aldyth, carelessly; "you see, I have known him all my life; he is almost a brother to me."

"Now, that is nonsense, Aldyth," said Mrs. Stanton, quickly; "cousins cannot be brothers, and, after all, he is only your second cousin.What I want to know—and I think I as your mother have a right to ask—is whether he has ever given you cause to suppose that he wishes to marry you?"

Aldyth's farce grew crimson.She was silent.It was a curious proof of the subtle change that had taken place in her feelings with regard to her mother that whereas at the time of Guy's proposal, she had longed to tell it all to her mother.Now that the subject was thus introduced, she shrank from its discussion, and would gladly have evaded it altogether.

"Surely you can tell me, dearest," said her mother, seeing her hesitation."Who can care for your welfare as I do?If your happiness is bound up with your cousin's, tell me so."

There was something so ludicrous to Aldyth in the idea suggested by her mother's words, that she could not help laughing.

"Oh, mamma, it is not so, I assure you," she said."I should never care for Guy in that way.He did ask me to marry him a little while ago, but he quite understands now that it can never be."

"But why?"asked Mrs. Stanton, a look of vexation clouding her brow."My dear Aldyth, I do hope you have not been misled by the foolish, romantic notions some girls have about love.How could you be so blind to your own interests as to refuse your cousin?Do you forget that he is the heir of Wyndham?"

"I do not see what that has to do with it, mamma," said Aldyth."You would not have me marry a man whom I cannot truly love?"

"But you say that you like him, that you are good friends," persisted Mrs. Stanton; "what more would you have?What is this love you dream of?It is all very well in novels and poems, but in real life, one has to be guided by practical considerations.Does not your uncle desire this marriage?"

"Yes, he would like it," said Aldyth, in a low, pained tone.

"Then, my dear, how can you be so foolish?Do you not know how ready your uncle is to take offence?If you cross his will, you may lose your inheritance, as your poor father did.Stephen Lorraine has never said what were his intentions concerning you, but I always thought that he meant you should share Guy's fortune.Oh, dear!I would not have had you act so foolishly for the world; but perhaps it is not yet too late to set things right."

"You do not understand me, mamma," said Aldyth."I am sorry to displease you, but I can never, never marry Guy.It would be most wrong of me to do so, feeling as I do."

"Then there is some one else you care for," said Mrs. Stanton, sharply.

Aldyth flushed."You are mistaken," she said, coldly, "there is no one else; but I cannot see that makes any difference."

"Well, of all foolish, unpractical girls, you are the worst I could ever imagine!"said Mrs. Stanton, indignantly."Why, most girls would jump at such an offer."

But Aldyth had risen, and was hurrying from the room.She ran up stairs with hot tears in her eyes, and a choking sensation in her throat.She was indignant with her mother for uttering such words.

It was a sore wound to find that the mother whom unknown she had loved devotedly all her life was capable of giving her such low, worldly counsel.It was no longer possible to hide from herself the keen disappointment she was suffering.The truth was not to be disguised.

Her mother, beautiful, charming, gracious as she appeared, was not the mother of whom she had dreamed through long years.The hopes she had built on her home-coming were all delusive.The perfect sympathy, the mutual confidence and help to which she had looked forward, were not to be.As she recognized this fact, certain words of Christina Rossetti's kept repeating themselves in Aldyth's mind—

"The hope I dreamed of was a dream,
 Was but a dream; and now I wake
 Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,
 For a dream's sake."

Were other things dreams too?Was she indeed foolishly, romantic, as her mother had said?Were her ideals mistaken?The glorious visions of the poets, were they illusive?The grand possibilities that life had seemed to her to hold, as she studied the inspiring utterances of the great teachers of mankind, were they too phantasmal?Was there indeed no poetry in life, and would she be wiser if she consented to follow the dictates of vulgar, worldly prudence?

In the heart-sickness caused by the shock of her first real disappointment, Aldyth questioned everything.What was the good of life if it were so low and sordid, so barren of all that is truly noble and elevating?But presently, healthier feelings returned to her.

She had taken refuge in her room, and was sitting gazing dully before her, when a ray of wintry sunshine entering through the window gleamed on a tiny bunch of violets which Nelly had placed on her dressing-table.Aldyth caught them up, and their beauty and sweetness comforted her.After all, the world was not the dreary place she had been imagining it.

God was in the world, God, working ever for righteousness and purity and loveliness, and God was love.Did not the poet Browning say that the grand lesson of life was to learn love—what love had been, what love might be?

"I believe in love and God," said Aldyth to herself; "and, God helping me, I will be true to my ideal of what my life should be.I will not love my mother less because she is not just what I had fancied she would be.Is not a certain amount of forbearance necessary in every human relationship?I will strive to be to my mother all that a daughter should be, and perhaps in time she will come to think as I do about things.I hope she did not see how impatient and angry I felt just now."

And Aldyth dried her eyes, and seeing that the sunshine looked inviting, put on her hat and jacket and set off to take her usual remedy for depression—a good walk.

CHAPTER XVI.

CONTRASTS.

WHEN Nelly had been sent to school, Aldyth found herself more at leisure.

Gladys was always good-natured and bright; there was something very charming in her pretty, careless ways.It was impossible to help loving her, and yet after she had lived with her for weeks, Aldyth felt that she knew her no better than on the first day of their meeting.It seemed impossible to have a quiet talk with Gladys; she was always self-occupied, restless, eager about trifles.Apparently she did not know what serious thought was.She had inherited her mother's gift of fascination, and, like her, knew how to use it for the accomplishment of her own ends.

Aldyth could never have said that her sister treated her unkindly; yet again and again, she found herself gently pushed on one side that Gladys might take the lead.

Gladys had been first in the family for too many years to be willing now to resign her premiership in favour of Aldyth just because she, too, was her mother's daughter and nearly three years older than herself.But she did not assert her supremacy in any disagreeable manner, and Mrs. Stanton endeavoured to veil her preference for Gladys.

"You do not care for dancing, Aldyth, so I must not take you to this party;" or, "This entertainment is not intellectual enough for you," she would say, when invitations came in.And Aldyth, not without heartache, yet in all sincerity, would reply that she would rather remain at home.

Aldyth used to look forward to the Saturday of each week, for early on that day Nelly would come home from school.

She and her young sister had become the best of friends, and found much enjoyment in each other's company.It was good for Nelly to confide to so sympathetic a listener the details of her school life.Her mother had neither time nor inclination to interest herself in them.Her main anxiety concerning her youngest daughter's education was that she should learn to speak French and acquire a good deportment.

Nelly had good abilities, but she was naturally indolent.The training she had received had not taught her to love knowledge; but now, under Aldyth's influence, she began to take an interest in literature.She was working well at her drawing, and cherished the hope of being an artist; and when Aldyth pointed out to her the fact that every kind of knowledge may be of service to a painter, she bestowed more pains on her general school work.

Aldyth could not doubt that her stepfather was a man of wealth, for Mrs. Stanton and Gladys spent money lavishly, and the style of their home was most luxurious.There were so many servants that Aldyth could find no domestic duties to perform.She was at no loss how to employ her leisure.

Mudie's Library supplied her with the books she desired to read, and all the varied means of culture that London affords were open to her.But there were times when Aldyth's conscience smote her for leading a selfish, aimless life, and she longed for her poor people at Woodham, and the many occupations of her busy life there.However, work for others always comes to those who are willing to undertake it, and ere long it came to Aldyth.

One day, Gladys having a pleasanter engagement in prospect, Mrs. Stanton took Aldyth to visit some friends at Blackheath.There was a small party invited to meet them, and amongst the number were a clergyman and his wife, in whom Aldyth soon felt considerable interest.Mrs. Wheatley was a small, frail-looking woman, but full of life and energy.Her features were plain, but her countenance had a charm which beauties might envy, for it betokened rare intellectual power combined with all that is good and sweet and womanly.Aldyth felt drawn to her at once, and probably the attraction was mutual, for as soon as an opportunity occurred, Mrs. Wheatley moved to a chair beside Aldyth and began to talk with her.

How is it that half an hour's talk with some persons seems equal to months of intercourse with others?In an incredibly short time Aldyth felt perfectly at home with Mrs. Wheatley, and could talk to her as if she were an old friend.To her surprise, Aldyth learned that this delicate, refined-looking lady lived in one of the least desirable localities of the East-end of London, having resolutely determined, contrary to the advice of physicians and friends, that she would make her home in her husband's parish, and live among the poor people she desired to help and raise.

"You must not believe all that you hear about Whitechapel," she said brightly to Aldyth."People talk of the impossibility of getting fresh air there; but even in Whitechapel there is a breeze sometimes, and when it is close and heavy in the streets, there is fresh air at the tops of the houses.Our rooms are on the fourth story of the house, and there is the flat roof of a tenement on which I can take a walk when I choose, and where I am trying to cultivate some plants.Nor is the moral atmosphere so hopeless as some would make out.I could show you brave men in Whitechapel, whose patient endurance of a hard and painful lot is absolutely heroic, and women whose pure, noble lives, under circumstances the most adverse, would put duchesses to shame.I know they have often taught me lessons I needed to learn."

Aldyth was much interested.It was vexatious that just then the lady of the house should come to her with a request that she would play something; but she could not refuse.She went at once to the piano, and played a bright little gavotte by Gluck; then, being urged to play again, she gave one of Schubert's exquisite, entrancing melodies.Mrs. Stanton was not without satisfaction in her daughter's performance and the admiration it won.She wished that Gladys could have been persuaded to give more attention to her practising.

Happily no one had taken Aldyth's place, so she was able to return to Mrs. Wheatley's side.

"You play very well; it is a pleasure to listen to you," said that lady, simply."I wish you would come and play to my working girls some evening."

"Your working girls?"said Aldyth.

"Yes; we have established a club for girls employed in factories and workshops.It is open every evening from seven till ten.We have various amusements for them, and we try to teach them sewing and cooking.We have a good piano, and I am always glad to get some one to give us some music.Besides, it is so easy for a girl like you to win an influence over them."

"Indeed, I will gladly do anything I can," said Aldyth; "I should really like to help."

"I am sure you would," said Mrs. Wheatley; "it is a work that appeals to a girl's heart.These girls have to support themselves when quite young.Many of them have left their parents, and live in poor lodgings, sharing their room, perhaps, with several others, and when their work is done, they have no place of recreation save the streets or the music-halls.A warm, well-lighted room, where they can spend the evening pleasantly, is a great attraction to them.We have some rough, intractable girls to deal with; but we hope gradually to soften them by kindness, and I am sure you would be a great help in doing so."

"I will try what I can do," said Aldyth."I will come next week, if mamma will let me."

Aldyth was sure that her mother would not allow her to go unattended to Whitechapel, so before naming the matter to her, she spoke of it to one of the servants, explained to her the kind of work in which she had been invited to join, and asked whether she would be willing to share it by accompanying her once a week to the East-end.The servant, an honest good-hearted girl, was proud and pleased that Miss Lorraine should seek her assistance, and gladly consented.

Mrs. Stanton made no objection to Aldyth's plan, though she thought it an incomprehensible whim of hers to wish to go to such a horrible place.It was a happy thing for Aldyth that her mother rarely interfered with her wishes, except when they were adverse to her own.

So Aldyth went to her work in Whitechapel, and made acquaintance with the factory girls of the East-end.It was work in which she soon became deeply interested, and it inspired her with many new solemn thoughts about life.

As Mrs. Wheatley had foreseen, the girls "took to her" at once, for women of the lower classes are quick to recognize a "real lady" when they see one, and to feel the charm of her gentleness and simplicity.Aldyth's pleasant look, her smile, the sweet tones of her voice, her fresh, pretty gowns, and the dainty, flower-like neatness of her person, could not have charmed any male admirer more than they charmed these girls.They clustered about her, they applauded the bright, well-chosen music she gave them, and they watched eagerly for the chance of a talk with her.

Aldyth had no difficulty in gaining their confidence.They could see that she liked to hear all they could tell her about themselves, and one by one they told her of the troubles and hardships of their lives, not complainingly, but in a simple, matter-of-fact manner, that was touching in its very unconsciousness.

One evening Aldyth, returning tired from Whitechapel, met Gladys alighting from a carriage at the door of their home.She had been spending the evening in a very different fashion at the house of some friends.She followed Aldyth into the dining room, where a light supper awaited her.

"I will sit with you while you take your chocolate," Gladys said, throwing off her cloak and sinking gracefully into an easy-chair by the fire."The Andersons are so nice, Aldyth; I've had the most delightful time.You were a silly not to come with me instead of going to those stupid girls at Whitechapel."

Aldyth looked at her sister for a moment, ere she replied.

Gladys, dressed all in white, with her pretty neck uncovered and her coronal of golden hair gleaming in the lamplight, never looked more fair.

But Aldyth had a sudden painful sense of the contrast presented to her sister by the girls she had left, as young as Gladys, and some of them as fair, but with weary faces and thin, bent forms, whose clothes were shabby and tawdry, and whose lives had so little of what was bright and pleasant in them.

"Oh, Gladys!"she said."Don't grudge our girls any pleasure I can give them by going.If you only knew what their lives are!If I were one of them, I think it would make me feel bad to look on a girl like you."

"And why, pray?"asked Gladys, with an air of surprise.

"Because you have so much to enjoy, and they so little," said Aldyth."Most of them are as young, if not younger than you, and a few of them—forgive me, Gladys—are almost as pretty.I often long to try the effect of dressing them in fresh, becoming frocks.But their lives are hard and rough.Most of them toil from eight in the morning till eight at night, and some of them, who call themselves 'shop girls,' work till even later.There was a girl to whom I spoke to-night, a bright young girl of fifteen, and when I offered her a book, she told me she could not read because her eyes were so bad, owing to her having to do her work—stitching babies' bibs—under a strong gaslight all day long.Another girl, who has to go up and down many flights of stairs during the day, could not join in a game because her ankles were so dreadfully swollen.Does it not seem hard that some young girls should have to live so, whilst others have everything that heart can wish, and nothing to do but enjoy themselves?I am sure when I look on those girls, I am ashamed to think what an easy, self-indulgent life I have always led."

There was a passionate quiver in Aldyth's voice as she spoke, which showed that tears were not far from her eyes.Gladys was not unmoved by her earnest words.

"But they belong to the working class," she said."They cannot expect to lead such lives as ours."

"Oh, they know that well enough," said Aldyth."It is wonderful to me how patiently they bear their hard lot.'Ladies have fine times of it; it is good to be born a lady,' I heard a girl say to-night; but it is rarely we hear such remarks.And yet, human nature is the same in every class, and these girls have the same feelings as you and I."

"Aldyth!"said Gladys, in a sceptical tone.

"Indeed they have," said Aldyth."They yearn for happiness as we do, they feel the same eagerness for every attainable pleasure; they love things that are bright and pretty.Ah, you should have seen how eager they were for a few flowers I took to-day.The bunch was gone in no time, and the girls who could not get a flower were sadly disappointed.I had to promise that I would bring some more next week.I shall ask aunt to send me some from Woodham.The primroses must be coming out there now."

"It is very good of you to take so much trouble," said Gladys.

"Oh, I think we more fortunate girls are bound to do all we can to help and gladden our poor sisters," said Aldyth."Do you know when I was with them to-night, I kept thinking of those words in the Bible—'Who maketh thee to differ from another?And what hast thou that thou didst not receive?'I think we are apt to forget that all the good things we have received—our education, accomplishments, personal attractions—are all trusts, given to us to be used for others, and not simply for our own enjoyment."

"Oh, don't be so dreadfully solemn!"exclaimed Gladys, suddenly springing up."Aldyth, you really must marry a parson, for at a pinch, you could make his sermons for him, and it would be a great pity such a talent should be wasted."

"Why not say at once that I should mount the pulpit and preach?"asked Aldyth laughing."But, Gladys, I do wish you would come to Whitechapel with me some night.It would give the girls such pleasure to hear you sing."

But Gladys held up her hands in horror at the idea.

"I could not really, Aldyth.You frighten me by proposing such a thing.I should be afraid of catching smallpox or something dreadful if I went there.Oh, surely one martyr is enough in a family!Ah, yes, you may shake your head.I know I'm a sad girl—I know I care for nothing but pleasure—but that's my way, and you must take me as I am."

"Oh, Gladys, you do not mean that.It would be a poor thing to live only for pleasure," Aldyth said.

"I do mean it, you dear old mentor," said Gladys, stopping her mouth with a kiss; "and I do not find it a poor thing either, so there!But now it is time we got our beauty sleep, so, if you are ready, we will go up stairs."

Aldyth found in her room a letter from Hilda, and, tired though she was, she could not resist reading it ere she went to bed.The envelope felt thick, so she might expect a good budget of news, and with pleasurable anticipations, she tore it open and sat down to read the contents.This was what Hilda had written:—

   "MY OWN DARLING ALDYTH,—Am I not very good to reply to your dear letter so soon?    But you will not wonder when you hear the exciting story I have to tell.    You know, I dare say, that since Sultan went lame, and the veterinary said he would need a long rest, your uncle has bought a new horse for the gig.    He is a splendid animal as far as appearance goes, but Miss Lorraine said from the first that he had a vicious look.    However, your uncle thought he had got a good bargain, and he must needs go out with John in the gig to try him.    Guy wanted to drive him for the first time, but your uncle would not hear of it.    He was still very displeased with poor Guy; nothing he did gave satisfaction.    However, Guy occupied the back seat of the gig, and came into Woodham with them; but seeing that the horse was going all right, he got down at the post-office, and said he would walk home.    To tell you the truth, Aldyth dear, he meant to linger about the town with the hope of seeing poor little me.

   "Well, Mr. Lorraine called on his dear friend, Miss Rudkin, and John walked the horse up and down whilst he was there.    Whether the delay irritated him, or whether he took fright at a tramp who was coming along the road with a sack on his back, it is impossible to say, but Mr. Lorraine had hardly taken his seat ere the horse began to plunge wildly, and when John whipped him, he bolted.    Old John was powerless to hold him in, and he went down town like the wind.    Kitty was at the window and saw the horse run away, and she says she shall never forget it.    Fortunately the road was clear.

   "The horse tore down the High Street till close upon the corner where the old church juts out, and what would have happened then no one dare say, if Guy—dear, brave, noble Guy!    —had not come to the rescue.    He was standing talking to some one outside the saddler's, and saw the horse coming.    In a moment he was in the road, gave one bound, and caught the reins, and, hanging on with desperate strength, forced the animal to stop.    How he did it, I cannot imagine, it makes me tremble even now to think of it; but you know how strong he is, and now he has proved that he is as bold as he is strong.

   "Oh, Aldyth, you can never laugh at Guy again, or run him down.    You ought to be very proud of your brave cousin.    But I forget that you will be anxious to know how your uncle was after such a fright.    He really bore it wonderfully well.    He was a little faint at first, and they took him into Hall's and gave him some brandy.    In half an hour he seemed all right, and oh, Aldyth!    He thanked Guy before everybody, and said he had saved his life, and called him a brave fellow.    And, only think, the next day he insisted on going for a drive again with the same horse, only Guy drove, so no harm came of it.    But would any one except Mr. Lorraine have done such a thing?

   "I met them as they were driving, and your uncle nodded to me quite pleasantly, and Guy looked so pleased.    Oh, I hope it is not very foolish of me, but I cannot help thinking that perhaps after all, things will come right for us.    Surely, Mr. Lorraine must be kind to Guy, now he has saved his life!

   "Miss Lorraine has just been in on her way home from Wyndham, and she says she believes that her uncle is more affected by the shock than he will own.    She thought him looking very shaky.

   "Oh, Aldyth, how I wish you were here!    There is so much I should like to tell you, and it is impossible to put everything in a letter.    Mr. Glynne's sister has come to stay with him for a few weeks.    She seems a very nice girl, and we have invited her to spend Tuesday with us.    But I must not write more now.    With fondest love, dearest Aldyth,—

"Your devoted friend,

"HILDA."

Here was news indeed!All desire of sleep vanished from Aldyth as she read it.She was moved both to thankfulness and to self-reproach as she thought of her uncle's danger and Guy's brave conduct.

"Perhaps I have been too hard on him," she said to herself."Perhaps there is more in him than I suppose.Anyhow it was a brave deed, and I am glad, oh, so glad and thankful, that he had strength and courage to do it."

One effect of Hilda's letter was to awake in Aldyth a longing to return to Woodham.She had now been absent from the little town for several months, and it was with somewhat of home-sickness that she recalled all the varied interests of her life there.It was spring weather now, and amid the London streets and squares, she yearned for the country lanes and the woods and fields bright with primroses and cowslips.

And to think that Mr. Glynne's sister was now at Woodham!Aldyth would have given much to make her acquaintance, and to join in the long walks which she would be taking with the Blands.But she sagely reflected that we cannot have everything at once in this life.She had—what for years had been her heart's chief desire—the society of her mother and sisters, and she must be content to resign her old life at Woodham, which, as she now saw plainly, had been full of quiet happiness.

She was finding a niche in her new home, and learning daily that even in London there were many who needed her.Her stepfather, who whilst the days of his wife and Gladys were wholly occupied with gaiety, seemed to grow more and more weary and depressed, often sought her help in little matters for which his wife had no leisure and seemed glad of her company.Cecil came to her with tales of his hospital experiences, and found to his surprise that Aldyth knew more about surgery than most girls, and could listen with intelligent interest to the "horrors" at the very mention of which his mother and Gladys stopped their ears.

And Nelly looked forward with delight to the pleasant "outings" which Aldyth contrived that they should have together almost every Saturday afternoon.Even Gladys invariably sought Aldyth whenever she needed assistance of any kind.But to her mother, despite tender words and caresses, Aldyth could never feel that she was very near and dear.The long years of separation seemed to have left between them a void that could not easily be bridged over.

CHAPTER XVII.

HILDA IS HAPPY.

THREE days had passed since Aldyth received Hilda's letter.Her aunt had sent her a full account of what had happened, and a few curt, but not unkind, words from her uncle had assured her that there was no need for her to feel any anxiety on his account.

It was about five o'clock on a bright afternoon, and Aldyth, having had occasion to go to a shop there, was walking in Oxford Street.She was near Regent Circus when, to her great astonishment, she perceived her grand-uncle a few yards in front of her, stepping cautiously from an omnibus.He did not perceive her, and she looked at him for a moment or two, hardly able to believe her eyes.Her uncle, who professed to dislike London so much, and had not been known to visit it for years!

Indeed, it was a great event for him at any time to go beyond twenty miles of his home.But there he was, in his old velveteen coat, his white hat, his drab gaiters, just as Aldyth was accustomed to see him at Woodham, but looking strangely out of place on the London pavement.She hurriedly made her way to his side.

"Uncle!I little expected to see you in Oxford Street."

He turned, surprised and pleased, yet his manner betrayed some discomposure.

"Ah, Aldyth, is it you?Well, it is a happy chance that we should meet thus.Yes, you may well be surprised to see me here; but business brought me to town.I came up on business."

Aldyth could not remember that her uncle had ever come up to London on business before.He was wont to manage all his business through the agency of Mr. Ralph Greenwood.

"Were you coming to see me, uncle?"she asked.

"Well, no, I was not," he answered, still with a shade of embarrassment in his manner; "I have finished my business, and I thought I would take a little look about town before going home by the evening train."

"Then you will come and see mamma?"said Aldyth, eagerly."She will be so pleased to see you."

The old man did not at once reply.He only smiled a peculiar, grim smile, which said, as plainly as words could utter it, "But I should not be pleased to see her."

"Do you really think she would be pleased?"he asked sarcastically, after a few moments."Suppose she had some of her fashionable friends with her, would she be delighted, do you think, to see a queer, old-fashioned countryman like me come into her fine drawing room?"

"I do not believe that would make any difference, uncle," Aldyth said.

He laughed sceptically.

"Ah, my dear, you must excuse me," he said; "I knew your mother before you were born."

Aldyth's cheeks were burning.She wished he would not speak of her mother in that contemptuous tone.

"I am glad I happened to meet you," she said, "since otherwise I should not have seen you at all.Shall we go into the Park and sit down for a little while?It is quite warm, and I want to have a talk with you."

He assented with evident pleasure.In a few minutes they were at the Marble Arch, and entering the Park found a quiet seat under some trees.

"Aldyth," said her uncle suddenly, "you will be good enough not to mention to your mother that you have seen me to-day; and do not name it when you are writing to Woodham.I do not wish my coming up to town to be talked about there."

Aldyth promised; but she could not but wonder that her uncle should think it possible to keep people at Woodham from knowing that he had made a journey to town.

Presently she expressed her thankfulness for his recent escape from danger.

"Yes," he said, thoughtfully, "it was a narrow escape,—a narrow escape indeed.And Guy acted like a hero.He saved my life at the risk of his own; there's no denying that.How he hung on to that brute of a horse I can't tell.His wrists feel the strain yet."

"Oh, uncle, I hope you do not drive that animal still," Aldyth said.

"Well, no, I suppose I shall have to give it up; he's not safe in the shafts.Guy can ride him.Guy is a good rider.Sometimes I think that perhaps I have been too hard on him; he is a good fellow, is Guy.I did hope I should have seen you married to him, Aldyth; but I suppose it cannot be."

"No, uncle, it can never be," Aldyth said.

"I had set my heart on it," he continued, sadly, not angrily; "but you young people have a way of thwarting all my plans.You must have your own way, however things go.I thought you cared for Wyndham; I thought you would have taken a pride in the old place."

"I do love Wyndham," Aldyth said.

"Yes, but you do not care to live there—at least, not as Guy's wife.Aldyth, tell me, you would not be one to pull down and alter the old place, if it were in your power to retain it as it is?"

"Certainly not," said Aldyth, wondering at the question; "I am not one to desire change.I like things to be as they have always been."

"Ah, yes," he said, musingly."Well, there is no saying how things will be.Perhaps some other girl will be the mistress of Wyndham.Would you mind if it were so, Aldyth?"

"Why, no, uncle," said Aldyth, "I assure you, I have never thought of such a thing as being the mistress of Wyndham.Guy and I are really not at all suited to each other."

"Yes, but there are other ways," he said.There was a pause of some minutes, and then he asked, abruptly, "Are you and Hilda Bland as good friends as ever, Aldyth?"

"Oh, yes, uncle, indeed we are."

"Does she write to you?"

"Yes."

"Ah, well," he said, and his voice quavered as he spoke, "there is no saying how things will be at the last.I change my plans, and then I change them again.Sometimes I think I am getting old and weak, and do not know my own mind.But I mean it for the best.However things are, I mean it for the best.I suppose I have a right to do as I like with my own?They'll find fault with me, no doubt, when I'm gone; but I mean it for the best."

His voice had dropped, and as he rambled on thus it seemed to Aldyth that he had forgotten where he was and that she was by his side.She had fancied him unchanged when first she saw him; but now it seemed to her that there was a change in him, though it was one not easy to define.

She laid her hand on his, and he looked round with a startled air, but recovering himself slowly, he said, "I don't know why I should talk about going.I am not so very old.Several of my ancestors lived to be ninety, and why should not I?I have always lived temperately.Why should not I see ninety, please God?"

"I trust you will, uncle," Aldyth said, gently; "but now, at what time does your train leave for Woodham?"

"Eh?The time; half-past six, to be sure.What's the time now?Oh, I don't trust any of your London clocks."And he pulled out the huge gold repeater familiar to Aldyth from her childhood."Ah, I must leave you, child.I am glad we met.When are you coming to Woodham again?You do not look so well as when you left us.Tell me, are you happy with your mother and sisters?Do they treat you properly?"

"Yes, indeed they are very kind to me; I have nothing to complain of," Aldyth said, but nevertheless there was a yearning in her heart for Woodham and its peaceful, pleasant ways.

"Well, if they do treat you badly, you know where to come," her uncle said.

As they walked through the Park to the nearest entrance, many a passer-by looked curiously at the quaint old squire and the tall, graceful girl by his side, whilst he on his part bestowed a fierce scrutiny and more or less unflattering comments on every person or equipage that met his gaze.When Aldyth had seen her uncle into a cab for Liverpool Street, she hurried homewards, and reached the house barely in time to change her dress and appear at the dinner-table as usual.

Her mind was full of her uncle during the evening, and she found it difficult to avoid mentioning him.

A few days later, Aldyth received a second letter from Hilda, the contents of which gave her both surprise and pleasure.

   "Oh, Aldyth," Hilda wrote, "you will hardly believe the good news I have to tell you.    I can hardly believe it myself, though it makes me so happy—I cannot tell you how happy I am.    But I must explain.    On Saturday mother had a most polite note from Mr. Lorraine, begging her to come on Monday with her two daughters to spend the day at Wyndham.    The carriage should be sent for us at any hour that would suit our convenience.    You may imagine how surprised we were, for Mr. Lorraine had been barely civil to us since the day he called here and behaved so rude, and I do not think mother had forgiven him for telling her she did not look after her daughters properly.

   "However, I persuaded mother it was her duty to forget that now, and Kitty wanted to see the horses at Wyndham, and I—Ah, I need not tell you how I felt about it!    Anyhow, mother accepted the invitation, and about noon we started for Wyndham.

   "The dear old man—yes, I can call him dear now—received us with charming courtesy.    He had arranged that Guy should take me and Kitty for a ride in the afternoon; was it not good of him?    You can fancy how delighted Kitty was, nor was I less so; and as for Guy, I never saw him in such spirits.    Kitty rode Pansy, and the lovely creature was so tricksy.    She does not get exercise enough now you are away.

   "But now for the most wonderful item of my news.    It was easy to see that the squire was in a very good humour with Guy.    Well, whilst we were riding, Mr. Lorraine had a long talk with mother, and told her he had decided to let Guy take his own way with regard to his marriage, and if he still wished to marry me, he was free to do so.

   "And to make a short story of it, Aldyth, we are now engaged, and in a day or two, all Woodham will know it.    But, of course, you must be the first friend to hear of it; I know how glad you will be.    You can sympathize with me in my happiness as no one else can.    Oh, I am happy.    I can say with Juliet—

"My true love is grown to such excess,
 I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth."

   "I wonder what people will say when they hear of my engagement?    It will be a surprise, for it has always been said that you would marry your cousin.    But, talking of gossip, what do you think is Miss Rudkin's latest piece of news?    She declares that your uncle went to London by the first train on Wednesday morning, and that he drove all the way to Wickham, and took the train there, in order that people should not know that he went!    Did you ever hear anything so absurd?    I suppose you have not seen him in town?"

There was much more in the letter, which Aldyth read several times.She was delighted to hear of Hilda's happiness, and inclined to esteem Guy more highly than she had ever done before.It never occurred to her that she had any cause to deplore the engagement, as likely to be detrimental to her own prospects.Aldyth was not wont to concern herself greatly about her future, and she had never felt anxious to know her uncle's intentions with respect to his property.A healthy, happy girlhood has no temptation to be greedy after wealth.It seemed to her a fortunate circumstance that her uncle's horse had run away, since Guy's gallant conduct had so softened the old man's feelings as to make him for once renounce a cherished wish.

And so people had said that she would marry Guy!It was not surprising, but it vexed her to think of it.Had Mr. Glynne heard it said?The colour deepened in her cheeks as she asked herself the question.Well, if so, he would now know that it was a mistake.Aldyth was glad to think this; she did not like the idea of his supposing that she would be willing to marry Guy.

Hilda's letter had put Aldyth into excellent spirits.But when she hastened to share the news with her mother and sister, the brightness of her mood was checked.Mrs. Stanton heard it with feelings that were beyond control.

"You can pretend to be pleased at this, Aldyth?"she asked, in a tragic tone.

"There is no pretence about it, mamma.I am unfeignedly glad that Hilda is to marry Guy.I used to doubt if he were good enough for her; but I think better of him now."

"You ought to be ashamed to talk so!"cried her mother, in tones sharp and high."I have no patience with you.To think that you might have been the mistress of Wyndham!You should bewail your folly instead of rejoicing.One would think you had no sense."

Aldyth stood silent; but it was not without a strong effort that she kept herself from uttering hot, indignant words.

"Now you have crossed his wish, I dare say your uncle will not leave you a penny," continued Mrs. Stanton."You might, for the sake of us all, have played your cards better than that.I hope you will not infect Gladys with your stupidly romantic notions."

Here the flow of Mrs. Stanton's eloquence ceased abruptly, for Aldyth turned without a word and quitted the room.

"You need not have dragged my name into the discussion, mamma," said Gladys, with scorn in her tones."You might know that I belong to another order of being, and could never act like Aldyth."

"I hope not, indeed," said Mrs. Stanton, devoutly."I trust you have more wisdom."

"I don't know about that," said Gladys; "though the Bible does say that 'the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light.'You and I belong this world, mamma.I rather fancy Aldyth must be one of the 'children of light.'"

"What do you mean by speaking in that absurd way?It is not like you, Gladys."

Aldyth had hurried from her mother's presence that she might not be over-mastered by an impulse to relieve her irritated feeling by quick, passionate words.She had a great dread—born of the sacred idea of motherhood she had ever cherished—of being driven to utter bitter, unbecoming words to her mother.It was no uncommon thing for Gladys to address her mother disrespectfully.Angry words sometimes passed between them, though they were good friends as a rule.But if Aldyth ever had a scene with her mother, she knew that the thought of it would leave an indelible stain upon her consciousness, and turn to bitterest irony the hopes of past years.

Mrs. Stanton did not again refer to Guy's engagement; but she treated Aldyth with marked coldness during the next few days.But, as if to atone for her mother's unkindness, Gladys' manner towards her sister was more affectionate than usual.It was she who insisted that Aldyth should accompany them to the Horticultural Gardens on Saturday afternoon.Aldyth consented with some reluctance, for she would have preferred to spend the time with Nelly, as usual.But she could hardly regret that she had come when they reached the gardens, which were looking their loveliest in the first fresh beauty of the spring.

Mr. and Mrs. Stanton seated themselves under the trees to listen to the band, but the girls preferred to move about, admiring the flowers and observing the well-dressed crowd.Some of the ladies were so fair and so charmingly dressed that they seemed to rival the flowers in beauty.Aldyth did not wonder that many eyes were directed towards her sister; she saw no one prettier than Gladys in her gown of palest blue and large white hat.But attractive as was the appearance of Gladys, Aldyth did not suffer total eclipse as she walked by her side.Several persons inquired the name of the tall girl who was Miss Stanton's companion, and decided that though she might not be called beautiful, there was something very interesting about her.

Aldyth went so little into society that she did not expect to meet any one she knew.Gladys stopped now and then to chat with acquaintances, and was careful to introduce her sister; but Aldyth felt herself amidst strangers, till suddenly, as she stood on the outskirt of a little group, a gentleman paused before her, bowing, and saying, in tones of pleasurable surprise—

"Miss Lorraine!This is an unexpected pleasure.Somehow one seems to forget that it is possible for Woodham people to come to London."

It was Captain Walker.

Aldyth greeted him with pleasure, and they entered at once into an enjoyable chat over Woodham affairs.He had not heard of Guy's engagement, and the news seemed greatly to please him.Aldyth was amused at the warmth with which he expressed himself on the subject.

Presently Aldyth introduced him to Gladys, and a little later to her mother, who, deciding at once that the young man had a distinguished appearance, received him most graciously.Captain Walker remained with them as long as they stayed in the gardens.As he saw them into their carriage, Mrs. Stanton informed him that they were always "at home" on Sunday evenings, and begged that he would give them the pleasure of his company on the following evening.

Aldyth had always liked Captain Walker, and it was a pleasure to her to see an old friend who knew all about Woodham and her life there.She was sorry that her mother had invited him for Sunday evening; for ever since her coming to London, she had made it a rule not to join the party gathered in the drawing room on that evening.The Lord's day was sacred and precious to Aldyth.She liked to feel that it was different from every other day.It was no hardship, but a pleasure to her, when at Woodham, to attend both services at the church, and to spend the afternoon with her class in the Sunday school.

But Sunday observances were deemed irksome in her mother's home.In her Australian life, Mrs. Stanton had forsaken the religious habits of earlier days.She had learned to laugh at the old-fashioned Sabbath of her childhood, and she considered that she had sufficiently recognized the sacred character of the day if she attended a short service in the forenoon.That over, the rest of the day might be given to pleasure and self-indulgence.

Aldyth could see little difference between Sundays and other days in her new home, but she could not bear so to waste the day she found so helpful if rightly spent.She had the courage to avow her convictions on the subject, and to make a point of attending an evening service.Mrs. Stanton laughed at her Puritanical notions, but left her free to do as she liked.Nor did she raise any objection when Nelly began to accompany her sister.Mrs. Stanton found her youngest daughter not easy to manage; she was apt to get cross and sulky if anything put her out, so that her absence when visitors were expected was rather a relief than otherwise.

Aldyth thought it probable that she would be urged to remain at home on the following evening, but, rather to her surprise, no notice was taken of the fact that Captain Walker was her friend.She went to church as usual, and afterwards remained quietly in her room till the visitors had departed.Coming down stairs then, she found her mother and Gladys in high good humour.

"It was a pity you took yourself off," Gladys said."We have had a delightful evening.Captain Walker asked where you were."

"You never told me, Aldyth, that he was nephew to Sir Richard Courtenay," said Mrs. Stanton in a tone of reproof; "for aught I knew he might have been just anybody."

"I had forgotten it, mamma," said Aldyth."Now you mention it, I remember hearing Guy say that he was related to Sir Richard Courtenay."

"You should remember such things," said Mrs. Stanton, frowning."Why, Mrs. Gibson tells me it is not at all unlikely that the baronetcy may fall to him."

"Well, I never heard that," said Aldyth.

"Whatever he may be in the future, he is very nice now," said Gladys."He understands music perfectly.He says my voice reminds him of Antoinette Sterling.He is going to bring his violin with him when next he comes."

It was not long ere the captain repeated his visit.Aldyth was at home, and, much to his satisfaction, she accompanied his violin on the pianoforte.As they played one favourite piece after another, it seemed like a return of the old days at Wyndham.But Aldyth was careful that Gladys should not feel herself excluded from the evening's entertainment.It was found that her voice went charmingly with the violin, and she was persuaded to sing several times.But however the captain might applaud, a quick ear would have detected that Gladys' musical performance lacked the accuracy and finish of Aldyth's.

It was a difference akin to that which distinguished the characters of the two girls.Aldyth had studied music with the thoroughness which marked her pursuit of every kind of knowledge; in her desire after perfection, she had spared herself no pains, shrunk from no sacrifice of time and pleasure, with the result that she had attained a beautiful touch, and played with rare power and expression.Gladys had studied in a superficial, half-hearted fashion, wishful only to acquire a certain effectiveness.It followed in consequence that Captain Walker, although he had likened her voice to that of Antoinette Sterling, was perfectly aware that her singing was very faulty, and her choice of songs poor.

"Captain Walker," said Aldyth, leaning back from the piano to address him when they had just finished a brilliant fantasia, in which he had played his part with great skill, "I wish you would come to Whitechapel some evening and play to my factory girls."

"To Whitechapel!"he repeated, with an air of surprise.

"My dear Aldyth!"exclaimed Mrs. Stanton, in a tone of rebuke."How can you ask Captain Walker to go to that dreadful place?If you choose to go there yourself, you cannot expect that your friends will like to do so."

"No place can be too dreadful for me to which Miss Lorraine goes," said the captain."I shall be only too happy to be of any service to her there."

"Oh, thank you," said Aldyth."It would be so kind of you to come and play to the girls some evening.They are very fond of music."

"I call it a poor compliment to Captain Walker to ask him to play to a lot of low factory girls," said Gladys."What can they know of good music?"

But Captain Walker did not appear to regard the request as uncomplimentary.He looked pleased, and listened with interest as Aldyth talked to him about the work at Whitechapel.He readily promised to help, and a day was fixed for his visit.

But there was a cloud on Mrs. Stanton's face as she heard the arrangement made, and Aldyth soon learned that she had given annoyance to her mother and sister.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A SUMMONS TO WYNDHAM.

CAPTAIN WALKER came to help to entertain the factory girls—not once only, but several times.He endured with a good grace hearing himself described as "the man with the fiddle," and played his best to a clamorous audience, who talked and squabbled through his finest passages, but showed their appreciation of his performance by applauding vociferously at the close.

Aldyth reflected that she had never given him credit for so much good nature as he now manifested.Fond as he was of high-class music, he could even condescend to play a festive jig for the amusement of the girls.Aldyth felt much gratitude for his willing assistance, and she was far from comprehending how sweet to him were her acknowledgments of the same.It never occurred to her that she was the attraction which drew him so often to Whitechapel.She gave him credit for feeling a genuine interest in the work, for she did not suppose that it was for her sake merely that he took so much trouble.

Yet in truth the motive which actuated Captain Walker was one which has drawn many another man into a temporary performance of good works.He had been charmed with Aldyth whenever he met her at Woodham or Wyndham; but he had shared the common belief that she was destined to marry her cousin, and had steeled his heart to resist the attraction she had for him.But now he knew she was free, there was no resisting the fascination of her society.He could hardly have explained wherein the strength of that fascination lay.

He had been much in society; he had seen many women who were prettier than Aldyth.He admired Gladys Stanton; it amused him to talk and laugh with her; but she never excited within him a painful sense of his own inferiority, nor caused him to approach her with timid, tender reverence.But Aldyth was different from any other girl he had ever known.She had all the freshness and brightness of girlhood, and yet she was a woman in her exquisite sympathy and kindness, her strong self-reliance, her unswerving pursuit of all that was good and true.

He had a new revelation of the gentleness and purity and kindness of her nature when he saw her surrounded by the rough, coarse girls who gathered about her at Whitechapel.Rough as they were, they grew gentle in her presence.A word, a glance even, from her was often enough to check a quarrel.Never had he felt more convinced of the womanly sweetness of Aldyth's character; yet, at the same time, there swept over him a feeling that his love was hopeless.

But the feeling did not last—how should it?Captain Walker's past experience had not prepared him to expect disappointment, so he made the most of his opportunities seeing Aldyth, and they were many; for Mrs. Stanton lavished invitations on the distinguished-looking captain, and seemed to think no party of pleasure complete without him.But her efforts were not crowned with the success she desired.As the hot, sultry days of July set in, and every one was planning a tour or talking of the seaside, Mrs. Stanton began to feel seriously dissatisfied with the result of her endeavours.

In vain she had thrown Gladys as much as possible into the company of Captain Walker.Nothing seemed likely to come of it.Mrs. Stanton began to suspect that it was Aldyth's fault.If only she had not that craze for factory girls!It was too bad of her to drag the captain to that horrid Whitechapel once every week.

One night, as Aldyth was brushing her hair preparatory to going to bed, her mother, who with Gladys had been spending the evening out, came into her room, looking sadly perturbed.

"Ah, you are not in bed," she said, as, all resplendent in satin and lace, she sank into a chair."I want to have a talk with you about our plans, if you are not too tired."

"I am not very tired," said Aldyth, sitting down and shaking back her hair.

"Have you been to Whitechapel this evening?"asked Mrs. Stanton, abruptly.

"Yes, mamma," said Aldyth.

"And Captain Walker with you?"

Something in her mother's tones brought the colour into Aldyth's face.

"He was there," she replied, slowly, "and he kindly saw me home."

"Why did he not come in?"asked Mrs. Stanton.

"Really, I suppose, because I never thought of asking him," said Aldyth.

An expression of impatience escaped her mother's lips.

"I cannot understand you, Aldyth.I should have thought you would have wished to help and not hinder your sister's happiness.Have you not noticed how often Captain Walker comes here?And of course it is to see Gladys.You must have observed it."

"He comes here a great deal, certainly," said Aldyth, with some embarrassment.

A few days earlier she could have accepted her mother's explanation of the motive of the captain's frequent visits; but since then one little thing and another had occurred to put her on her guard, and to-night he had let fall a word which had forced her to receive a wholly unwelcome idea.

Mrs. Stanton was quick to see her embarrassment."Surely you are not thinking of him for yourself, Aldyth?"she said, in a cold, suspicious tone.

"Mamma!"said Aldyth, flushing crimson.

"Oh, I suppose you are shocked at my outspokenness; but what is the use of mincing matters?I should like to know what you do mean, that I may act accordingly."

"I have no such meaning as you impute to me, mamma," said Aldyth, proudly.

"Well, then, I will be quite frank with you," said Mrs. Stanton."I can see that Captain Walker greatly admires Gladys, and I should fail in my duty as a mother if I did not do all in my power to secure her a happy marriage."

"But can you be sure that it would prove a happy marriage?"Aldyth ventured to ask."It seems to me that those only are true marriages which are arranged by Providence.If we girls are to marry, God will bring it about in His own good way.I do not believe in planning and scheming."

"Then it is because you are foolish and inexperienced," said Mrs. Stanton, sharply."I have no patience with your ridiculous, old-maidish notions, Aldyth.Few girls would marry well if their mothers did not take some trouble on their behalf.If you like to throw away your own chances, you need not interfere with those of Gladys."

"I have no wish to do so," said Aldyth.

"Forgive me if I seem cross," said Mrs. Stanton in a gentler tone."You do not know how worried I am.It is of the utmost importance to us that Gladys should marry well, and, soon too.The fact is, she is a great expense, and we are not nearly so well off as we appear.Mr. Stanton has had great losses in his business.Sometimes I fear we shall come utterly to grief.So, you see, Gladys must make a good marriage."

Aldyth was silent for a few moments.She pitied her mother as she noted her weary, harassed look.But the plotting and planning, the keeping up of pretences in which her mother trusted, seemed to her hateful.

"Would it not be better to reduce your expenses at once?"she suggested presently."We should do very well in a smaller house and with fewer servants."

"Such a thing is out of the question," said Mrs. Stanton, hastily."We must keep up appearances, at any cost, till Gladys is married.But I want you to understand how critical the position of things is; I want you to promise me that you will not stand in your sister's way."

"Mamma!As if I should!"said Aldyth, with some indignation.

"Well, then, I will say what I came to say," continued her mother."We are thinking of going to Eastbourne at the end of the month.Captain Walker talks of going there too; but I thought, perhaps, you would rather return to Woodham for a few weeks.Your friends would be delighted to see you, and there is no air like one's native air.Besides, there it your uncle to be considered."

Aldyth did not at once reply.The idea of going to Woodham was welcome; but the way in which it was suggested gave her pain.It was too evident that her mother wished to be rid of her.

"Yes, I should like to go to Woodham, if you would rather not have me at Eastbourne," she said at last.

"My dear love!Of course we should like to have you with us.I was only thinking what would be best for you," said Mrs. Stanton, rising, and coming to kiss Aldyth and stroke her hair.

But Aldyth was beginning to know the value of her mother's graceful caresses.

"You might join us afterwards at Eastbourne," Mrs. Stanton said, still playing with Aldyth's hair; "but I think it would be well for you to go to Woodham first.Why should you not go at once?You look as if you needed a change.You are not used to London; the hot weather is trying you.Write to your aunt to-morrow, and say that you will come."

"I can scarcely start at a moment's notice," said Aldyth, in a voice unusually high and hard."There are arrangements to be made at Whitechapel; you must please allow me time to settle things a little."

"Certainly, love, arrange it as you will," said her mother, dropping a light kiss on her brow."I am only anxious for your welfare.Good-night."And she glided away, leaving Aldyth smitten with a tense of intolerable pain.

But Aldyth was not to have time for the arrangements she desired to make.Had Mrs. Stanton waited a few hours, she would have seen her end accomplished without the aid of artifice.Early on the following day a telegram was brought to Aldyth.The sender was Miss Lorraine, and the brief message ran thus:

   "Your uncle seriously ill.    Come at once."

In less than an hour, Aldyth was on her way to Woodham.It was a hot journey, and the heat of the day was at its height as she came into the well-known little station.Who was that standing on the platform?Her heart beat more quickly as she saw John Glynne.He came forward to help her from the carriage.

"How are you, Miss Lorraine?"he said, and there seemed such kindness in his warm, firm hand-clasp."Your aunt has allowed me to have the pleasure of meeting you, as your cousin could not be spared.The carriage is waiting to take you to Wyndham.Have you any luggage?"

"Only a small portmanteau," said Aldyth."How is my uncle?The telegram, of course, gave no particulars."

"He is very ill, I grieve to tell you," said John Glynne."He was seized with apoplexy when he was dressing this morning.Of course at his age there can, I fear, be little hope for his recovery."

"I suppose not," said Aldyth, tremulously."I thought him altered the last time I saw him."

"And when was that?"asked Mr. Glynne.

"Oh, some months back, when he came to London," said Aldyth, off her guard.

But seeing he looked surprised, she recollected herself, and said, hastily: "But I should not have mentioned it.I forgot that uncle begged me to tell no one that he had been to London.It was such an event in his life to leave home for a day that he seemed ashamed that any one should know of it.It was only by chance it came to my knowledge."

"Really!"said John, smiling."Well, the secret is safe with me."

He secured her portmanteau, accompanied her to the chaise, and saw her seated beside old John.Then they shook hands once more.

"I shall see you again," he said."You will stay some little while now you are here?"

"Oh yes," Aldyth said, smiling brightly on him.

He had said little, but his manner had told her how glad he was to see her.And despite the sad occasion of her coming, Aldyth was glad to find herself at Woodham.

After the noise and stir of London, the repose of the country was delightful.The old High Street had the same familiar aspect.There was Mrs. Bland in the bow-window, smiling and nodding.Miss Rudkin's high cap and sausage-like curls appeared above the wire blind on the opposite side of road.

And now they had turned from the town, and were on the long straight road to Wyndham.The scent of hay was wafted across the hedges; fields of mellowing corn, with poppies glowing here and there, bowed before the breeze; cattle rested beneath the trees, or cooled themselves in the ponds; all the broad, flat landscape seemed to breathe peace, And with a keen sense of contrast, Aldyth recalled to mind the dim, close streets of Whitechapel.

After she had gathered all that old John could tell her of her uncle's illness, she paid little heed to his garrulous repetition of the facts.She gazed lovingly on every familiar scene, and let the restful beauty of the day enter into her heart.

As they drove up to the Hall, Guy appeared on the steps to welcome her.He looked pale and excited, and he talked rapidly, though in subdued tones, as he led her into the house.

"He is no better," he said; "unconscious most of the time, though sometimes he seems to understand what we say.He keeps talking, but so incoherently it is difficult to understand him.But he has asked for you several times; he utters your name distinctly.No, you must not go up stairs till you have taken something.There is luncheon for you in the dining room.What will you have?Coffee?Wine?You shall have what you like, but you must take something."

"Poor uncle!"said Aldyth, sitting down and allowing Guy to wait on her."Does he suffer much, do you think?"

"The doctor says not," Guy replied."It is sad to see the poor old man lie in such a state; but still at his great age, it is not to be expected that he can recover.Eighty-one!Who would wish to live longer than that?"

Aldyth did not linger long below.It was with a feeling of awe that was almost dread she entered the darkened room where the old man lay.She had never been brought into close contact with death, and she felt instinctively that this was the chamber of death.

Miss Lorraine, quiet and watchful, sat at one side of the bed, the old housekeeper at the other.Between them lay the stricken man, his face strangely altered, the pupils of the eyes contracted, the expression one of deep distress, whilst he babbled inarticulately, and his hands restlessly roamed over the coverlid.

"Do not be frightened, dear," said her aunt, coming to meet Aldyth, and leading her to the bedside."I am glad you have come, for he has mentioned you several times.There—'Aldyth,' he said.Did you not hear it?"

But Aldyth, unaccustomed to illness, could make nothing of his incoherent utterances.

"Aldyth," he said.

"Bring Aldyth," repeated Miss Lorraine."Speak to him, dear; let him know you are here."

"Uncle," said Aldyth, bending down to him and speaking very clearly; "uncle, I am here.Do you understand?It's Aldyth."

"Ay, Aldyth," he murmured; "Aldyth and Guy.Bring Aldyth; I want her."

"I am here, uncle," Aldyth said again."Is there anything you wish to say to me?"

"Ay, I want Aldyth," he murmured."I want to explain—Aldyth and Guy—Guy and Aldyth—the two children are always together.Tell her—" Again he sank into confused babblings.Presently his voice was raised again, and even Aldyth could distinguish the words, "Bring Aldyth—I want her."

"Dear uncle, I am here," she said, and took hold of his hand.His fingers closed convulsively over hers.

"Don't leave me," he said, and it seemed that for the moment he recognized her.He made an eager movement, half raising himself in the bed, and began to talk rapidly and inarticulately.He appeared trying to tell her something, but scarce a word could Aldyth understand.

"There's something on his mind, if only he could make you understand," the housekeeper said."There!'My will,' he said—I heard the words quite plain."

"I did not hear it," said Guy, who had come into the room, and stood near Aldyth.

"You may fancy he says anything," observed Miss Lorraine.

"There was no mistake about that," said the housekeeper, with an air of superior sagacity."Now he's talking about the farm—don't you hear?"

At that moment, the prolonged howl of a dog rose from beneath the windows, startling and affrighting the worthy old soul.

"You know what that means?"she whispered."It's a sure sign.Not but what I knew before.There was a robin this morning singing close to the front door, and I knew that boded ill.Ah, me!The poor old master!But we must all go when our time comes."

Hour after hour passed wearily by, and brought no change but increased weakness and restlessness and more imperfect articulation.Life was slowly ebbing.The doctor paid his last visit and went away, with no expectation of seeing his patient again in life.

All night the laboured breathing, the sad struggle, so pitiful to witness, went on.Guy, unable to bear the scene, went away ere the end came; but Aldyth was not to be persuaded to quit her place beside her uncle.All night she and her aunt watched him, and her hand held the cold, heavy hand of the dying man till life had fled.

Then at last she broke down and wept from mingled sensations of relief and pain.Miss Lorraine had stood by too many deathbeds to be thrilled and unnerved as Aldyth was.She soothed the girl, and put her tenderly to bed.

Aldyth, oppressed by a sense of the gloom and mystery of death, presently sobbed herself to sleep, without giving a thought to any consequences her uncle's death might have for her.The hopes and fears that were alternating in Guy's mind, and causing him much inward agitation, lay quite outside her consciousness.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE MISTRESS OF WYNDHAM.

"YOU do not surely mean that nothing is left to Guy?"said Miss Lorraine, in a troubled tone.

Some hours had passed since the squire breathed his last, and she was with Mr. Ralph Greenwood in the old-fashioned library.The blinds were down, and even the outside venetians closed, shutting out the July sunshine and making twilight in the room.

The lawyer, his pince-nez on his nose, sat before the squire's old bureau, turning over some papers in a quick, business-like manner.

"By no means," he said, briskly."No, no, it is not so bad as that.Guy has five thousand pounds and the farm at Wood Corner.Not a bad provision for a young man, but a poor equivalent for the heirship."

"When was this will made?"asked Miss Lorraine.

"At the beginning of the year.Guy had had a disagreement with his uncle.It was a great mistake, as I told him at the time.I did my best to soften Mr. Lorraine's feelings.I all but refused to make the will; but if I had done so, he would have sent for some one else.What a pity it is young people are so unpractical!Why could not those two have married now, as every one expected of them?"

"But uncle seemed to have got over that annoyance," said Miss Lorraine."He received Hilda Bland kindly, and gave his consent to the engagement.I thought Guy was quite reinstated in his favour."

"It seemed so," said Mr. Greenwood."I am sure I quite hoped to have the pleasure of setting this all right some day.I told the squire so when he signed the will; but you know the kind of man he was—a wee bit obstinate, don't you think?Nothing harder for him than to retract.It seems Guy was able to persuade himself, from something his uncle let fall, that the matter had been set right; but I know nothing of it.I suppose he delayed sending for me.There is nothing more common than for men to put off business connected with their wills.We lawyers are constantly meeting with such instances."

"Then you think he intended to make another will?"suggested Miss Lorraine.

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders."He never confided his intention to me," he said; "but it seems to me that after the brave way in which Guy saved his life—and he was evidently touched by it—he should have cherished some such intention.However, he did not do it; so we must make the best of things as they are.I am afraid it will be a sore disappointment to Guy."

"He will feel it, no doubt," said Miss Lorraine; "and, for one, I am sorry that things were not equally divided.Does all the rest come to Aldyth?"

"Well, not absolutely," said Mr. Greenwood."Five hundred pounds go to Miss Tabitha Rudkin, and you, Miss Lorraine, receive the same sum.Then there are several small legacies and bequests to local charities.But Miss Aldyth has Wyndham and the bulk of the property.She will be a rich young lady when all is told."

"I never expected he would leave me a halfpenny," said Miss Lorraine, coolly; "and I cannot say I am glad Aldyth should be so rich.It will hardly increase her happiness."

"That's as it may be," said Mr. Greenwood."I don't myself think it well to make girls too wealthy; there is danger of their fortunes falling into unworthy hands.But Mr. Lorraine was careful to take certain precautions.The man who marries Miss Aldyth will find that he has no control over his wife's fortune, and will touch none of it after her death, supposing he should survive her, unless he consent to take the name of Lorraine."

"Ah!"said Miss Lorraine, expressively."That was like uncle, to try to order things as he would, even after his death.Well, Aldyth is not likely to be married at present—perhaps she never will be."

"And meanwhile," said the lawyer, "she is the mistress of Wyndham—not an unenviable position."

"I wonder what she will say when I tell her?"said Miss Lorraine, moving off in search of Aldyth.

"And what will Guy say?"asked the lawyer, looking troubled."I suppose he had better know without delay.Will you say to him, if you come across him, that I should like to have a few words with him here?"

Aldyth had risen, refreshed by her sleep, and was in the dining room, talking with Guy, who had just returned from Woodham, whither he had ridden on business connected with his uncle's decease.Guy had still a haggard, excited look, but he was talking of Hilda as Miss Lorraine entered.

"Yes," he said, "it was wonderful how uncle came round after that day.Before he used to speak of Hilda in a way that made me wild; but when she came to luncheon, he began paying her compliments, to my great surprise, and he said to me afterwards that she was a perfect little lady, though it was a pity she was so small."

"I do not think so," said Aldyth, heartily."Hilda is charming.I would not have her an inch taller.I am so glad uncle changed his opinion of her."

"Yes, she is not a bad little party," said Guy, complacently."She suits me down to the ground."

Aldyth was amused to see that Guy had apparently forgotten his episodical wooing of herself.

"Guy," said Miss Lorraine, "Mr. Greenwood is in the library, and he would like to speak to you."

The colour flew into Guy's face.He rose and went away at once without a word.

"The forewoman from Spencer's will be here directly about our mourning," said Miss Lorraine, glancing at the clock."You must have handsome mourning, Aldyth; it will be expected of you."

"Of course I will have what is proper," said Aldyth, a little wondering at this remark."But must I wear heavy black this hot weather?"

"Certainly you must wear black, and I would have crape on my hat, if I were you," said Miss Lorraine, decisively; "but I forget, you do not yet understand your position."

"My position?"said Aldyth.

"Yes, my dear; you will be surprised when you hear.Mr. Greenwood has been telling me about uncle's will.Of course it must be formally read on Thursday; but there was no harm—indeed, it was better he should give me a hint as to its nature."

"Yes," said Aldyth, wondering to what all this might lead."And it seems that Wyndham and most of the property is left to you."

"To me, auntie?"said Aldyth in amazement.

"Yes, dear, to you; I knew you would be very much surprised."

"But Guy—Guy is uncle's heir."

"He was to have been," said Miss Lorraine; "but uncle took offence with him at the beginning of the year, when he wanted to marry Hilda Bland, you know, and uncle meant him to marry you."

"Oh dear," said Aldyth, flushing hotly."Do you mean to tell me I have been the cause of Guy losing his inheritance?"

"You are not to blame in the matter," said her aunt."Hilda Bland might say she was the cause.It was just uncle's wilfulness."

"But it is very hard for Guy," said Aldyth."It does not seem fair that I should have all and he nothing.Oh, he will be vexed!"

"Guy has five thousand pounds and the farm at Wood Corner," said Miss Lorraine; "but of course that is very different from what he expected."

"Cannot it be altered, aunt?"said Aldyth."Must I take Wyndham?I am sure if I had had the least idea uncle meant to do such a thing, I would have begged him not to do it."

At that moment there came to her recollection the talk she had had with her uncle as they sat together in Hyde Park.She remembered how he had spoken of Wyndham; how anxious he appeared that the old place should remain as it was, and the promise she had given to do all in her power to keep it unchanged.But he had spoken of another mistress of Wyndham; evidently his thoughts had turned to Hilda Bland.

Doubtless he was then in a state of indecision with respect to the disposition or his property.Had he finally decided to let his last will stand, or had death, coming so unexpectedly, settled the question for him?It was impossible to know.

"You cannot set aside your uncle's will," said Miss Lorraine."He meant you to be the mistress of Wyndham.He has thought of everything, and made careful provision for your future.If you marry, your husband is to take the name of Lorraine."

Aldyth's colour deepened."I shall never marry," she said with decision.

"It is a great pity—" said Miss Lorraine, musingly, "it is a great pity you and Guy were not suited to each other."

Aldyth did not reply.Her face looked so full of trouble that her aunt went to her and kissed her.

"Why, Aldyth," she said, playfully, "you look quite overwhelmed.Most girls would be elated by such good fortune.Think how pleased your mother will be."

"Yes, she will be pleased," said Aldyth, as if the idea had not occurred to her before.But her face did not brighten.

"I never wished to be rich," she said, presently; "it will not make me happier.Only," she added, as she thought of her poor, overworked girl friends in London, "it will give me the power to brighten other lives.That is the best thing about wealth, I think."

"Bless you, child," said her aunt, kissing her again, "you always have brightened the lives of others.You have made mine happier ever since you came to me as a tiny child."

Aldyth rose and threw her arms about her aunt, returning her kisses with interest.

"Aunt," she asked the next minute, in a frightened whisper, "shall I have to live here now?"

"I do not know, dear; but I suppose it must be your home," said Miss Lorraine, cheerfully.

"I can never bear to live here alone," said Aldyth, almost in tears."You must live here with me, auntie."

"Well, well, dear, we will see; it is early yet to make plans," said Miss Lorraine, soothingly.She was not prepared to renounce on the instant her pretty cottage at Woodham.

Aldyth passed through the next few days with a strange sense of unreality.She went about the house and grounds, looked at all the quaint, old-fashioned belongings, so familiar to her, and told herself they were now her own; but it did not seem as if it could be true.She had not much time for solitary musing.There were many things to be arranged, and though nothing was said about the will till after the funeral, every one about the place soon seemed to know that Miss Aldyth's opinion was of the first importance, and everything must be referred to her.

Guy's bearing but too plainly proclaimed the disappointment of his hopes.It made Aldyth miserable to see him; but he would not allow her to express any feeling on the subject.He checked the faltering words she tried to utter with a cold profession that he was glad things had turned out so well for her.

"Women are better diplomatists than men," he said, sneeringly."They are clever enough to win their ends without losing favour at court."

The words stung Aldyth, who felt that they were unjust.It hurt her, too, that Hilda sent her no word, nor took the slightest notice of her being at Wyndham.

She had an uncomfortable sense that most persons were treating her in a new manner.Mr. Greenwood, the banker, one of the executors of Mr. Lorraine's will, and his brother, Mr. Ralph, became quite ceremonious in their deference to her wishes.The servants, whom she regarded as old friends, showed an unusual assiduity in waiting on her.The rector of Woodham suddenly grew interested in her views on various questions, and the new curate in charge of the old church, actuated possibly by the hope of future subscriptions, called twice ere her uncle had been dead a week.As for her mother, it was with a bitter sense of amusement that Aldyth read her congratulations.

   "My DARLING CHILD," Mrs. Stanton wrote—"It makes me so happy to know that your lifelong devotion to your grand-uncle has met with its right reward.    You deserve to be rich and prosperous, for you have always been so good and unselfish, so willing to do all in your power to make others happy.    I confess I trembled when I heard how you had disappointed his wish that you should marry your cousin; but it is plain now that you acted for the best.    Of course he feels it, but he is a man, and can make his way in the world; it is much better you should be provided for.

   "We miss you every day.    How I wish you were coming to Eastbourne with us!    Papa will not accompany us, after all.    He has received such accounts of the state of his business that he has resolved to return to Melbourne at once.    I am sorry, for he is hardly fit to go alone, and he will not hear of my returning so soon.    But I must hope for the best.    It is such a comfort to know of your good fortune.    Do write again soon, and let me know when I shall see you.

"Your loving

"MOTHER."

So nothing now was to be said about her stupidity and folly.Her notions were no longer ridiculous.She was good and unselfish, and all she had done was right.

Gladys had added a few characteristic lines.

   "You lucky girl!"    she wrote.    "So you have money and lands, horses, carriages, an establishment; all without the trouble of a husband!    If I were you, I would never marry, but enjoy my liberty, and do as I liked.    I, alas!    can only get a fortune by selling myself.    Fancy mamma's indignation—that tiresome Captain Walker is not going to Eastbourne after all!    He feels bound instead to visit an aged relative in Essex.    I believe he backed out of it because he found you were not going, but mamma says that is nonsense.

   "I hope you will soon invite me to visit you in your new grandeur.    You will let me have a gallop on one of your horses, won't you, Aldyth, dear?    And I'll vow that you are the dearest sister that ever was."

Aldyth could smile over Gladys' words.She showed them to her aunt, who said at once—

"You see, you need not fear being solitary in this great house; your mother and sister are only waiting for an invitation."

"Oh, to be sure!"cried Aldyth, her face lighting up with unexpected pleasure."I had not thought of that.Fancy my having mother and Gladys here as my guests!I should like that.And Nelly, too, must come; she is so fond of the country.And Cecil might come for the shooting.Oh, that is grand!"

Miss Lorraine was surprised to see what pleasure Aldyth derived from her suggestion.She wondered if it had ever occurred to old Stephen that Mrs. Stanton might largely benefit by Aldyth's inheritance.In his thoughts of what the future might bring forth, had he ever pictured that fair lady coming as a visitor to Wyndham?Probably not.But Miss Lorraine kept her reflections to herself.She would not cast a shadow on the first gleam of satisfaction Aldyth's fortune had caused her.

After a week full of strange and exciting experiences, the calm repose of Sunday was very welcome to Aldyth.She drove with her aunt to Woodham Church in the morning, and had an uneasy consciousness that she was much observed as she entered the building.Whilst at the close of the service, many of her acquaintances studied her furtively, but seemed shy of speaking to her.

She was glad to regain the shelter of the carriage, and was content to find herself passing once more along the straight, monotonous road between the quiet fields.

Miss Lorraine, fussily conscious of her fresh mourning, and the importance which their bereavement gave them in the eyes of their neighbours, had much to say, and had apparently observed every individual who had attended the service.

But Aldyth did not find it necessary to pay close attention to her aunt's remarks.A word now and then was enough to satisfy Miss Lorraine, and Aldyth's thoughts took their own course in the intervals, revolving chiefly about the query why Mr. Glynne, whom she had seen as she passed out of church, had chosen to stand at a distance, lifting his hat ceremoniously, when he might have come forward with a friend's greeting.He had been so kind and friendly the other day, was he going to be different now?

In the warm afternoon Aldyth wandered from the house, and crossing the garden and a meadow beyond, approached a knoll of trees, which seemed to promise a cool retreat.Seating herself in their shade, she threw down her hat and gave a little sigh of relief at finding herself in this cool, quiet spot.All about her lay the green, still country, breathing a calm which seemed to belong to the day.The fields an which she looked down were her fields, Aldyth told herself with a faint smile; those were her cows she saw going forth into the lane on their way to be milked; the woods to the right, rising against the sky, were her woods; yes, even that tiny rabbit, which whisked away as she raised her hand, belonged to her.

The thought of this great, unexpected inheritance weighed on Aldyth's mind.Her father had grown up with the expectation that at some future time it would be his; Guy, in his turn, had counted himself the heir; but she to whom Wyndham had fallen had never seriously imagined that such a possession would be hers.It brought with it a heavy burden of responsibility.Was it well to have so much, when many lives knew such want and privation?

His possessions had not brought her uncle happiness.He had been kind and generous to her; he had given Guy a liberal allowance; but in other quarters he had earned the reputation of being close-fisted, and it was certain that he had never spent much on his own pleasure.Aldyth had heard it said that he was in the habit of saving a third of his income each year, and it was owing to this fact that her own wealth was now so considerable.And he might have known so much of that best happiness which springs from making others happy!But there had been little love in his life.That was the pity of it.Aldyth could not but be aware that there were few persons in the neighbourhood who really regretted the death of her grand-uncle.

As she thought of it, there came home to her more powerfully than ever before the truth that love is the great secret of life; the vital lesson that the discipline of life is destined to teach us, a lesson written by God Himself in glowing characters for all time to read on the cross of Calvary.

"Life," Aldyth murmured to herself, in the words of her favourite poet—

"'Is energy of love,
Divine or human; exercised in pain,
In strife and tribulation; and ordained,
If so approved and sanctified, to pass,
Through shades and silent rest, to endless joy.' "

Then, beneath the rustling trees with the sweet, summer calm about her, Aldyth cast herself anew upon the Eternal Love, praying to be delivered from vulgar lust of acquisition, from worldly desires and aims, and to be made so pure and loving that she might not miss the vision of God here on this beautiful earth, nor fail to hear the voice of God speaking to her inmost soul.

CHAPTER XX.

UNWELCOME CHANGES COME IN FORTUNE'S TRAIN.

"GOOD-BYE, Aldyth!I'm off."

"Off?Off whither, Guy?"asked Aldyth, in her astonishment looking at his outstretched hand without taking it.

She had but just finished breakfast.Guy apparently had breakfasted earlier, for he stood before her, hat and stick in hand.And now Aldyth perceived that his dog-cart stood at the door, and a servant was placing what seemed to be luggage at the back.

"I am going to my own house," said Guy, stiffly."I was down there on Saturday, and made every arrangement."

The colour flew into Aldyth's face."Oh, Guy, why should you!"she exclaimed, deeply pained."Surely things cannot be comfortable enough for you at the Farm, and there is no reason why you should not remain here."

"Excuse me," he said, proudly; "you do not understand.I see strong reasons why this house can no longer be my home."

"Oh, Guy, you speak as if we were enemies," said Aldyth."Is it my fault that Wyndham was left to me?You know I would rather it had not been."

To these words Guy made no reply whatever, and his silence was irritating to Aldyth.She felt that he wanted to put her in the wrong.But she controlled herself, and after a few moments' reflection sympathy overcame irritation.

"It is dreadfully trying for you, I know, Guy," she said."How I wish I could set it all right!You are mistaken if you think I rejoice at what has happened."

A low, impatient exclamation escaped her cousin.

"Why cannot you stay on here with me and aunt?"asked Aldyth, with the kindest intentions."You need not think of getting your own house ready till Hilda is prepared to share it."

"If I wait for that, I shall wait a long time," he said, bitterly."Do you think I can contemplate marriage on the income I shall draw from that wretched farm?I am not such a fool.No, that dream is over."

"Guy!"exclaimed Aldyth, startled and distressed.

It had not struck her that Hilda's happiness might be imperilled by the new, wholly unlooked-for turn of affairs.She recoiled afresh from the position in which she found herself.Wild ideas of setting aside her uncle's will, of insisting upon an equal division of the property, of refusing to live at Wyndham, flitted through her brain, only to be followed by a keen sense of their impracticability.

Whilst these thoughts possessed her, Guy again held out his hand.She took it mechanically, and the next instant he hurried from the room.Three minutes later she saw him drive away from the house.

Aldyth burst into tears.It was hard to have to pay such a price for an inheritance she had never desired.She began to hate the wealth that was bringing such isolation into her life.Her cousin, the playmate of her childhood, was driven from the home in which he had been brought up; her dearest friend was alienated from her, and all through no fault of her own.It was hard.Aldyth needed not to be told that she had become a chief centre of interest in the little world of Woodham.Past experience made her perfectly aware that her name was constantly on the lips of the gossips, and that truth was likely to suffer in the rapid exchange of ideas regarding her that was going on.

But she would have smiled had she known the magnitude to which her fortune had been blown by the breath of Rumour.According to some persons, the savings of old Stephen Lorraine had been enormous, and his niece had come into possession of little short of half a million.And to make the contrast as striking as possible, Guy's bequest was proportionately reduced.He had been cut off with a shilling and the farm at Wood Corner, which every one knew did not comprise the most productive acres in the neighbourhood.

"Have you heard the news, Mr. Glynne?"asked Clara Dawtrey, brave in the consciousness of a fresh pink gingham, which he must admire, as she stopped that gentleman in the London Road.

"What news, Miss Dawtrey?"he asked, fixing on her his peculiarly earnest gaze.

John Glynne had the quality of being a thorough listener.Clara found the gravity of his expression and the close attention he was paying to her words rather disconcerting, as she said, rapidly—

"Oh, the news about Aldyth Lorraine, I mean.Do you know that she has become a great heiress?Old Stephen saved tremendously all his life, and she has come in for no end of money.He was as close as possible; they say he would not even buy a new suit when his brother died.But I do call it a shame that such a nice fellow as Guy should have nothing."

"Is it so?"asked Mr. Glynne, quietly."Does Mr. Guy Lorraine inherit nothing?"

"Oh, he has that mean little farm at Wood Corner, but what is that when he expected to be the heir of Wyndham?I am sorry for Hilda, but I must say it is amusing to think of Mrs. Bland's disappointment.She must have congratulated herself that Hilda was going to make such a good match."

The young lady laughed gleefully, but not a muscle of John Glynne's face changed.It was impossible to judge how he was affected by the news just out in Woodham, for it was the evening of the day on which old Mr. Lorraine's funeral had taken place.

"I would not be Aldyth Lorraine for anything," continued Miss Dawtrey, still uneasy beneath Mr. Glynne's gaze."I should feel odious, taking everything like that.And in many ways it must be hateful to be an heiress.I should feel sure that every man who asked me to marry him only wanted me for my money.But the man who marries Aldyth will find that he cannot do as he likes with her money; old Stephen has tied it up tightly.But she ought to have married her cousin.I shall always say that.Every one expected it of her."

"Is a young lady bound to fulfil the expectations other people have formed concerning her?"asked Mr. Glynne, with a slight smile.

"Not at all," said Clara, readily; "for my part, I make a point of doing the reverse; there is nothing I enjoy more than astonishing people.But Aldyth has always been so good and proper."

John Glynne lifted his hat and moved on without saying more, though he wondered at the idea of goodness suggested by Miss Dawtrey's words.

The next minute he was passing Myrtle Cottage, which, with its closely-drawn blinds, had a deserted air.Even the little housemaid looked forlorn as she stood in the front garden, watering the geraniums. The memory of pleasant evenings spent within those walls came to him with a painful reminder that the pleasure was not likely to be renewed.Aldyth would never return to make her home in the cottage.The vision of her, rich, courted, removed to a distance from himself, rose before his mind.The wealth she had inherited would be an impassable barrier dividing them.

The news had come as a blow to him; but he rallied himself to bear it bravely.Till this moment he had hardly been aware how strong were the new hopes that had sprung up in his heart from the hour when he knew that Guy Lorraine had chosen another bride.They must be crushed now.

"It is well that I know in time," he said to himself."Well that she can have no idea of all that she is to me; for it would be preposterous for a poor tutor to approach as a suitor the heiress of Wyndham."

But it was impossible to resist the suggestion which came with the memory of her last glance as she drove from the station, that possibly under other circumstances he might have won her love.John paused, and, with his arms folded on the top of a gate, and his unseeing eyes gazing across the fields, pictured to himself in imagination what this change might mean for Aldyth.He could not imagine her elated by this sudden dower of wealth.It was easier to think of her as shrinking from its burden, and fearful of herself, lest she should fail to discharge aright the new responsibility.

Would it make her happier?Hardly, for she was not one to prize material prosperity.Her tastes were simple; she had a childlike enjoyment of the common things of life.He thought her one of the least worldly of women.Was there any real danger of her giving herself to a worthless fortune-hunter?He could not think it.Her pure, strong face rising before his mental vision seemed to declare the idea absurd.The man who won her must be worthy of her love and confidence.

"God bless her!"Glynne said within his heart."Ay, and He will bless her, for she is as pure and good and unselfish as an angel, and, whatever her lot may be, she will make others better and happier."

But though he had so high an opinion of the woman he loved, though he held her exalted above all vulgar conventional notions and aspirations, one to prize her womanhood more highly than her wealth, his pride yet saw in her fortune an insurmountable obstacle to his ever offering her his love.

"Hilda," said Kitty Bland to her sister, two days later, "mother is going to drive to Wyndham this afternoon.I suppose you will go with her to see Aldyth?"

They were in the garden.Hilda was stretched comfortably in the hammock, and Kitty, seated on a chair under the trees, with a basin in her lap and a basket by her side, was enraged in the homely occupation of shelling peas.

"I shall do no such thing," said Hilda, pettishly."It is like you to suggest it, Kitty.How do you suppose I can bear to go to Wyndham?"

"Very easily," said Kitty, in her most matter-of-fact tone."You always have liked going there, and I should think you would like it better now that Aldyth is at Wyndham, and not that dreadful old Mr. Lorraine.Oh yes, I know it's bad form to speak the truth of people when they are dead; but he was horrid.He was for ever annoying people whilst he lived, and he did his best to make things uncomfortable all round when he was gone."

"He treated Guy shamefully!"said Hilda, with emphasis."After the noble way in which Guy saved his life, it was too bad!I can never bear to see Wyndham again—the place that I used to think would be my home."

"You have not thought so long," said Kitty, coolly; "it is barely three months since you became engaged.And, as I so often tell you, you should not count your chickens before they are hatched."

"At that rate one should never look forward to anything," said Hilda, discontentedly.

"Well, it is better not," said Kitty."But, really, the house at Wood Corner is very nice, Hilda; a much more cheerful place than Wyndham, which, with that pond and so many trees about the house, always strikes me as gloomy."

"Oh, Kitty, it is lovely at night to see the moon shining on the pond, and the nightingales sing so beautifully in the trees!"

"Ah, I forgot; you are romantic, and enjoy that sort of thing," remarked Kitty."You would like to live like Mariana in a moated grange."

"Oh, don't speak of that!"said Hilda, with a shiver."I hope I may never be as wretched as Mariana, though sometimes I think—"

She did not finish her sentence.Kitty saw that tears were in her sister's eyes, and tried to cheer her by saying, briskly—"Well, I mean to make the best of things.I am very sorry for Guy's disappointment, and all that; but since he was not to have the property, I am glad it has come to our dear old Aldyth.Fancy her owning all those horses!That's a good thing for me, I know.She will give me a mount whenever I want one.How I wish she went in for hunting, that we might follow the hounds together!"

"You think of nothing but your own pleasure, Kitty," said Hilda, impatiently."For my part, I am disgusted with Aldyth; I can never feel towards her as I used."

"Why, what has Aldyth done?"asked Kitty, in the utmost astonishment."It is not her fault that her uncle left her the property."

"I am not so sure of that," said Hilda."Guy thinks she must have known, and she might have used her influence on his behalf."

"What nonsense!"exclaimed Kitty, warmly."When did you know Mr. Stephen Lorraine allow any one to influence him?He always did as he liked.I am surprised that you should say such a thing of Aldyth.After all your professions of friendship, too!You ought to know her better than to suppose that she would willingly supplant Guy!"

But Hilda would not take back her words, nor would she be persuaded to accompany their mother to Wyndham.She remained at home, sulky and miserable, whilst Kitty and Mrs. Bland went to see Aldyth.

Mrs. Bland would have been wanting in the natural feelings of a mother if she had not lamented Guy's altered prospects.She considered that the young man had been unfairly treated, for although old Stephen had been very guarded in the conversation he had with her, when he yielded his consent to an engagement between Hilda and Guy, his manner had conveyed to her the impression that he meant that his grandnephew should be his heir.The unexpected turn of affairs consequent on Mr. Lorraine's decease caused her considerable anxiety, but she never thought of blaming Aldyth in the matter.She rather felt that the girl was to be pitied, for she foresaw that Aldyth's inheritance would bring with it cares and difficulties which would weigh heavily on her young heart.

So Aldyth saw no change in the face of her old friend, and felt she was still dear to the motherly heart, which had taught her to place so high a value on the filial bond.

"Dear Mrs. Bland," she said at once, sure of her sympathy, "I don't think you need to be told that I would much rather not have had Wyndham.It is a real pain to me that Guy should go away, and I should be established here.I would reverse our positions if I could."

"I do not wish them reversed," said Mrs. Bland; "an equal division of the property would have been the right thing, in my opinion.I always thought you would have a handsome legacy, Aldyth, for your father was very dear to Mr. Lorraine and continued to be so to the end, I believe, in spite of that unhappy estrangement."

"Uncle once spoke to me about Wyndham," said Aldyth, "and I promised him I would use any influence I had to prevent the old place from being greatly altered after his death; but I am sure, although he spoke in that way, I never dreamed that he meant to leave the place to me."

"Of course not, my dear; how should you?"said Mrs. Bland."Well, it is a great disappointment for Guy; but perhaps, after all, he will be none the worse for having to work harder and depend more upon himself.His marriage must be indefinitely postponed; but they are young, and a lengthened probation will be a good test of their love.Hilda, poor child, cannot see it in that light.But here come some more visitors—Clara Dawtrey and her father, I declare!You will have all Woodham out here this week, Aldyth."

"I could dispense with much of this civility," said Aldyth, smiling."I hate to be treated us if I were somehow different from my former self.I do hope my friends will not change towards me."

"They are not likely to do that as long as you remain what you are," said Mrs. Bland, kissing her.

But Aldyth soon learned with sorrow that Hilda's love for her had cooled; and perhaps the change which she discerned in another friend cost her still deeper pain.Mr. Glynne was not amongst those who traversed the five straight miles of dusty road to pay their respects to the heiress of Wyndham.Aldyth hardly expected that he would come unless invited; but when some weeks later she chanced to meet him at Mrs. Greenwood's, there was such a lack of the old friendliness in his manner as made it impossible for her to respond to his grave politeness except with a courtesy equally distant.

Had any one told John Glynne that he had spoken coldly to Aldyth Lorraine, he would have been surprised.He was conscious of an inward excitement on seeing her that forced him to exercise strong self-control.Whilst talking to others he thought only of her, and nothing that she said or did escaped his notice.But it was impossible for Aldyth to know this.She was conscious only that he remained aloof from her, and when others were paying her considerable attention, appeared indifferent to her presence.

When he quitted the drawing room without having attempted to exchange a word with her, Aldyth's heart throbbed with painful resentment.

"Why should he be different to me now?"she asked herself."I never needed a friend more than I do at this time, and he is so wise and good; he could advise me, he could help me.There are so many things I should like to say to him, but I cannot utter a word when he looks at me in that grave, severe way.Oh, I did think I could rest on his friendship; but that, too, is slipping away from me."

CHAPTER XXI.

GUY MAKES A DISCOVERY.

ALDYTH did not remain at Wyndham for more than a week after her uncle's death.There was something oppressive in the quietness of the old house, where Guy's gay voice and whistle and the stir of his comings and goings were greatly missed, and Miss Lorraine, though she drove into the little town almost every day, pined for the neighbourly interests of her life at Woodham.

"Let us go back to the cottage, auntie," Aldyth said; "we shall feel so much more at home there, and we can come out here constantly to see that things are all right, though there is no doubt Mrs. Rogers will keep everything in perfect order.Yes, let me go home with you till mother and Gladys can come to me.Then I will return and endeavour to rightly discharge my duties as the mistress of Wyndham."

This suggestion was so entirely to Miss Lorraine's mind that she was at once convinced of its wisdom.Aldyth was in no way bound to take up her abode at the Hall forthwith.So a day or two later she was again domiciled in her aunt's home, occupying her old bedroom, and taking up with a new zest, born of a sense of impermanence, the simple, homely duties she had always performed.She was living the old life again; but the familiar surroundings only made her the more conscious of a certain change in herself.The last few months had enlarged her knowledge of life; some hopes had been disappointed, some illusions swept away, and certain grim realities belonging to human lives had been painfully thrust upon her notice.

As she sat at her writing-table, old thoughts, associated with the objects, that met her view, came back to her with somewhat of pain in their memory; the future, so different from anything she had expected, inspired her with some dread, yet, through all, her inner nature kept its deep calm.Her heart was too sound for any disappointment to render her cynical.Perhaps it is not too much to say that no experience can embitter the heart of a woman who is set upon living the highest life possible to her, and who thinks less of winning happiness for herself than of bestowing it on others.

Aldyth had not long returned to Woodham when an event occurred which cast a shadow on the social life of the little town.Mrs. Greenwood, the banker's bright, clever wife, had never been a strong woman, though her remarkable energy hid the fact from ordinary acquaintances.Her sudden death, from an unsuspected heart disease, was a sad shock to her friends.A woman of keen intellect and cultured tastes, she had taken the greatest interest in Mr. Glynne's lectures, and done her utmost to make them a success.She was ready to lend her help to any scheme that would promote the social welfare of the town.Without children of her own, she found intense enjoyment in the society of young people, and many a party of them she gathered in her large drawing room or in the fine old garden which lay behind the bank.Aldyth Lorraine had been a great favourite with her, and the girl felt that she had lost a friend whom she could ill spare.

Much sympathy was felt for Mr. Greenwood, a man verging upon sixty years of age, whose home must now be so desolate.

It was manifested on the funeral day, when many persons met in the pretty cemetery just beyond the town on the London road, to see the coffin, with its pall of flowers, lowered into the earth.Aldyth had come with her aunt, and, the brief service over, she caught sight of Kitty Bland standing at a little distance, who beckoned to her to join her.

"Let us wait till the others have gone," she said, as Aldyth approached her; "I don't want to walk back with them and hear them talking it over."

"Willingly," said Aldyth; and they turned to the more secluded part of the cemetery and sat down in the shade of some old elms.

Miss Lorraine, who did enjoy "talking it over," had walked on with acquaintances.

"So Hilda has not come?"said Aldyth.

"No," said Kitty, drily."She says she cannot bear to go to a funeral, she is so sensitive, the impression remains with her for days."

"I did not wish to come," said Aldyth, "but aunt said she thought it would seem kind to Mr. Greenwood, though I am quite sure he could not notice who were here.I do not want to associate dear Mrs. Greenwood with the grave.She was so bright and good; she seemed all spirit, and I try to think of her as having entered upon a freer and more blessed state of existence."

"Yes, that is the right way to think of her," said Kitty."I will tell you what Mr. Glynne said the other day; I thought it was so nice of him.He overtook me as I was coming up the street, and we walked a few steps together.We met little Dottie Greenwood and her nurse, and the child—you know how fond she is of him—ran up to him and said, with such a sorrowful look on her sweet little face,—

"'Dear Aunt Mary is so ill that she is dead.'

"'But she is not ill now,' he said as he kissed her; 'Aunt Mary is quite well now.'

"And Dottie, smiled and repeated, 'Yes, Aunt Mary is quite well now.'

"It touched me so, somehow; and yet he only said what we all profess to believe.Mr. Glynne is very good, don't you think?"

"I am sure of it," Aldyth said, and was silent.She never said many words about John Glynne.

"He must feel Mrs. Greenwood's death very much," continued Kitty."She was a good friend to him, and he was often at her house."

Aldyth had more than once heard Mrs. Greenwood profess a high regard for John Glynne, but she did not remark on it.

"Mother says she is thankful Mr. Glynne came to Woodham," continued Kitty."Charlie has so improved.It is wonderful how fond the boys are of Mr. Glynne, and what influence he has over them.He never seems to lecture them, but he has a knack of saying just the right word at the right time.And then I think his example impresses them.He is such a perfect gentleman, though really I believe it is higher praise to say that he is a thorough man—so strong, and true, and brave."

"His life was gentle, and the elements
 So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up
 And say to all the world, 'This was a man!'  "

thought Aldyth.But she did not give Kitty the benefit of the quotation.She was content to contribute nothing to the conversation when it reached this point; but it was not because the subject of it was uninteresting to her.

"Guy was not here," remarked Kitty, after a pause."I thought he would be.I wonder if he will honour Hilda with a visit this evening."

Kitty's manner of saying this was so peculiar that Aldyth looked at her in some surprise.

"Honour Hilda!"she said."That's a strange expression to use, Kitty."

"I do believe he regards his visits as an honour," said Kitty, with scorn in her tone."I would not put up with such a lover if I were Hilda."

"Why, what is amiss with him?"asked Aldyth, quickly.

"Oh, it makes me wild to see the way he treats Hilda," said Kitty, with sudden warmth."He keeps away from her for days; he shows the utmost indifference to her wishes; he makes it only too plain that his feelings towards her have changed, and he means her to understand that it is so."

"Oh, Kitty!You don't say so!"exclaimed Aldyth, her voice full of pain."You must be mistaken.Why, he was so fond of Hilda that he risked uncle's anger for her sake."

"Ah, yes; but he never expected to lose all for love," replied Kitty."His love could not stand that trial.He has never been the same to Hilda since Mr. Lorraine died."

"Then his was not true love," said Aldyth, indignantly."Such love is not worthy of the name."

"So I think," said Kitty."If I were Hilda, I would soon tell my gentleman to march.I really believe he wants her to break off the engagement, but she will not see it."

"Poor Hilda!"said Aldyth."Oh, it is disgraceful of Guy!I did think he really cared for Hilda."

Kitty shrugged her shoulders.

"Preserve me from such a lover!"she said."I am sorry for Hilda, but really I feel out of patience with her sometimes.She ought to see the true state of things; but she only cherishes her wounded feelings, and thinks herself the most unhappy of girls.She said this morning she wished she were going to be laid in the grave instead of Mrs. Greenwood."

"Oh, it is very sad for her," said Aldyth, tears springing to her eyes."I feel almost as if it were my fault; and yet—and yet—if Guy can so easily change, it is better she should know it now."

"That is what mother and I say," remarked Kitty; "but of course we dare not hint at such a thing to Hilda.We have to ignore that there is anything wrong.But I do wish she would pluck up spirit and act as she should.If she would talk to you about it, perhaps you could give her a little advice."

But Aldyth knew that Hilda was not likely to approach the subject with her.Confidences between them had ceased.With her return to Woodham, Aldyth had resumed the old friendly intercourse with the Blands, but she could not break down the barrier of coldness and constraint by which Hilda kept her at arm's length.

"Kitty," said Aldyth, a little later, as they took their way down the hill, "I am going to Wyndham early to-morrow.Could you go with me and spend the day?We would have a ride in the afternoon; the horses must need exercise."

"Oh, Aldyth, how good of you!Of course I can come," said Kitty, delighted."I have been longing for a ride.And you won't tell mother if I try some of the fences, will you?I'll promise not to break my neck."

"That is more than you can promise," said Aldyth, laughing.

The hot July and August days passed pleasantly away, and were spent so much in the old manner that Aldyth was often able to forget that she was the heiress of Wyndham.Gwendolen Bland had come home for her holidays, determined to put as much enjoyment into them as possible.There were tennis-parties and picnics, boating on the river both in sunshine and by moonlight, school treats, flower shows, harvest festivals, and all the various entertainments common to country life to be participated in.It was a vexation to Clara Dawtrey that Mr. Glynne was not on the ground, to see how well she played her part in the annual tournament given by the Woodham Tennis Club; but he had left the town when the Grammar School holidays began, and would not return till September.

Aldyth received bright letters from Eastbourne, where her mother and Gladys were having a good time.Nelly, who missed Aldyth, and could hardly forgive her for refusing an invitation to join them, was less content.It had been decided that Mrs. Stanton and Gladys were to visit Wyndham in the autumn; but no date had been fixed for their coming, and at present they seemed disposed to stay on at Eastbourne into September.Aldyth was looking forward with pleasure to welcoming her mother, and took trouble to get the house and garden at Wyndham into as nice order as possible, so as to please her mother's eyes.

"Do you think I might have the furniture re-covered, auntie?"she said one afternoon, when she and Miss Lorraine were in the old drawing room at Wyndham."I can't have a new carpet and new curtains without having something done to the chairs and sofas."

"I would buy new furniture if I were you," said Miss Lorraine."Uncle often talked of refurnishing this room."

"Yes, when Guy was married," said Aldyth with a smile."I don't think anything less than a wedding would justify such an outlay.But really I have no wish to banish these spindle-legged chairs; they are quite in correct 'high art' style, and as for that carved ebony chair, I believe it would fetch a hundred guineas at Christie's.When I get my blue-green upholstery and an Oriental carpet, you won't know the room."

"It will be a great improvement, no doubt," said Miss Lorraine; "there's some old blue china in the store-room you might make use of for decorative purposes."

"The very thing!"cried Aldyth, gleefully.

She was beginning to take some pleasure in her possessions.She had fine taste, and an artistic sense of colour; it was an enjoyment to her to plan the re-arrangement of her drawing room.She had dragged the large, old-fashioned settee from its place against the wall; she had pushed the ebony chair well into the light, and thrown the faded antimacassar which covered it on to the floor, when the sound of a quick, firm step in the hall surprised her.

"Why, that is never Guy," she said; "I fancied he had vowed not to cross the threshold of the Hall again."

"It certainly sounds like his step," said Miss Lorraine, and she hastily opened the door.

It was Guy, and the next moment he stood in the doorway.

Aldyth coloured.She would have preferred that he should not find her turning things about in the old drawing room.It must be painful to him to be thus reminded of her possession of Wyndham.

But Guy showed no annoyance, though he appeared a trifle embarrassed as he entered.He quickly recovered himself, however, and began to exhibit a good humour which astonished Aldyth, who had seen scarcely anything of her cousin since he quitted Wyndham.When they had happened to meet, he had maintained towards her a chilling courtesy; but now, here was the Guy of other days, as bright and kind as if nothing had happened to alienate them.

"I've come at the right time," he said, apparently unaware that there was anything surprising in his appearance."I see you want a little help.Aldyth, don't attempt to move that chair; it's too heavy for you.Cousin Lucy, you want those curtains taken down, don't you?I'll tackle that.If you want a handy man to do your jobs, here I am."

Miss Lorraine laughed, and looked delighted to see him in this mood.It was impossible for her long to regard Guy with disapproval.She had told herself it was but natural he should resent Aldyth's acquisition of the property.His uncle had not dealt well with him.So she welcomed with joy this manifestation of the old friendliness, and was ready to do all in her power to cement the reconciliation.

And Aldyth, too, was pleased.It would have pained her to feel that any one regarded her as an enemy, and it had especially grieved her that her old playmate and cousin should look on her with coldness and suspicion.With one accord the two exerted themselves to "make much" of Guy, so that he found it easy to establish himself on the old footing at Wyndham.

"We shall have tea almost directly," said Miss Lorraine."You will stay and take some with us?"

"Of course you will," said Aldyth, scarce letting him reply."There is nothing more to be done here.I was only trying effects.Come into the garden and help me get some flowers for the vases."

"With pleasure," said Guy.

It was just what he wanted, to be alone with her.So, having found basket and scissors, they went forth.The late sun was sending its long rays across the newly-mown lawn, and lighting up the golden hearts of the water-lilies floating on their broad leaves in the centre of the pond.Beyond the garden, visible through an opening in the trees, a harvest field, with its busy workers gathered about the heaped-up cart, made a charming picture.

"And how is Hilda?"asked Aldyth, lightly."I have not seen her for the last few days."

"She is very well, I believe," he said, but with something so unusual in his voice and manner that Aldyth looked at him curiously.

"When are you coming to the Farm?"he asked, the next minute."You must pay me a visit some day.I have got things pretty tidy there, though not, of course, just as you would arrange them."

"Ah, you cannot expect the house to look quite as it should till Hilda reigns there as mistress," said Aldyth, with a smile.But the smile died away as, glancing at him, she saw the strange effect of her words.

Guy's face had grown crimson; he looked painfully confused, and seemed anxious to avoid her glance, as he stood beating the grass with his stick.But it was impossible to evade the consciousness that Aldyth's eyes were upon him, and that she waited for an explanation of his too evident confusion.

"You must not speak of that, Aldyth," he said, with an effort; "Hilda will never be the mistress of my home.In fact—I came here to tell you—our engagement is at an end."

"Oh, Guy!"was all Aldyth could say.

"Yes, it is so," he said, finding words more readily now."And, on the whole—though, of course it has all been excessively trying—I believe it is for the best.We are not in the least suited to each other."

"I never thought that you were."The words slipped from Aldyth almost unawares."But what a pity," she added quickly, "you did not find this out before; it would have spared Hilda so much suffering."

"It was a pity," he said gravely; "but you are hardly the one to reproach me, Aldyth, since it was mainly your fault."

"My fault!What do you mean?"she demanded.

"You know of whom I first thought," he said, insinuatingly; "I hoped I had overcome that feeling.I fancied I could love Hilda, but I found it was a mistake."

"Do not speak of that, if you please, Guy!"cried Aldyth, her eyes flashing indignation on him."I will not hear such words.I cannot trust myself to say what I think of your conduct, it seems to me so unworthy a man, not to say a gentleman."

She turned from him in anger as Miss Lorraine appeared at the drawing room window, beckoning to them to come in.Aldyth had to fly to her room to cool her burning cheeks and recover self-possession ere she took her place at the tea-table.

"To think that men are like that!"she said to herself; with a feeling of general distrust."And Hilda, I have not a doubt, is at this moment breaking her heart for his sake.Poor girl, how I pity her!And yet I can easily see that this sorrow may be a blessing in disguise."

Aldyth scarcely spoke to Guy during the remainder of his visit, but Miss Lorraine continued to pet him, and his self-complacency showed no reduction.

CHAPTER XXII.

A STRICKEN HEROINE AND A SHAMELESS SUITOR.

"DO leave me to myself, Kitty; it is the only kindness you can do me now."

Hilda Bland was the speaker, and as she spoke, she turned her head on the pillow, so that her sister could see no more of her than a mass of loosened, disordered hair.Kitty stood by the bed holding a tray on which was set out a meal which might have tempted the most fastidious appetite.But Hilda would not so much as look at the dainty morsel of chicken, and Kitty's expression was a curious combination of pity and impatience.

"Really, Hilda, I cannot see any sense in starving yourself; you will not improve matters by falling ill."

"If I could only be ill enough," sighed Hilda; "if I could only die!"

"If you absolutely abstain from food, you will die," said Kitty, in a matter-of-fact tone; "but I should call it cowardly to put the extinguisher on yourself in that fashion, and it would be cruel to mother."

"It is easy for you to talk," murmured Hilda; "you have had no trouble; you do not know what it is to be deceived by one whom you loved and trusted.I feel that all happiness is over for me, and I can only drag out a hopeless, miserable existence.Do you wonder that I am sick of life?"

"Perhaps not, dear," said Kitty, gently."You have been very badly treated, no doubt; but Guy has acted so mean a part that if I were you, I would pluck up heart and show that I did not think him worth caring about.There are many things in life to live for still."

"I am weary of them all," said Hilda."'We are weary, my heart and I,' I keep thinking of those lines.Everything has become hateful to me.I only want to lie still and be let alone.I can never bear to walk out in Woodham again."

"You feel so now, but the feeling will pass," said Kitty."If only you would rouse yourself and face your trouble bravely, it would be so much better.I know it is a trouble, but many another girl has had such a disappointment, and there are worse troubles."

"It is easy to say so," said Hilda, bitterly; "but you know nothing about it.You have never loved as I have."

"And I devoutly hope I never shall," Kitty could not help saying; "but if such trouble came to me, I think I should do my best to bear it bravely.It is God who sends us trouble, and He means it to work our good."

"I don't see that there can be any good in my trouble," said Hilda, "and I do not believe God sent it.It is Guy who has deceived me and made me wretched."

"Nothing can happen to us apart from the will of God," said Kitty, "and He will help us to bear our sorrows if we put our trust in Him.When trouble comes to me, as I know it must some day, I hope I may be able to resign myself to His will, and learn the lesson He means it to teach me."

It was rarely Kitty spoke thus seriously, and her doing so, showed how anxious she was to help her sister.No one gave Kitty credit for much thoughtfulness; but, as is the case with many a lively girl, the hidden currents of her life were deeper than her friends supposed.It was not by chance that she was always cheerful, good-tempered, and unselfish.At the root of her character lay a simple but strong religious faith, and she had never forgotten the resolve made at the time of her father's death, that she would be good, and do all in her power to cheer and help her mother.

But Hilda was not in a mood to profit by her sister's words.

"I dare say you think so," she said, impatiently; "but wait till your turn comes—though I am sure I hope you may never know such trouble as mine.Do take that tray away, Kitty; it is impossible for me to eat."

So Kitty went away, feeling that she had wasted words, and that probably the best thing for Hilda at present was to be left alone.

But, notwithstanding this reflection, scarce half an hour had passed when she again appeared in her sister's room.

"Aldyth is down stairs," she said."She is so sorry, Hilda; she feels as we all do.Would you like to see her?"

"Oh no!"cried Hilda, excitedly."The last person I should wish to see!I do not say she is to blame; but it is her having Wyndham which has caused all my misery."

"Really!"exclaimed Kitty, finding her sister incomprehensible."I should rather think it was Guy being what he is.It seems to me well that you have found out in time, that he is one person in prosperity and another in adversity."

With that Kitty left her sister and descended to the drawing room, where Aldyth sat talking with Mrs. Bland.The mother's kindly face wore a look of care, but she spoke cheerfully.

"Poor child!"she said."She feels it sorely now, but I thankful it is no worse.If she had married him under the impression he was a hero, and then found out, when it was too late, that he was of common clay, it would have been a far greater misfortune.I fear her love would not have borne that strain, and it is a terrible thing for a woman to find herself bound to a man whom she can neither love nor respect.

"I always felt they were not suited to each other.I fancy Guy did not know his own mind; it was a caprice, which opposition strengthened.I think few men are capable of making right choice of a wife before they are twenty-five.But it is hard that poor Hilda should have to suffer for his lack of discretion."

"She will not see you, Aldyth," Kitty said; "there is no rousing her anyhow."

"I am afraid she finds a kind of romantic satisfaction in cherishing and even exaggerating her unhappiness," said Mrs. Bland."That is the way with you young things when trouble comes to you; you like to think that nothing can ever be the same again; you do not want to be comforted."

"Now, mother, you have never seen me in trouble," said Kitty, lightly; "you do not know how wise I should be."

"No, indeed, child," replied Mrs. Bland, with a tender glance at her eldest girl."God grant I never may!"

"The best thing for Hilda would be a change," she added, turning to Aldyth."I had a letter from my cousin, Mrs. Lancaster, a fortnight ago, asking me to let my girls go with her and her daughter for a tour in Brittany.Hilda did not care about it, so we refused the invitation; but I think perhaps she might be persuaded to go now, and as my cousin does not start till next week, I have written to ask if she is still willing to take the girls."

"Oh, that would surely be good for Hilda," said Aldyth."She has never been abroad.Oh, I hope you will be able to arrange it."

"I should not wonder if Hilda positively refuses to go," said Kitty.

But her sister proved in this instance more tractable than Kitty expected.Life was strong in her after all; and, since it became every day more clear that she was not going to die: absence from Woodham seemed the only condition under which life could be endured.Hilda's pride was, perhaps, as deeply wounded as her affections.She dreaded to meet the observant, perhaps pitying, glances of her acquaintances; she hated the thought of the talk concerning her broken engagement that must be going on in Woodham.

But each wound was deep, and the disappointment was none the less keen that she had perhaps been more in love with love than with Guy Lorraine.She had cherished her love, she had brooded over it, she had fed it with all food of the imagination which she could draw from poet or romance writer.And the romantic love thus fostered was not the strong, clear-sighted love which discerns and comprehends every fact relating to the one beloved.The true Guy, Hilda had never known.The greater on this account was the pain she suffered when her lover began to treat her with carelessness and indifference; the more crushing the blow dealt by the coolly-written letter in which he informed her that he had discovered that he had "mistaken his feelings" when he thought that he loved her, but, was now convinced that they were "not, in the least suited to each other."

As she had brooded over her love, Hilda now brooded over her sorrow; nursing it, magnifying it, letting her fancy play over it, and desiring, not comfort, but due appreciation of the greatness of her misery.

Aldyth was glad when she knew that Kitty and Hilda had started to join the Lancasters in London.She believed that the thorough change and diversion afforded by a foreign tour must help Hilda to recover her spirits.

Aldyth felt deeply for Hilda, whose state of mind she understood perhaps better than Kitty did, for she had seen all along how completely Hilda had deceived herself with regard to the character of Guy Lorraine.It annoyed Aldyth to see how utterly Guy ignored that he had anything to be ashamed of in his treatment of Hilda Bland.He rather seemed to pride himself on the way in which he had acted.It commended itself to his sense of prudence; and he was not the only person at Woodham who regarded his action thus favourably, nor was Clara Dawtrey the only one who derived satisfaction from the thought of Hilda Bland's mortification.But Aldyth could only explain the irreproachable air with which Guy bore himself by the assumption that he was so constituted as to be incapable of certain thoughts and feelings which to her appeared natural and essential.She was destined to receive further proof of this theory ere long.

Aldyth comforted herself with the reflection that it was probably a happy thing for Hilda that the engagement had come to an end.Her sensitive, emotional nature must have suffered constant pain in daily association with one whose ideas were so matter-of-fact, and whose perceptions were obtuse to all that did not immediately concern himself.Aldyth's own feelings towards her cousin at this time were strangely mingled.In her disgust at his conduct towards Hilda, she had shrunk from him, and but for Miss Lorraine's efforts and Guy's persistence in trying to ingratiate himself with her, the reconciliation just effected might have been ruptured as soon as made.

But there was a motive which urged Aldyth to avoid another estrangement from her cousin.Although she was in no way to blame for the fact, she could never forget that her gain had been Guy's loss.It was not a gain that had brought her increased satisfaction; but she knew that his loss had caused Guy much chagrin, and that many persons pitied him on account of it.She was painfully conscious of this whenever she saw him, and it made her tolerant of his society and anxious to do all in her power to make amends to him for his loss.

Guy understood his cousin sufficiently well to divine that this would be her feeling; but whilst Aldyth was racking her brain to devise delicate and practicable modes of making up to him in some degree for what he had lost, he was looking forward to a means of restitution which never crossed her mind.People, seeing the cousins together again and apparently on the old terms, were quick to say that it was plain why Hilda Bland had been jilted.Guy did not trouble himself about what people might say; but to Aldyth, the idea was so impossible that she never conceived that others might entertain it.

She persuaded Guy to accept as a gift from her the horse which he had been wont to ride when he lived at Wyndham, she consulted him on various matters connected with the estate, and allowed him to help her; but at the same time, she treated him with the frankness and occasional severity of an elder sister, though in truth she was his junior.And there was nothing in her manner that could flatter his vanity or encourage the hope he was cherishing.

But the self-esteem of some persons requires little support, and the event which one will regard as impossible will strike another as highly probable.Guy had no idea that the purpose he had formed involved an astounding surprise for Aldyth, and perhaps she should have been better prepared for it than she was.

One warm afternoon Aldyth was in the library at Wyndham, worrying herself over some business details submitted to her by her bailiff, which she could not understand.Her head ached, the heat was stupefying, and her perplexity only increased the longer she studied the account.It was with a sense of relief that she heard Guy's step in the hall, and called him to her.There was a welcome in her glance ere she said brightly—

"Oh, I am glad to see you.Do come and tell me what this man means me to understand by this complicated document."

"Willingly, if I can," said Guy, as he drew a chair to her side.The matter was simple enough to him.He had been accustomed to look after his uncle's business affairs, and in a few minutes he had explained everything Aldyth found puzzling, and also given her a little advice with regard to the business under consideration.

"Tomlinson is a good fellow," he said; "but you must not let him have everything his own way.An agent should not have too much power."

"But how can I help it?"asked Aldyth."He understands these things, and I do not."

"That's it," said Guy, seizing his opportunity."You need some one by your side who knows how to manage an estate.Dear Aldyth, I wish you would let me help you."

"You do help me, Guy," she said, puzzled by his manner, but yet far from seeing his drift; "you are very good to help me as you do."

"Ah, but I could be so much more to you, if you would let me," he said, and now his voice took a tender tone which roused her to a sense of danger; "if only you would let share all your burdens and cares; if you would let things be as uncle always meant them to be."

Considering the circumstances of the case, Guy certainly expressed himself with much cleverness, and showed what imaginative language even commonplace minds can command under sufficient stimulus.But the effect of his words was not such as he desired.

Aldyth started up, a flush of anger on her cheek."Guy, I cannot think what you mean by speaking in such a way!"

"Oh yes, you must know," he said."I told you before that I loved you."He paused, checked by the scorn he read in her glance.

"I should think that would be a reason for not saying it again," she replied in cold, clear tones, which had an edge of contempt."If I remember rightly, I made you aware then how I regarded your professions, and you cannot surely imagine that, after all that has happened, and Hilda Bland being my friend, I should regard them otherwise now, especially as—excuse me, Guy, the motive is so evident."

Guy looked down, and his face flushed, but he said doggedly—

"You may say what you like, but I think you owe something to me.You forget that what has happened makes a great difference to me."

"No, I do not forget it," said Aldyth, warmly; "I cannot forget it; I am oppressed by the knowledge that it is so.I would set matters right between us at once, if I knew how."

"There is but one way," he said.

"Then it is a way I shall never take!"she said, her eyes flashing on him."I would not set a wrong right by committing a greater wrong.I would give you Wyndham to-morrow rather than do that."

"But that would be impossible," he said."I could not in honour accept such a gift from you."

"I should not have thought considerations of honour would have troubled you, Guy," said Aldyth, unable to resist the retort.

But she was ashamed of it when it had passed her lips, and feeling that there was danger in her growing excitement, she turned to quit the room.Ere she could reach the door, it was opened by a servant, evidently looking for her.On the salver in his hand lay a telegram.

"For you, Miss Lorraine," he said."A man has ridden from Woodham with it."

Aldyth passed into the hall as she tore the envelope open.The telegram was from Eastbourne, and the sender was Gladys."We are in dreadful trouble; come to us," was all it said.

CHAPTER XXIII.

LOSSES AND GAINS.

IT was shocking and terrible news Mrs. Stanton had received by telegram from Melbourne earlier in that day.The firm of Stanton Bros.had come to utter bankruptcy, such as reduced to poverty every one connected with the firm, and brought unlooked-for destitution upon many an innocent sufferer.But this was not the whole of the calamity.

The health-giving influences of the voyage had not so invigorated Mr. Stanton that he could sustain the shock of misfortune that awaited him on his arrival at Melbourne.He went to his office almost immediately on landing, and there learned from his brother the critical state of affairs.He had listened calmly, had made full inquiries, and satisfied himself that it was impossible to avoid hopeless, irretrievable failure.Then, without showing any marked signs of agitation, he had returned to his hotel; but on the threshold, his step faltered, a strange spasm passed over his face, and he fell heavily to the ground.It was the last fatal stroke of paralysis.Within three hours he was dead.

But as yet his wife and children knew no particulars, only the bare, cruel facts, conveyed with curt emphasis by the telegram.As they began to recover from the first stunning effect of the blow, their one wish was for Aldyth's presence.The trouble would be less bewildering, less overwhelming, if she were there.Comfort of some kind Aldyth would surely bring.

"Send for Aldyth," Mrs. Stanton whispered to Gladys, in one of the intervals between her fits of hysterical weeping; and Gladys lost no time in obeying.

The girls were very anxious for the coming of their sister, mid made many calculations as to how soon she could arrive, without attaining certainty that she could get to Eastbourne that day.

But the last train, just before midnight, brought Aldyth.

Gladys, watching at the window of their sitting room, saw the cab drive up to the door, and hurried down to meet her.Mrs. Stanton had retired to rest, and, worn out with weeping, was already asleep; Nelly was sitting beside her, so Gladys alone welcomed Aldyth.Gladys, with pale face, pink eyelids, and a weary, anxious expression, looked wholly different from the bright, radiant girl from whom Aldyth had parted a few weeks earlier.Sorrow seems the more pathetic when its shadow falls on one so young and gay.

"Oh, Aldyth, I am glad you have come," she said, clasping her sister in her arms. "Things will seem better now.But is it not dreadful?"

"You forget I do not know what the trouble is," said Aldyth, who had been full of wonder concerning it as she journeyed to Eastbourne.

"Poor papa is dead," said Gladys, "and we are beggars."The two facts were apparently of equal importance to Gladys; but Aldyth only heeded the former.

She was painfully startled: She had always been conscious of the failing appearance of the worn, nervous man, but she was not prepared to hear so soon of his decease, and it struck her as very sad that he should die far away from his wife and children.

"Oh, Gladys!"she said."I am grieved for you.Poor mamma!What will she do?How was it?"

"Paralysis, the telegram says," replied Gladys; "but we know hardly anything.That was what mamma had feared.Here is the telegram."

And she spread it open before Aldyth, who read—

   "Stanton Bros.    , bankrupt.    Robert Stanton died yesterday, shock producing paralysis."

"Oh, how terrible!"said Aldyth."How terrible the news seems, coming in these few cold words!What a shock for mamma!How did she bear it?"

"She almost fainted, and then she went into hysterics," said Gladys, with unconscious dryness; "but she is quieter now.Mamma says that things have been going wrong in the business for some time, and that papa said that if it came to bankruptcy, we must lose everything.She says she believes we have not a penny."

"Do not let that trouble you," said Aldyth, kindly; "your greatest loss can never be made up to you, but as far as the money goes, I have enough for us all.Oh, I am glad now that uncle made me rich."

And at that moment, Aldyth experienced the utmost satisfaction her fortune had brought her.

"I should have thought you would have been glad before this," said Gladys, "and you won't want a lot of poor relatives hanging on you."

"I should be much poorer if I had not the relatives," said Aldyth."Where is Nelly?"

"She is with mamma; but I will go and relieve her now.You are to share her room.She has been longing for you to come."

Already Gladys's look had brightened, and she walked away with her usual quick, light step.She was not one to droop long under trouble.Like a bent flower, she could lift her head at the first break in the storm.

In a few minutes Nelly was in her sister's arms. The child's face looked worn and aged; the eyes were unnaturally bright, but showed no signs of weeping.At Aldyth's tender greeting, however, her composure gave way.She broke into heavy sobs as she clung to her sister.

"Oh, Aldyth, is it not dreadful?Poor papa!"

"Yes, dear, it is very sad," Aldyth said.

"I never thought—I never expected such a thing," sobbed Nelly."Of course, I knew he was not well; but he had been out of sorts a long time, and mamma said the voyage would set him up.It is so sad that he should die away from us all.Aldyth, he should not have been allowed to go back alone."

Aldyth did not at once reply.

"Perhaps not," she said, presently; "but, Nelly, it is vain to think of that now."

"That is what makes it so dreadful!"cried Nelly."Aldyth, I feel now that I never loved papa as I should.He was just papa, who found the money and saw we had everything we wanted.I took it all as a right, and never was a bit grateful.Do you know, one Saturday after you had gone to Woodham, he came in very tired, when mamma and Gladys were out, and I fetched his slippers and got some tea for him, just as you used to do.He seemed so surprised and pleased.He said, 'Why, Nelly, you are getting as thoughtful as Aldyth.'I felt reproached as he said it, though he did not mean it as a reproach."

"But you are thankful now, are you not, dear, that you did him that little service?"Aldyth said.

"Oh, but it was only that once!"replied Nelly, with a fresh burst of weeping."He went away so soon after that there was not another opportunity.But I might have served him often, and now it is too late.He is gone from me—my father—and I did not love and value him whilst I had him!"

Aldyth did not attempt to check her tears.She felt that words could not soothe such grief as this.The thought that she had failed in her duty towards her father would long sting poor Nelly's heart; but the pain might be salutary; from it might spring the "peaceable fruit" of love and care for others.

After a pause, Aldyth said—

"Nelly, I am reminded of some words I read a while ago.I think they were Richter's, and to this effect, that the most beautiful wreath we can lay on the grave of our dead is woven of good deeds done to others.We should remember that now.We cannot undo the past; we cannot recall the lost opportunity or the careless word; but we can endeavour to show all the love and kindness in our power to those who still remain with us."

"I will try to be good," faltered Nelly; "but I have such a temper, and mamma and Gladys irritate me so."

"It is never easy to conquer oneself," said Aldyth; "but the victory is worth all the pains.And we have not to fight alone.There is One who will help us, if we put our trust in Him."

They went to their room, and Aldyth helped Nelly, who was quite worn out with the excitements of the day, to undress, and saw her into bed, where she fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.Aldyth, too, was tired; but after she had extinguished the light she knelt long in the darkness ere she lay down to rest.

When Aldyth woke the next morning, she felt as if Woodham, Wyndham, the events of yesterday, were all removed to a great distance.The things which a few hours before had been of interest to her now seemed of no importance.Her mind was filled with the thought of her mother's great sorrow, and how she might best help and comfort her.

As soon as she knew that her mother was awake, she went to her room, and was received with a demonstrative affection for which she was hardly prepared.

"Thank God you are come, darling!"said Mrs. Stanton, embracing her."I want you now, my eldest daughter!I have no one to lean on but you.My husband, my home, everything is taken from me."

And she sank back on her pillow sobbing.

"Mother, darling," cried Aldyth, bending over her with a tenderness almost maternal in her manner—it was as if the mother and child had changed places."Mother, darling, do not cry so; I will take care of you.I have a home, you know; and that and everything I have is yours.Try to bear up for the sake of your children, who love you and will do all in their power to make you happy."

"Thank you, my darling child," murmured Mrs. Stanton, "You are so good."Then, with a fresh flow of tears—"But it is dreadful to lose my husband so—without a word; and I cannot even look upon his lifeless form.It is so hard."

Aldyth could not speak; it was all she could do to keep from weeping herself, but she kissed her mother and laid her cheek against hers, and the mute caresses were more soothing than words.

Later in the day, Cecil arrived from London, prepared to stay over Sunday with his mother and sisters.He appeared shocked by the news, but it was the pecuniary loss that most affected his spirits, as Aldyth could not but perceive.It touched her to think how slight a hold Robert Stanton had had on the hearts of his children.With whom did the fault lie?Had he lived too absorbed in business to find time for the culture of family affections, or did the infirmity of his extreme shyness and reserve raise a barrier even between him and his children?Aldyth was inclined to explain it by the latter supposition, for the little she had seen of her stepfather led her to credit him with a good heart, keenly responsive to kindness, but incapable, from physical hindrances, of giving ready expression to feeling.

Cecil's mind was in a state of indignant resistance to the calamity that had overtaken them.He was glad to express himself freely when he got an opportunity of talking to Aldyth alone.

"It is all my uncle's fault, I know," he said; "now, you see, when we get particulars, if it does not come out that the failure is entirely owing to some rash speculation my uncle has plunged into.My father let him have things too much his own way.It was a great mistake.It is all very well to talk about affliction, but this is my uncle's doing, and I mean to let him know what I think of his conduct."

"Will that be of any good?"asked Aldyth, gently."I suppose he and his family are also reduced to poverty.He must deplore his action now as much as you do."

"Whether it is of any good or not, I mean to do it for my own satisfaction," replied Cecil."It is no joke to have the whole of your income swept away.What am I to do?What is to become of mamma and the girls?"

"Oh, do not let that trouble you," said Aldyth."Mamma and Gladys are coming with me to Wyndham—there is plenty of room for them there; indeed, I was in despair at the thought that I might have to live in that great place alone.Nelly will go back to school for the present; and you, I hope, will remain in your lodgings near the hospital."

"What, at your expense?"asked Cecil, flushing.

"No, at mamma's, if you like that better," said Aldyth, smiling."I consider that mamma shares all my possessions."

"It is very good of you," said Cecil, looking relieved, and yet a little uneasy."You are very generous.I don't believe Gladys would be so ready to let others spend her money."

"Don't say that—it is rather mean; for you cannot possibly tell what Gladys would do under the circumstances.And I cannot see that there is any generosity in giving away what you will never miss.I could not possibly spend on myself the income which is now mine.I don't know what I should have done if this had not happened, for I am not a fine lady.I have an inbred horror of extravagance."

Cecil laughed.

"You are not like Gladys, then.She will help you to spend your money fast enough, if you let her.But I think very differently of you, Aldyth, and I hope some day I may be able to repay you for what you do for me."

"Very well, sir," said Aldyth, laughing."When I get a broken arm or a sprained ankle, I shall be happy for you to exercise your surgical skill upon it."

Aldyth remained with her mother and sisters for a week at Eastbourne, keeping almost in seclusion.Yet for her it was a busy time, for there were many arrangements to be made, letters to be written, friends to be seen, and every task from which her mother and Gladys shrank devolved upon her.

Mrs. Stanton gradually recovered from the shock of ill-tidings, and after a few days began to move less languidly, and to show some faint interest in the future that awaited her.

"To think that I should live at Wyndham after all," she said to Aldyth."Your father used to talk of it at one time, when he hoped his uncle would forgive us; but that never came to pass.It is strange that I should go there now, after all these years and all that has happened.But it is rather a dreary old place, is it not?"

"I hope you will not find it so," said Aldyth."I think it is very pretty in the summer."

Aldyth was glad that her preparations for her mother's visit to Wyndham were about finished ere she was summoned away.

She wrote to inform her aunt of the time when they might be expected, and to beg her to be at Wyndham to welcome them.

Unfortunately the September evening on which Aldyth with her mother and Gladys arrived at Woodburn was very wet, and under driving rain and a leaden sky the High Street and the long straight road to Wyndham looked far from interesting.Mrs. Stanton's countenance, its pale, delicate beauty strikingly set off by the folds of crape which framed it, wore a melancholy expression as she glanced from the carriage at the gloomy prospect.

"I always said I could not bear to live at Woodham," she remarked, with a shiver; "but it is my fate.Well, I am old and a widow now; it does not matter where I live."

This was not encouraging; but Aldyth could not wonder at her mother's depression.

"Not old; beautiful and dear," she said, pressing her mother's hand."And brighter days will come.Woodham does not always look like this."

"I should hope not," said Gladys, throwing herself back with a yawn as they passed the last house belonging to Woodham."So this is your carriage, Aldyth?It is rather an antiquated affair, and the springs might be easier.Does your coachman always drive so slowly?"

"Yes, old John has an objection to using the whip," said Aldyth."He always lets the horses drop into this jog-trot.And it is of no use speaking to him; he is too old to alter his ways."

"Then I should look out for another coachman if I were you," said Gladys.

Aldyth shook her head.

"That would never do," she said."It would break John's heart to be superseded."

Dripping trees, dripping eaves, a pool under the front windows, and a cloud of vapour rising from the pond, made Wyndham Hall appear anything but a desirable residence as the carriage drove up to the door.Aldyth was grieved that her mother should first see her future home in such an unfavourable aspect.

Mrs. Stanton, in her sable attire, had the air of a queen in exile as she mounted the steps, whilst a servant held an umbrella over her.But Miss Lorraine's cheery face, as she came forward to welcome them, seemed to defy the weather.

"What an evening!"she said."You will think we have altogether too much water here.It is unfortunate.But we must make the best of it."

"The house is surely damp," said Mrs. Stanton, with a dreary anticipation of rheumatism.

"Not in the least," said Miss Lorraine, briskly; "the walls are too thick for that.There never was a warmer, drier house.They do not build such houses nowadays."

Certainly the dining room, where a bright fire was burning and a meal daintily set out, looked more cheerful.

But Mrs. Stanton's spirits did not begin to revive till Aldyth conducted her to her own room.This was a pleasant apartment with windows looking southwards and commanding a pretty view of the surrounding country.A new carpet had been put down; light fresh chintz draped windows and bed; there were flowers on the dressing-table, and glancing round, Mrs. Stanton could see that her tastes and comforts had been carefully studied.She appreciated comforts, and she gave a sigh of relief, not of despair, as she sank into an easy-chair by the wood fire.

"This is cosy," she said."Yes, dear Aldyth, I cannot but be comfortable here, and if you will excuse me, I will not go down again to-night.Miss Lorraine is very kind, but I do not feel equal to her talk just now."

"You shall do as you like, mamma," said Aldyth, deftly removing her mother's bonnet and mantle."I will bring you something to eat here, if you would rather."

"Yes, dear, much rather," Mrs. Stanton said.

And hastily removing her own things, Aldyth went down stairs to arrange a tray for her mother with the food most likely to tempt her appetite.

Miss Lorraine watched her as she set about the task, and was struck with the bright, happy look the girl's face wore.

"You look very happy, Aldyth," she said."You are very glad to have your mother in your home."

"I am happy," replied Aldyth, with a sweet, glad smile, "and it is home now."

Miss Lorraine had a fleeting sense of discontent.She wondered what her uncle Stephen would have felt if he could have foreseen this result of Aldyth's inheritance, and smiled to think that, had such an idea occurred to him, he would assuredly have left Wyndham to Guy.She could imagine her uncle passing at midnight as a restless ghost through the old hall and groaning at the sight of the huge trunks, belonging to Mrs. Stanton and Gladys, which had just arrived in a cart from the station, and were piled up in the hall, till they could be emptied of their contents and consigned to the lumber room.

"Ah, me!"she reflected, sagely."It is well we cannot know what is to come after us, and really it is time there was some fresh life about the old place."