The Farringdons

The Farringdons Page 17

by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler

  CHAPTER XVII

  GEORGE FARRINGDON'S SON

  I need thee, Love, in peace and strife; For, till Time's latest page be read, No other smile could light my life Instead.

  And even in that happier place, Where pain is past and sorrow dead, I could not love an angel's face Instead.

  That night Elisabeth wrote to Christopher Thornley, telling him that shebelieved she had found George Farringdon's son at last, and asking himto come up to London in order to facilitate the giving up of her kingdominto the hands of the rightful owner. And, in so doing, she wasconscious of a feeling of satisfaction that Christopher should see forhimself that she was not as mercenary as he had once imagined her to be,but that she was as ready as he had ever been to enable the king toenjoy his own again as soon as that king appeared upon the scene. Toforsake the reigning queen in order to search for that king, was, ofcourse, a different matter, and one about which Elisabeth declined tosee eye to eye with her manager even now. Doubtless he had been in theright all through, and she in the wrong, as all honourable people couldsee for themselves; but when one happens to be the queen one's self,one's perspective is apt to become blurred and one's sense of abstractjustice confused. It is so easy for all of us to judge righteousjudgment concerning matters which in no way affect ourselves.

  Elisabeth was still angry with Christopher because she had deliberatelymade the worst of herself in his eyes. It was totally unjust--andentirely feminine--to lay the blame of this on his shoulders; as amatter of fact, he had had nothing at all to do with it. She hadpurposely chosen a path of life of which she knew he would disapprove,principally in order to annoy him; and then she had refused to forgivehim for feeling the annoyance which she had gone out of her way toinflict. From the purely feminine standpoint her behaviour wasthoroughly consistent; a man, however, might in his ignorance haveaccused her of inconsistency. But men know so little about some things!

  The following afternoon Cecil Farquhar came to see Elisabeth, as she hadbidden him; and she smiled grimly to herself as she realized thedifference between what she had intended to say to him when she told himto come, and what she was actually going to say. As for him, he was fullof hope. Evidently Elisabeth meant to marry him and make him into a richman; and money was the thing he loved best in the world. Which of uswould not be happy if we thought we were about to win the thing we lovedbest? And is it altogether our own fault if the thing we happen to lovebest be unworthy of love, or is it only our misfortune?

  Because he was triumphant, Cecil looked handsomer than usual, for thereare few things more becoming than happiness; and as he entered theroom, radiant with that vitality which is so irresistibly attractive,Elisabeth recognised his charm without feeling it, just as one seespeople speaking and gesticulating in the distance without hearing a wordof what is said.

  "My dear lady, you are going to say _yes_ to me; I know that you are;you would not have sent for me if you were not, for you are far tootender-hearted to enjoy seeing pain which you are forced to give."

  Elisabeth looked grave, and did not take his outstretched hand. "Willyou sit down?" she said; "there is much that I want to talk over withyou."

  Cecil's face fell. In a superficial way he was wonderfully quick ininterpreting moods and reading character; and he knew in a moment that,through some influence of which he was as yet in ignorance, such slighthold as he had once had upon Elisabeth had snapped and broken since hesaw her last. "Surely you are not going to refuse to marry me and sospoil my life. Elisabeth, you can not be as cruel as this, after allthat we have been to each other."

  "I am going to refuse to marry you, but I am not going to spoil yourlife. Believe me, I am not. There are other things in the world besideslove and marriage."

  Cecil sank down into a seat, and his chin twitched. "Then you haveplayed with me most abominably. The world was right when it called you aheartless flirt, and said that you were too cold to care for anythingsave pleasure and admiration. I thought I knew you better, more fool I!But the world was right and I was wrong."

  "I don't think that we need discuss my character," said Elisabeth. Shewas very angry with herself that she had placed herself in such aposition that any man dared to sit in judgment upon her; but even thenshe could not elevate Cecil into the object of her indignation.

  He went on like a querulous child. "It is desperately hard on me thatyou have treated me in this way! You might have snubbed me at once ifyou had wished to do so, and not have made me a laughing-stock in theeyes of the world. I made no secret of the fact that I intended to marryyou; I talked about it to everybody; and now everybody will laugh at mefor having been your dupe."

  So he had boasted to his friends of the fortune he was going to annex,and had already openly plumed himself upon securing her money! Elisabethunderstood perfectly, and was distinctly amused. She wondered if hewould remember to remind her how she was going to elevate him by herinfluence, or if the loss of her money would make him forget even tosimulate sorrow at the loss of herself.

  "I don't know what I shall do," he continued, with tears of vexation inhis eyes; "everybody is expecting our engagement to be announced, and Ican not think what excuses I shall invent. A man looks such a fool whenhe has made too sure of a woman!"

  "Doubtless. But that isn't the woman's fault altogether."

  "Yes; it is. If the woman hadn't led him on, the man wouldn't have madesure of her. You have been unutterably cruel to me--unpardonably cruel;and I will never forgive you as long as I live."

  Elisabeth winced at this--not at Cecil's refusal to forgive her, but atthe thought that she had placed herself within the reach of hisforgiveness. But she was not penitent--she was only annoyed. Penitenceis the last experience that comes to strong-willed, light-heartedpeople, such as Elisabeth; they are so sure they are right at the time,and they so soon forget about it afterward, that they find no intervalfor remorse. Elisabeth was beginning to forgive herself for havingfallen for a time from her high ideal, because she was already beginningto forget that she had so fallen; life had taught her many things, butshe took it too easily even yet.

  "I have a story to tell you," she said; "a story that will interest you,if you will listen."

  By this time Cecil's anger was settling down into sulkiness. "I have noalternative, I suppose."

  Then Elisabeth told him, as briefly as she could, the story of GeorgeFarringdon's son; and, as she spoke, she watched the sulkiness in hisface give place to interest, and the interest to hope, and the hope totriumph, until the naughty child gradually grew once more into thesimilitude of a Greek god.

  "You are right--I am sure you are right," he said when she had finished;"it all fits in--the date and place of my birth, my parents' poverty andfriendlessness, and the mystery concerning them. Oh! you can not thinkwhat this means to me. To be forever beyond the reach of poverty--to beable to do whatever I like for the rest of my life--to be counted amongthe great of the earth! It is wonderful--wonderful!" And he walked upand down the room in his excitement, while his voice shook with emotion.

  "I shall have such a glorious time," he went on--"the most glorious timeman ever had! Of course, I shall not live in that horrid BlackCountry--nobody could expect me to make such a sacrifice as that; but Ishall spend my winters in Italy and my summers in Mayfair, and I shallforget that the world was ever cold and hard and cruel to me."

  Elisabeth watched him curiously. So he never even thought of her and ofwhat she was giving up. That his gain was her loss was a matter of nomoment to him--it did not enter into his calculations. She wondered ifhe even remembered Quenelda, and what this would mean to her; shethought not. And this was the man Elisabeth had once delighted tohonour! She could have laughed aloud as she realized what a blind foolshe had been. Were all men like this? she asked herself; for, if so, shewas glad she was too cold to fall in love. It would be terrible indeedto lay down one's life at the feet of a creature such as this; it wasbad enough to
have to lay down one's fortune there!

  Throughout the rest of the interview Cecil lived up to the estimate thatElisabeth had just formed of his character: he never once rememberedher--never once forgot himself. She explained to him that ChristopherThornley was the man who would manage all the business part of theaffair for him, and give up the papers, and establish his identity; andshe promised to communicate with Cecil as soon as she received an answerto the letter she had written to Christopher informing the latter thatshe believed she had at last discovered George Farringdon's son.

  Amidst all her sorrow at the anticipation of giving up her kingdom intothe hands of so unfitting a ruler as Cecil, there lurked a pleasurableconsciousness that at last Christopher would recognise her worth, whenhe found how inferior her successor was to herself. It was strange howthis desire to compel the regard which she had voluntarily forfeited,had haunted Elisabeth for so many years. Christopher had offended herpast all pardon, she said to herself; nevertheless it annoyed her tofeel that the friendship, which she had taken from him for punitivepurposes, was but a secondary consideration in his eyes after all. Shehad long ago succeeded in convincing herself that the grapes of hisaffection were too sour to be worth fretting after; but she still wantedto make him admire her in spite of himself, and to realize that MissElisabeth Farringdon of the Osierfield was a more important personagethan he had considered her to be. Half the pleasure of her success as anartist had lain in the thought that this at last would convinceChristopher of her right to be admired and obeyed; but she was neversure that it had actually done so. Through all her triumphal progress hehad been the Mordecai at her gates. She did not often see him, it istrue; but when she did, she was acutely conscious that his attitudetoward her was different from the attitude of the rest of the world, andthat--instead of offering her unlimited praise and adulation--he saw herweaknesses as clearly now she was a great lady as he had done when shewas a little girl.

  And herein Elisabeth's intuition was not at fault; her failings wereactually more patent to Christopher than to the world at large. But hereher perception ended; and she did not see, further, that it was becauseChristopher had formed such a high ideal of her, that he minded so muchwhen she fell short of it. She had not yet grasped the truth thatwhereas the more a woman loves a man the easier she finds it to forgivehis faults, the more a man loves a woman the harder he finds it tooverlook her shortcomings. A woman merely requires the man she loves tobe true to her; while a man demands that the woman he loves shall betrue to herself--or, rather, to that ideal of her which in his own mindhe has set up and worshipped.

  Her consciousness of Christopher's disapproval of the easy-going,Bohemian fashion in which she had chosen to walk through life, madeElisabeth intensely angry; though she would have died rather than lethim know it. How dared this one man show himself superior to her, whenshe had the world at her feet? It was insupportable! She said but littleto him, and he said still less to her, and what they did say was usuallylimited to the affairs of the Osierfield; nevertheless Elisabethpersistently weighed herself in Christopher's balances, and measuredherself according to Christopher's measures; and, as she did so, wrote_Tekel_ opposite her own name. And for this she refused to forgive him.She assured herself that his balances were false, and his measuresimpossible, and his judgments hard in the extreme; and when she had doneso, she began to try herself thereby again, and hated him afresh becauseshe fell so far short of them.

  But now he was going to see her in a new light; if he declined to admireher in prosperity, he should be compelled to respect her in adversity;for she made up her mind she would bear her reverses like a Spartan, ifonly for the sake of proving to him that she was made of better materialthan he, in his calm superiority, had supposed. When he saw for himselfhow plucky she could be, and how little she really cared for outsidethings, he might at last discover that she was not as unworthy of hisregard as he had once assumed, and might even want to be friends withher again; and then she would throw his friendship back again in hisface, as he had once thrown hers, and teach him that it was possibleeven for self-righteous people to make mistakes which were pastrepairing. It would do him a world of good, Elisabeth thought, to findout--too late--that he had misjudged her, and that other people besideshimself had virtues and excellences; and it comforted her, in the midstof her adversities, to contemplate the punishment which was beingreserved for Christopher, when George Farringdon's son came into hisown. And she never guessed--how could she?--that when at last GeorgeFarringdon's son did come into his own, there would be no ChristopherThornley serving under him at the Osierfield; and that the cup ofremorse, which she was so busily preparing, was for her own drinking andnot for Christopher's.

  Christopher's expected answer to her epistle was, however, notforthcoming. The following morning Elisabeth received a letter from oneof the clerks at the Osierfield, informing her that Mr. Thornleyreturned from his tour in Germany a week ago; and that immediately onhis return he was seized with a severe attack of pneumonia--the resultof a neglected cold--and was now lying seriously ill at his house inSedgehill. In order to complete the purchase of a piece of land for theenlargement of the works, which Mr. Thornley had arranged to buy beforehe went away, it was necessary (the clerk went on to say) to see theplans of the Osierfield; and these were locked up in the private safe atthe manager's house, to which only Christopher and Elisabeth possessedkeys. Therefore, as the manager was delirious and quite incapable ofattending to business of any kind, the clerk begged Miss Farringdon tocome down at once and take the plans out of the safe; as thenegotiations could not be completed until this was done.

  For an instant the old instinct of tenderness toward any one who wasweak or suffering welled up in Elisabeth's soul, and she longed to go toher old playmate and help and comfort him; but then came the remembranceof how once before, long ago, she had been ready to help and comfortChristopher, and he had wanted neither her help nor her comfort; so shehardened her heart against him, and proudly said to herself that ifChristopher could do without her she could do without Christopher.

  That summer's day was one which Elisabeth could never forget as long asshe lived; it stood out from the rest of her life, and would so standout forever. We all know such days as this--days which place a gulf,that can never be passed over, between their before and after. Shetravelled down to Sedgehill by a morning train; and her heart was heavywithin her as she saw how beautiful the country looked in the summersunshine, and realized that the home she loved was to be taken away fromher and given to another. Somehow life had not brought her all that shehad expected from it, and yet she did not see wherein she herself hadbeen to blame. She had neither loved nor hoarded her money, but had usedit for the good of others to the best of her knowledge; yet it was to betaken from her. She had not hidden her talent in a napkin, but hadcultivated it to the height of her powers; yet her fame was cold anddreary to her, and her greatness turned to ashes in her hands. She hadbeen ready to give love in full measure and running over to any one whoneeded it; yet her heart had asked in vain for something to fill it, andin spite of all its longings had been sent empty away. She had failedall along the line to get the best out of life; and yet she did not seehow she could have acted differently. Surely it was Fate, and notherself, that was to blame for her failure.

  When she arrived at Sedgehill she drove straight to Christopher's house,and learned from the nurse who was attending him how serious his illnesswas--not so much on account of the violence of the cold which he hadtaken in Germany, as from the fact that his vitality was too feeble toresist it. But she could not guess--and there was no one to tellher--that his vitality had been lowered by her unkindness to him, andthat it was she who had deliberately snapped the mainspring ofChristopher's life. It was no use anybody's seeing him, the nurse said,as he was delirious and knew no one; but if he regained consciousness,she would summon Miss Farringdon at once.

  Then Elisabeth went alone into the big, oak-panelled dining-room, withthe crape masks before its wi
ndows, and opened the safe.

  She could not find the plans at once, as she did not know exactly whereto look for them; and as she was searching for them among variouspapers, she came upon a letter addressed to herself in Christopher'shandwriting. She opened it with her usual carelessness, withoutperceiving that it bore the inscription "Not to be given to MissFarringdon until after my death"; and when she had begun to read it, shecould not have left off to save her life--being a woman. And this waswhat she read:

  "MY DARLING--for so I may call you at last, since you will not read thisletter until after I am dead;

  "There are two things that I want to tell you. _First_, that I love you,and always have loved you, and always shall love you to all eternity.But how could I say this to you, sweetheart, in the days when my lovespelled poverty for us both? And how could I say it when you became oneof the richest women in Mershire, and I only the paid manager of yourworks? Nevertheless I should have said it in time, when you had seenmore of the world and were capable of choosing your own life foryourself, had I thought there was any chance of your caring for me; forno man has ever loved you as I have loved you, Elisabeth, nor ever will.You had a right to know what was yours, when you were old enough todecide what to do with it, and to take or leave it as you thought fit;and no one else had the right to decide this for you. But when you somisjudged me about my journey to Australia, I understood that it was Imyself, and not my position, that stood between us; and that your natureand mine were so different, and our ideas so far apart, that it was notin my power to make you happy, though I would have died to do so. So Iwent out of your life, for fear I should spoil it; and I have kept outof your life ever since, because I know you are happier without me; forI do so want you to be happy, dear.

  "There is one other thing I have to tell you: I am George Farringdon'sson. I shouldn't have bothered you with this, only I feel it isnecessary--after I am gone--for you to know the truth, lest any impostorshould turn up and take your property from you. Of course, as long as Iam alive I can keep the secret, and yet take care that no one else comesforward in my place; and I have made a will leaving everything I possessto you. But when I am gone, you must hold the proofs of who was reallythe person who stood between you and the Farringdon property. I neverfound it out until my uncle died; I believed, as everybody elsebelieved, that the lost heir was somewhere in Australia. But on myuncle's death I found a confession from him--which is in this safe,along with my parents' marriage certificate and all the other proofs ofmy identity--saying how his sister told him on her death-bed that, whenGeorge Farringdon ran away from home, he married her, and took her outwith him to Australia. They had a hard life, and lost all their childrenexcept myself; and then my father died, leaving my poor mother almostpenniless. She survived him only long enough to come back to England,and give her child into her brother's charge. My uncle went on to saythat he kept my identity a secret, and called me by an assumed name, ashe was afraid that Miss Farringdon would send both him and me about ourbusiness if she knew the truth; as in those days she was very bitteragainst the man who had jilted her, and would have been still bittererhad she known he had thrown her over for the daughter of her father'smanager. When Maria Farringdon died and showed, by her will, that atlast she had forgiven her old lover, my uncle's mind was completelygone; and it was not until after his death that I discovered the paperswhich put me in possession of the facts of the case.

  "By that time I had learned, beyond all disputing, that I was too dulland stupid ever to win your love. I only cared for money that it mightenable me to make you happy; and if you could be happier without me thanwith me, who was I that I should complain? At any rate, it was given tome to insure your happiness; and that was enough for me. And you saidthat I didn't care what became of you, as long as I laid up for myself anice little nest-egg in heaven! Sweetheart, I think you did me aninjustice. So be happy, my dearest, with the Willows and the Osierfieldand all the dear old things which you and I have loved so well; andremember that you must never pity me. I wanted you to be happy more thanI wanted anything else in the world, and no man is to be pitied who hassucceeded in getting what he wanted most.

  "Yours, my darling, for time and eternity, "CHRISTOPHER FARRINGDON."

  Then at last Elisabeth's eyes were opened, and for the first time in herlife she saw clearly. So Christopher had loved her all along; she knewthe truth at last, and with it she also knew that she had always lovedhim; that throughout her life's story there never had been--never couldbe--any man but Christopher. Until he told her that he loved her, herlove for him had been a fountain sealed; but at his word it became awell of living water, flooding her whole soul and turning the desert ofher life into a garden.

  At first she was overpowered with the joy of it; she was upheld by thatstrange feeling of exaltation which comes to all of us when we realizefor a moment our immortality, and feel that even death itself ispowerless to hurt us. Christopher was dying, but what did that signify?He loved her--that was the only thing that really mattered--and theywould have the whole of eternity in which to tell their love. For thesecond time in her life she came face to face with the fact that therewas a stronger Will than her own guiding and ruling her; that, in spiteof all her power and ability and self-reliance, the best things in herlife were not of herself but were from outside. As long ago in St.Peter's Church she had learned that religion was God's Voice calling toher, she now learned that love was Christopher's voice calling to her;and that her own strength and cleverness, of which she had been soproud, counted for less than nothing. To her who longed to give, wasgiven; she who desired to love, was beloved; she who aspired to teach,had been taught. That strong will of hers, which had once been sodominant, had suddenly fallen down powerless; she no longer wanted tohave her own way--she wanted to have Christopher's. Her warfare againsthim was at last accomplished. To the end of her days she knew she wouldgo on weighing herself in his balances, and measuring herself accordingto his measures; but now she would do so willingly, choosing to beguided by his wisdom rather than her own, for she no more belonged toherself but to him. The feeling of unrest, which had oppressed her forso many years, now fell from her like a cast-off garment. Christopherwas the answer to her life's problem, the fulfilment of her heart'sdesire; and although she might be obliged to go down again into thevalley of the shadow, she could never forget that she had once stoodupon the mountain-top and had beheld the glory of the promised land.

  And she never remembered that now her fortune was secured to her, andthat the Willows and the Osierfield would always be hers; even thesewere henceforth of no moment to her, save as monuments of Christopher'slove.

  So in the dingy dining-room, on that hot summer's afternoon, ElisabethFarringdon became a new creature. The old domineering arrogance passedaway forever; and from its ashes there arose another Elisabeth, who outof weakness was made stronger than she had ever been in her strength--anElisabeth who had attained to the victory of the vanquished, and who hadtasted the triumph of defeat. But in all her exaltation she knew--thoughfor the moment the knowledge could not hurt her--that her heart would bebroken by Christopher's death. Through the long night of her ignoranceand self-will and unsatisfied idealism she had wrestled with the angelthat she might behold the Best, and had prayed that it might be grantedunto her to see the Vision Beautiful. At last she had prevailed; and theday for which she had so longed was breaking, and transfiguring thecommon world with its marvellous light. But the angel-hand had touchedher, and she no longer stood upright and self-reliant, but was bound tohalt and walk lamely on her way until she stood by Christopher's sideagain.

  This exalted mood did not last for long. As she sat in the gloomy roomand watched the blazing sunshine forcing its way through the darkenedwindows, her eye suddenly fell upon two notches cut in the doorway,where she and Christopher had once measured themselves when they werechildren; and the familiar sight of these two little notches, made byChristopher's knife so long ago, awoke in her heart the purel
y humanlonging for him as the friend and comrade she had known and looked up toall her life. And with this longing came the terrible thought of howshe had hurt and misunderstood and misjudged him, and of how it was nowtoo late for her to make up to him in this life for all the happiness ofwhich she had defrauded him in her careless pride. Then, for the firsttime since she was born, Elisabeth put her lips to the cup of remorse,and found it very bitter to the taste. She had been so full of plans forcomforting mankind and helping the whole world; yet she had utterlyfailed toward the only person whom it had been in her power actually tohelp and comfort; and her heart echoed the wail of the most beautifullove-song ever written--"They made me the keeper of the vineyards; butmine own vineyard have I not kept."

  As she was sitting, bowed down in utter anguish of spirit while thewaves of remorse flooded her soul, the door opened and the nurse camein.

  "Mr. Thornley is conscious now, and is asking for you, Miss Farringdon,"she said.

  Elisabeth started up, her face aglow with new hope. It was so natural toher not to be cast down for long. "Oh! I am so glad. I want dreadfullyto see him, I have so much to say to him. But I'll promise not to tireor excite him. Tell me, how long may I stay with him, Nurse, and howquiet must I be?"

  The nurse smiled sadly. "It won't matter how long you stay or what yousay, Miss Farringdon; I don't think it is possible for anything to hurtor help him now; for I am afraid, whatever happens, he can not possiblyrecover."

  As she went upstairs Elisabeth kept saying to herself, "I am going tosee the real Christopher for the first time"; and she felt the old, shyfear of him that she had felt long ago when Richard Smallwood wasstricken. But when she entered the room and saw the worn, white face onthe pillow, with the kind smile she knew so well, she completely forgother shyness, and only remembered that Christopher was in need of her,and that she would gladly give her life for his if she could.

  "Kiss me, my darling," he said, holding out his arms; and she knew bythe look in his eyes that every word of his letter was true. "I am tootired to pretend any more that I don't love you. And it can't matter nowwhether you know or not, it is so near the end."

  Elisabeth put her strong arms round him, and kissed him as he asked."Chris, dear," she whispered, "I want to tell you that I love you, andthat I've always loved you, and that I always shall love you; but I'veonly just found it out."

  Christopher was silent for a moment, and clasped her very close. But hewas not so much surprised as he would have been had Elisabeth made suchan astounding revelation to him in the days of his health. When one isdrawing near to the solution of the Great Mystery, one loses the powerof wondering at anything.

  "How did you find it out, my dearest?" he asked at last.

  "Through finding out that you loved me. It seems to me that my love wasalways lying in the bank at your account, but until you gave a chequefor it you couldn't get at it. And the cheque was my knowing that youcared for me."

  "And how did you find that out, Betty?"

  "I was rummaging in the safe just now for the plans of the Osierfield,and I came upon your letter."

  "I didn't mean you to read that while I was alive; but, all the same, Ithink I am rather glad that you did."

  "And I am glad, too. I wish I hadn't always been so horrid to you,Chris; but I believe I should have loved you all the time, if only youhad given me the chance. Still, I was horrid--dreadfully horrid; and nowit is too late to make it up to you." And Elisabeth's eyes filled withtears.

  "Don't cry, my darling--please don't cry. And, besides, you have made itup to me by loving me now. I am glad you understand at last, Betty; Idid so hope you would some day."

  "And you forgive me for having been so vile?"

  "There is nothing to forgive, sweetheart; it was my fault for not makingyou understand; but I did it for the best, though I seem to have made amess of it."

  "And you like me just the same as you did before I was unkind to you?"

  "My dear, don't you know?"

  "You see, Chris, I was wanting you to be nice to me all thetime--nothing else satisfied me instead of you. And when you seemed notto like me any longer, but to care for doing your duty more than forbeing with me, I got sore and angry, and decided to punish you formaking a place for yourself in my heart and then refusing to fill it."

  "Well, you did what you decided, as you generally do; there is no doubtof that. You were always very prone to administer justice and tomaintain truth, Elisabeth, and you certainly never spared the rod as faras I was concerned."

  "But now I see that I was wrong; I understand that it was because youcared so much for abstract right, that you were able to care so muchfor me; a lower nature would have given me a lower love; and if only wecould go through it all again, I should want you to go to Australiaafter George Farringdon's son."

  Christopher's thin fingers wandered over Elisabeth's hair; and as theydid so he remembered, with tender amusement, how often he had comfortedher on account of her dark locks. Now one or two gray hairs werebeginning to show through the brown ones, and it struck him with a pangthat he would no longer be here to comfort her on account of those; forhe knew that Elisabeth was the type of woman who would requireconsolation on that score, and that he was the man who could effectuallyhave administered it.

  "I can see now," Elisabeth went on, "how much more important it is whata man is than what a man says, though I used to think that words wereeverything, and that people didn't feel what they didn't talk about. Youused to disappoint me because you said so little; but, all the same,your character influenced me without my knowing it; and whatever goodthere is in me, comes from my having known you and seen you live up toyour own ideals. People wonder that worldly things attract me so little,and that my successes haven't turned my head; so they would have done,probably, if I had never met you; but having once seen in you what theideal life is, I couldn't help despising lower things, though I tried myhardest not to despise them. Nobody who had once been with you, andlooked even for a minute at life through your eyes, could ever careagain for anything that was mean or sordid or paltry. Darling, don't youunderstand that my knowing you made me better than I tried tobe--better even than I wanted to be; and that all my life I shall be atruer woman because of you?"

  But by that time the stupendous effort which Christopher had made forElisabeth's sake had exhausted itself, and he fell back upon hispillows, white to the lips, and too weak to say another word. Yet noteven the great Shadow could cloud the love that shone in his eyes, as helooked at Elisabeth's eager face, and listened to the voice for whichhis soul had hungered so long. The sight of his weakness brought herdown to earth again more effectually than any words could have done; andwith an exceeding bitter cry she hid her face in her arms and sobbedaloud--

  "Oh! my darling, my darling, come back to me; I love you so that I cannot let you go. The angels can do quite well without you in heaven, butI can not do without you here. Oh! Chris, don't go away and leave me,just now that we've learned to understand one another. I'll be good allmy life, and do everything that you tell me, if only you won't go away.My dearest, I love you so--I love you so; and I've nobody in the worldbut you."

  Christopher made another great effort to take her in his arms andcomfort her; but it was too much for him, and he fainted away.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HILLS

  Shall I e'er love thee less fondly than now, dear? Tell me if e'er my devotion can die? Never until thou shalt cease to be thou, dear; Never until I no longer am I.

  Whether the doctors were right when they talked of the renewed desire tolive producing fresh vitality, or whether the wise man knew best afterall when he said that love is stronger than death, who can say? Anyway,the fact remained that Christopher responded--as he had everresponded--to Elisabeth's cry for help, and came back from the verygates of the grave at her bidding. He had never failed her yet, and hedid not fail her now.

  The days of his recovery were wonderful days to El
isabeth. It was sostrange and new to her to be doing another person's will, and thinkinganother person's thoughts, and seeing life through another person'seyes; it completely altered the perspective of everything. And there wasnothing strained about it, which was a good thing, as Elisabeth was toolight-hearted to stand any strain for long; the old comradeship stillexisted between them, giving breadth to a love which the newrelationship had made so deep.

  And it was very wonderful to Christopher, also, to find himself in thesunshine at last after so many years of shadowland. At first the lightalmost dazzled him, he was so unaccustomed to it; but as he graduallybecame used to the new feeling of being happy, his nature responded tothe atmosphere of warmth and brightness, and opened as a flower in thesun. As it was strange to Elisabeth to find herself living and movingand having her being in another's personality, so it was strange toChristopher to find another's personality merged in his. He had lived soentirely for other people that it was a great change to find anotherperson living entirely for him; and it was a change that was whollybeneficial. As his nature deepened Elisabeth's, so her nature expandedhis; and each was the better for the influence of the other, as each wasthe complement of the other. So after a time Christopher grew almost aslight-hearted as Elisabeth, while Elisabeth grew almost astender-hearted as Christopher. For both of them the former things hadpassed away, and all things were made new.

  It was beautiful weather, too, which helped to increase their happiness;that still, full, green weather, which sometimes comes in the latesummer, satisfying men's souls with its peaceful perfectness; when theyear is too old to be disturbed by the restless hope of spring, tooyoung to be depressed by the chilling dread of autumn, and so justtouches the fringe of that eternity which has no end neither anybeginning. The fine weather hastened Christopher's recovery; and, as hegained strength, he and Elisabeth spent much time in the old garden,looking toward the Welsh mountains.

  "So we have come to the country on the other side of the hills atlast," she said to him, as they were watching one of the wonderfulMershire sunsets and drinking in its beauty. "I always knew it wasthere, but sometimes I gave up all hope of ever finding it for myself."

  Christopher took her hand and began playing with the capableartist-fingers. "And is it as nice a country as you expected,sweetheart?"

  "As nice as I expected? I should just think it is. I knew that in thecountry over the hills I should find all the beautiful things I hadimagined as a child and all the lovely things I had longed for as awoman; and that, if only I could reach it, all the fairy-tales wouldcome true. But now that I have reached it, I find that the fairy-talesfell far short of the reality, and that it is a million times nicer thanI ever imagined anything could be."

  "Darling, I am glad you are so happy. But it beats me how such a stupidfellow as I am can make you so."

  "Well, you do, and that's all that matters. Nobody can tell how they dothings; they only know that they can do them. I don't know how I canpaint pictures any more than you know how you can turn smoky ironworksinto the country over the hills. But we can, and do; which shows whatclever people we are, in spite of ourselves."

  "I think the cleverness lies with you in both cases--in your wonderfulpowers of imagination, my dear."

  "Do you? Then that shows how little you know about it."

  Christopher put his arm round her. "I always was stupid, you know; youhave told me so with considerable frequency."

  "Oh! so you were; but you were never worse than stupid."

  "That's a good thing; for stupidity is a misfortune rather than afault."

  "Now I was worse than stupid--much worse," continued Elisabeth gravely;"but I never was actually stupid."

  "Weren't you? Don't be too sure of that. I don't wish to hurt yourfeelings, sweetheart, or to make envious rents in your panoply ofwisdom; but, do you know, you struck me now and again as being ashade--we will not say stupid, but dense?"

  "When I thought you didn't like me because you went to Australia, youmean?"

  "That was one of the occasions when your acumen seemed to be slightly atfault. And there were others."

  Elisabeth looked thoughtful. "I really did think you didn't like methen."

  "Denseness, my dear Elisabeth--distinct denseness. It would be grossflattery to call it by any other name."

  "But you never told me you liked me."

  "If I had, and you had then thought I did not, you would have beensuffering from deafness, not denseness. You are confusing terms."

  "Well, then, I'll give in and say I was dense. But I was worse thanthat: I was positively horrid as well."

  "Not horrid, Betty; you couldn't be horrid if you tried. Perhaps youwere a little hard on me; but it's all over and done with now, and youneedn't bother yourself any more about it."

  "But I ought to bother about it if I intend to make a trustworthystep-ladder out of my dead selves to upper storeys."

  "A trustworthy fire-escape, you mean; but I won't have it. You sha'n'thave any dead selves, my dear, because I shall insist on keeping themall alive by artificial respiration, or restoration from drowning, orsomething of that kind. Not one of them shall die with my permission;remember that. I'm much too fond of them."

  "You silly boy! You'll never train me and discipline me properly if yougo on in this way."

  "Hang it all, Betty! Who wants to train and discipline you? Certainlynot I. I am wise enough to let well--or rather perfection--alone."

  Elisabeth nestled up to Christopher. "But I'm not perfection, Chris; youknow that as well as I do."

  "Probably I shouldn't love you so much if you were; so please don'treform, dear."

  "And you like me just as I am?"

  "Precisely. I should break my heart if you became in any way differentfrom what you are now."

  "But you mustn't break your heart; it belongs to me, and I won't haveyou smashing up my property."

  "I gave it to you, it is true; but the copyright is still mine. Thecopyright of letters that I wrote to you is mine; and I believe the lawof copyright is the same with regard to hearts as to letters."

  "Well, anyhow, I've written my name all over it."

  "I know you have; and it was very untidy of you, my dearest. Once wouldhave been enough to show that it belonged to you; but you weren'tcontent with that: you scribbled all over every available space, untilthere was no room left even for advertisements; and now nobody else willever be able to write another name upon it as long as I live."

  "I'm glad of that; I wouldn't have anybody else's name upon it foranything. And I'm glad that you like me just as I am, and don't want meto be different."

  "Heaven forbid!"

  "But still I was horrid to you once, Chris, however you may try to glossit over. My dear, my dear, I don't know how I ever could have beenunkind to you; but I was."

  "Never mind, sweetheart; it is ancient history now, and who bothersabout ancient history? Did you ever meet anybody who fretted over theoverthrow of Carthage, or made a trouble of the siege of Troy?"

  "No," Elisabeth truthfully replied; "and I'm really nice to you now,whatever I may have been before. Don't you think I am?"

  "I should just think you are, Betty; a thousand times nicer than Ideserve, and I am becoming most horribly conceited in consequence."

  "And, after all, I agree with the prophet Ezekiel that if people arenice at the end, it doesn't much matter how disagreeable they have beenin the meantime. He doesn't put it quite in that way, but the sentimentis the same. I suit you down to the ground now, don't I, Chris?"

  "You do, my darling; and up to the sky, and beyond." And Christopherdrew her still closer to him and kissed her.

  After a minute's silence Elisabeth whispered--

  "When one is as divinely happy as this, isn't it difficult to realizethat the earth will ever be earthy again, and the butter turnipy, andthings like that? Yet they will be."

  "But never quite as earthy or quite as turnipy as they were before;that's just the difference."

 
After playing for a few minutes with Christopher's watch-chain,Elisabeth suddenly remarked--

  "You never really appreciated my pictures, Chris. You never did mejustice as an artist, though you did me far more than justice as awoman. Why was that?"

  "Didn't I? I'm sorry. Nevertheless, I'm not sure that you are right. Iwas always intensely interested in your pictures because they wereyours, quite apart from their own undoubted merits."

  "That was just it; you admired my pictures because they were painted byme, while you really ought to have admired me because I had painted thepictures."

  A look of amusement stole over Christopher's face. "Then I fell short ofyour requirements, dear heart; for, as far as you and your works wereconcerned, I certainly never committed the sin of worshipping thecreature rather than the creator."

  "But there was a time when I wanted you to do so."

  "As a matter of fact," said Christopher thoughtfully, "I don't believe aman who loves a woman can ever appreciate her genius properly, becauselove is greater than genius, and so the greater swallows up the less. Inthe eyes of the world, her genius is the one thing which places a womanof genius above her fellows, and the world worships it accordingly. Butin the eyes of the man who loves her, she is already placed so far aboveher fellows that her genius makes no difference to her altitude. Thirtyfeet makes all the difference in the height of a weather-cock, but noneat all in the distance between the earth and a fixed star."

  "What a nice thing to say! I adore you when you say things like that."

  Christopher continued: "You see, the man is interested in the woman'sworks of art simply because they are hers; just as he is interested inthe rustle of her silk petticoat simply because it is hers. Possibly heis more interested in the latter, because men can paint picturessometimes, and they can never rustle silk petticoats properly. You areright in thinking that the world adores you for the sake of yourcreations, while I adore your creations for the sake of you; but youmust also remember that the world would cease to worship you if yourgenius began to decline, while I should love you just the same if youtook to painting sign-posts and illustrating Christmas cards--even ifyou became an impressionist."

  "What a dear boy you are! You really are the greatest comfort to me. Ididn't always feel like this, but now you satisfy me completely, andfill up every crevice of my soul. There isn't a little space anywhere inmy mind or heart or spirit that isn't simply bursting with you." AndElisabeth laughed a low laugh of perfect contentment.

  "My darling, how I love you!" And Christopher also was content.

  Then there was another silence, which Christopher broke at last bysaying--

  "What is the matter, Betty?"

  "There isn't anything the matter. How should there be?"

  "Oh, yes, there is. Do you think I have studied your face for overthirty years, my dear, without knowing every shade of difference in itsexpression? Have I said anything to vex you?"

  "No, no; how could I be vexed with you, Chris, when you are so good tome? I am horrid enough, goodness knows, but not horrid enough for that."

  "Then what is it? Tell me, dear, and see if I can't help?"

  Elisabeth sighed. "I was thinking that there is really no going back,however much we may pretend that there is. What we have done we havedone, and what we have left undone we have left undone; and there is noblotting out the story of past years. We may write new stories, perhaps,and try to write better ones, but the old ones are written beyondaltering, and must stand for ever. You have been divinely good to me,Chris, and you never remind me even by a look how I hurt you andmisjudged you in the old days. But the fact remains that I did both; andnothing can ever alter that."

  "Silly little child, it's all over and past now! I've forgotten it, andyou must forget it too."

  "I can't forget it; that's just the thing. I spoiled your life for thebest ten years of it; and now, though I would give everything that Ipossess to restore those years to you, I can't restore them, or makethem up to you for the loss of them. That's what hurts so dreadfully."

  Christopher looked at her with a great pity shining in his eyes. Helonged to save from all suffering the woman he loved; but he could notsave her from the irrevocableness of her own actions, strive as hewould; which was perhaps the best thing in the world for her, and forall of us. Human love would gladly shield us from the consequences ofwhat we have done; but Divine Love knows better. What we have written,we have written on the page of life; and neither our own tears, nor thetears of those who love us better than we love ourselves, can blot itout. For the first time in her easy, self-confident career, ElisabethFarringdon was brought face to face with this merciless truth; and shetrembled before it. It was just because Christopher was so ready toforgive her, that she found it impossible to forgive herself.

  "I always belonged to you, you see, dear," Christopher said very gently,"and you had the right to do what you liked with your own. I had givenyou the right of my own free will."

  "But you couldn't give me the right to do what was wrong. Nobody can dothat. I did what was wrong, and now I must be punished for it."

  "Not if I can help it, sweetheart. You shall never be punished foranything if I can bear the punishment for you."

  "You can't help it, Chris; that's just the point. And I am beingpunished in the way that hurts most. All my life I thought of myself,and my own success, and how I was going to do this and that and theother, and be happy and clever and good. But suddenly everything haschanged. I no longer care about being happy myself; I only want you tobe happy; and yet I know that for ten long years I deliberatelyprevented you from being happy. Don't you see, dear, how terrible thepunishment is? The thing I care for most in the whole world is yourhappiness; and the fact remains, and will always remain, that that wasthe thing which I destroyed with my own hands, because I was cruel andselfish and cold."

  "Still, I am happy enough now, Betty--happy enough to make up for allthat went before."

  "But I can never give you back those ten years," said Elisabeth, with asob in her voice--"never as long as I live. Oh! Chris, I see now howhorrid I was; though all the time I thought I was being so good, that Ilooked down upon the women who I considered had lower ideals than I had.I built myself an altar of stone, and offered up your life upon it, andthen commended myself when the incense rose up to heaven; and I neverfound out that the sacrifice was all yours, and that there was nothingof mine upon the altar at all."

  "Never mind, darling; there isn't going to be a yours and mine any more,you know. All things are ours, and we are beginning a new lifetogether."

  Elisabeth put both arms round his neck and kissed him of her own accord."My dearest," she whispered, "how can I ever love you enough for beingso good to me?"

  But while Christopher and Elisabeth were walking across enchantedground, Cecil Farquhar was having a hard time. Elisabeth had written totell him the actual facts of the case almost as soon as she knew themherself; and he could not forgive her for first raising his hopes andthen dashing them to the ground. And there is no denying that he hadsomewhat against her; for she had twice played him this trick--first asregarded herself, and then as regarded her fortune. That she had notbeen altogether to blame--that she had deluded herself in both cases aseffectually as she had deluded him--was no consolation as far as he wasconcerned; his egoism took no account of her motives--it only resentedthe results. Quenelda did all in her power to comfort him, but shefound it uphill work. She gave him love in full measure; but, as ithappened, money and not love was the thing he most wanted, and that wasnot hers to bestow. He still cared for her more than he cared foranybody (though not for anything) else in the world; it was not that heloved Caesar less but Rome more, Cecil's being one of the natures to whomRome would always appeal more powerfully than Caesar. His life didconsist in the things which he had; and, when these failed, nothing elsecould make up to him for them. Neither Christopher nor Elisabeth wascapable of understanding how much mere money meant to Farquhar; they hadno conception of ho
w bitter was his disappointment on knowing that hewas not, after all, the lost heir to the Farringdon property. And whowould blame them for this? Does one blame a man, who takes a dirty boneaway from a dog, for not entering into the dog's feelings on the matter?Nevertheless, that bone is to the dog what fame is to the poet and gloryto the soldier. One can but enjoy and suffer according to one's nature.

  It happened, by an odd coincidence, that the mystery of Cecil'sparentage was cleared up shortly after Elisabeth's false alarm on thatscore; and his paternal grandfather was discovered in the shape of aretired shopkeeper at Surbiton of the name of Biggs, who had been cursedwith an unsatisfactory son. When in due time this worthy man wasgathered to his fathers, he left a comfortable little fortune to hislong-lost grandson; whereupon Cecil married Quenelda, and continued tomake art his profession, while his recreation took the form ofbelieving--and retailing his belief to anybody who had time and patienceto listen to it--that the Farringdons of Sedgehill had, by foul means,ousted him from his rightful position, and that, but for theirdishonesty, he would have been one of the richest men in Mershire. Andthis grievance--as is the way of grievances--never failed to be a sourceof unlimited pleasure and comfort to Cecil Farquhar.

  But in the meantime, when the shock of disappointment was still fresh,he wrote sundry scathing letters to Miss Elisabeth Farringdon, which shein turn showed to Christopher, rousing the fury of the latter thereby.

  "He is a cad--a low cad!" exclaimed Christopher, after the perusal ofone of these epistles; "and I should like to tell him what I think ofhim, and then kick him."

  Elisabeth laughed; she always enjoyed making Christopher angry. "Hewanted to marry me," she remarked, by way of adding fuel to the flames.

  "Confounded impudence on his part!" muttered Christopher.

  "But he left off when he found out that I hadn't got any money."

  "Worse impudence, confound him!"

  "Oh! I wish you could have seen him when I told him that the money wasnot really mine," continued Elisabeth, bubbling over with mirth at therecollection; "he cooled down so very quickly, and so rapidly turned histhoughts in another direction. Don't you know what it is to bite agooseberry at the front door while it pops out at the back? Well, CecilFarquhar's love-making was just like that. It really was a fine sight!"

  "The brute!"

  "Never mind about him, dear! I'm tired of him."

  "But I do mind when people dare to be impertinent to you. I can't helpminding," Christopher persisted.

  "Then go on minding, if you want to, darling--only don't let us wasteour time in talking about him. There's such a lot to talk about that isreally important--why you said so-and-so, and how you felt when I saidso-and-so, ten years ago; and how you feel about me to-day, and whetheryou like me as much this afternoon as you did this morning; and whatcolour my eyes are, and what colour you think my new frock should be;and heaps of really serious things like that."

  "All right, Betty; where shall we begin?"

  "We shall begin by making a plan. Do you know what you are going to dothis afternoon?"

  "Yes; whatever you tell me. I always do."

  "Well, then, you are coming with me to have tea at Mrs. Bateson's, justas we used to do when we were little; and I have told her to invite Mrs.Hankey as well, to make it seem just the same as it used to be. By theway, is Mrs. Hankey as melancholy as ever, Chris?"

  "Quite. Time doth not breathe on her fadeless gloom, I can assure you."

  "Won't it be fun to pretend we are children again?" Elisabeth exclaimed.

  "Great fun; and I don't think it will need much pretending, do youknow?" replied Christopher, who saw deeper sometimes than Elisabeth did,and now realized that it was only when they two became as littlechildren--he by ceasing to play Providence to her, and she by ceasing toplay Providence to herself--that they had at last caught glimpses of thekingdom of heaven.

  So they walked hand in hand to Caleb Bateson's cottage, as they had sooften walked in far-off, childish days; and the cottage looked soexactly the same as it used to look, and Caleb and his wife and Mrs.Hankey were so little altered by the passage of time, that it seemed asif the shadow had indeed been put back ten degrees. And so, in a way, itwas, by the new spring-time which had come to Christopher and Elisabeth.They were both among those beloved of the gods who are destined to dieyoung--not in years but in spirit; her lover as well as herself was whatElisabeth called "a fourth-dimension person," and there is no growingold for fourth-dimension people; because it has already been given tothem to behold the vision of the cloud-clad angel, who stands upon thesea and upon the earth and swears that there shall be time no longer.They see him in the far distances of the sunlit hills, in the mysteriesof the unfathomed ocean, and their ears are opened to the message thathe brings; for they know that in all beauty--be it of earth, or sea, orsky, or human souls--there is something indestructible, immortal, andthat those who have once looked upon it shall never see death. Such ofus as make our dwelling-place in the world of the three dimensions, growweary of the sameness and the staleness of it all, and drearily echo thePreacher's _Vanitas vanitatum_; but such of us as have entered into thefourth dimension, and have caught glimpses of the ideal which isconcealed in all reality, do not trouble ourselves over the flight oftime, for we know we have eternity before us; and so we are content towait patiently and joyfully, in sure and certain hope of that betterthing which, without us, can not be made perfect.

  It was with pride and pleasure that Mr. and Mrs. Bateson received theirguests. The double announcement that Christopher was the lost heir ofthe Farringdons (for Elisabeth had insisted on his making this known),and that he was about to marry Elisabeth, had given great delight allthrough Sedgehill. The Osierfield people were proud of Elisabeth, butthey had learned to love Christopher; they had heard of her glory fromafar, but they had been eye-witnesses of the uprightness andunselfishness and nobility of his life; and, on the whole, he was morepopular than she. Elisabeth was quite conscious of this; and--what wasmore--she was glad of it. She, who had so loved popularity andadmiration, now wanted people to think more of Christopher than of her.Once she had gloried in the thought that George Farringdon's son wouldnever fill her place in the hearts of the people of the Osierfield; nowher greatest happiness lay in the fact that he filled it more completelythan she could ever have done, and that at Sedgehill she would always besecond to him.

  "Deary me, but it's like old times to see Master Christopher and MissElisabeth having tea with us again," exclaimed Mrs. Bateson, after Calebhad asked a blessing; "and it seems but yesterday, Mrs. Hankey, thatthey were here talking over Mrs. Perkins's wedding--your niece Susan aswas--with Master Christopher in knickers, and Miss Elisabeth's hairdown."

  Mrs. Hankey sighed her old sigh. "So it does, Mrs. Bateson--so it does;and yet Susan has just buried her ninth."

  "And is she quite well?" asked Elisabeth cheerfully. "I remember allabout her wedding, and how immensely interested I was."

  "As well as you can expect, miss," replied Mrs. Hankey, "with eightchildren on earth and one in heaven, and a husband as plays the tromboneof an evening. But that's the worst of marriage; you know what a man iswhen you marry him, but you haven't a notion what he'll be that timenext year. He may take to drinking or music for all you know; and thenwhere's your peace of mind?"

  "You are not very encouraging," laughed Elisabeth, "considering that Iam going to be married at once."

  "Well, miss, where's the use of flattering with vain words, and cryingpeace where there is no peace, I should like to know? I can only say asI hope you'll be happy. Some are."

  Here Christopher joined in. "You mustn't discourage Miss Farringdon inthat way, or else she'll be throwing me over; and then whatever willbecome of me?"

  Mrs. Hankey at once tried to make the _amende honorable_; she would nothave hurt Christopher's feelings for worlds, as she--in common with mostof the people at Sedgehill--had had practical experience of his kindnessin times of sorrow and anxiety. "Not she, sir; Miss
Elisabeth's got toomuch sense to go throwing anybody over--and especially at her age, whenshe's hardly likely to get another beau in a hurry. Don't you gotroubling your mind about that, Master Christopher. You won't throw oversuch a nice gentleman as him, will you, miss?"

  "Certainly not; though hardly on the grounds which you mention."

  "Well, miss, if you're set on marriage you're in luck to have got such apleasant-spoken gentleman as Master Christopher--or I should say, Mr.Farringdon, begging his pardon. Such a fine complexion as he's got, andnever been married before, nor nothing. For my part I never thought youwould get a husband--never; and I've often passed the remark to Mr. andMrs. Bateson here. 'Mark my words,' I said, 'Miss Elisabeth Farringdonwill remain Elisabeth Farringdon to the end of the chapter; she's tooclever to take the fancy of the menfolk, and too pale. They wantsomething pink and white and silly, men do."

  "Some want one thing and some another," chimed in Mrs. Bateson, "andthey know what they want, which is more than women-folks do. Why, blessyou! girls 'll come telling you that they wouldn't marry so-and-so, notif he was to crown 'em; and the next thing you hear is that they arekeeping company with him, and that no woman was ever so happy as them,and that the man is such a piece of perfection that the President of theConference himself isn't fit to black his boots."

  "You have hit upon a great mystery, Mrs. Bateson," remarked Christopher,"and one which has only of late been revealed to me. I used to think, inmy masculine ignorance, that if a woman appeared to dislike a man, shewould naturally refuse to marry him; but I am beginning to doubt if Iwas right."

  Mrs. Bateson nodded significantly. "Wait till he asks her; that's what Isay. It's wonderful what a difference the asking makes. Women think asight more of a sparrow in the hand than a covey of partridges in thebush; and I don't blame them for it; it's but natural that they should."

  "A poor thing but mine own," murmured Christopher.

  "That's not the principle at all," Elisabeth contradicted him; "you'vegot hold of quite the wrong end of the stick this time."

  "I always do, in order to give you the right one; as in handing you aknife I hold it by the blade. You so thoroughly enjoy getting hold ofthe right end of a stick, Betty, that I wouldn't for worlds mar yourpleasure by seizing it myself; and your delight reaches high-water-markwhen, in addition, you see me fatuously clinging on to the ferrule."

  "Never mind what women-folk say about women-folk, Miss Elisabeth," saidCaleb Bateson kindly; "they're no judges. But my missis has the right ofit when she says that a man knows what he wants, and in general sticksto it till he gets it. And if ever a man got what he wanted in thisworld, that man's our Mr. Christopher."

  "You're right there, Bateson," agreed the master of the Osierfield; andhis eyes grew very tender as they rested upon Elisabeth.

  "And if he don't have no objection to cleverness and a pale complexion,who shall gainsay him?" added Mrs. Hankey. "If he's content, surely itain't nobody's business to interfere; even though we may none of us,Miss Elisabeth included, be as young as we was ten years ago."

  "And he is quite content, thank you," Christopher hastened to say.

  "I think you were right about women not knowing their own minds,"Elisabeth said to her hostess; "though I am bound to confess it is alittle stupid of us. But I believe the root of it is in shyness, and ina sort of fear of the depth of our own feelings."

  "I daresay you're right, miss; and, when all's said and done, I'd soonerhear a woman abusing a man she really likes, than see her throwingherself at the head of a man as don't want her. That's the uptake ofall things, to my mind; I can't abide it." And Mrs. Bateson shook herhead in violent disapproval.

  Mrs. Hankey now joined in. "I remember my sister Sarah, when she was agirl. There was a man wanted her ever so, and seemed as cut-up as neverwas when she said no. She didn't know what to do with him, he was thatmiserable; and yet she couldn't bring her mind to have him, because he'dred hair and seven in family, being a widower. So she prayed the Lord tocomfort him and give him consolation. And sure enough the Lord did; forwithin a month from the time as Sarah refused him, he was engaged toWilhelmina Gregg, our chapel-keeper's daughter. And then--would youbelieve it?--Sarah went quite touchy and offended, and couldn't enjoyher vittles, and wouldn't wear her best bonnet of a Sunday, and keptsaying as the sons of men were lighter than vanity. Which I don't denyas they are, but that wasn't the occasion to mention it, Wilhelmina'smarriage being more the answer to prayer, as you may say, than any extrafoolishness on the man's part."

  "I should greatly have admired your sister Sarah," said Christopher;"she was so delightfully feminine. And as for the red-headed swain, Ihave no patience with him. His fickleness was intolerable."

  "Bless your heart, Master Christopher!" exclaimed Mrs. Bateson, "men aremostly like that. Why should they waste their time fretting after someyoung woman as hasn't got a civil word for them, when there are scoresand scores as has?"

  Christopher shook his head. "I can't pretend to say why; that is quitebeyond me. I only know that some of them do."

  "But they are only the nice exceptions that prove the rule," saidElisabeth, as she and Christopher caught each other's eye.

  "No; it is she who is the nice exception," he replied. "It is only inthe case of exceptionally charming young women that such a thing everoccurs; or rather, I should say, in the case of an exceptionallycharming young woman."

  "My wedding dress will be sent home next week," said Elisabeth to thetwo matrons; "would you like to come and see it?"

  "Indeed, that we should!" they replied simultaneously. Then Mrs. Batesoninquired: "And what is it made of, deary?"

  "White satin."

  Mrs. Hankey gazed critically at the bride-elect. "White satin is a bityoung, it seems to me; and trying, too, to them as haven't much colour."Then cheering second thoughts inspired her. "Still, white's the properthing for a bride, I don't deny; and I always say 'Do what's right andproper, and never mind looks.' The Lord doesn't look on the outwardappearance, as we all know; and it 'ud be a sight better for men if theydidn't, like Master Christopher there; there'd be fewer unhappymarriages, mark my words. Of course, lavender isn't as trying to thecomplexion as pure white; no one can say as it is; but to my mindlavender always looks as if you've been married before; and it's no usefor folks to look greater fools than they are, as I can see."

  "Certainly not," Christopher agreed. "If there is any pretence at all,let it be in the opposite direction, and let us all try to appear wiserthan we are!"

  "And that's easy enough for some of us, such as Hankey, for instance,"added Hankey's better half. "And there ain't as much wisdom to look atas you could put on the point of a knife even then."

  So the women talked and the men listened--as is the way of men and womenall the world over--until tea was finished and it was time for theguests to depart. They left amid a shower of heartfelt congratulations,and loving wishes for the future opening out before them. Just asElisabeth passed through the doorway into the evening sunshine, whichwas flooding the whole land and turning even the smoke-clouds intowindows of agate whereby men caught faint glimmerings of a dim glory asyet to be revealed, she turned and held out her hands once more to herfriends. "It is very good to come back to you all, and to dwell amongmine own people," she said, her voice thrilling with emotion; "and I amglad that Mrs. Hankey's prophecy has come true, and that ElisabethFarringdon will be Elisabeth Farringdon to the end of the chapter."

  THE END

  * * * * *

  "A FRESH AND CHARMING NOVEL."

  The Last Lady of Mulberry.

  A Story of Italian New York. By HENRY WILTON THOMAS. Illustrated by EmilPollak. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.

  "The Last Lady of Mulberry" is the title of a fresh and charming novel, whose author, a new writer, Mr. Henry Wilton Thomas, has found an unexploited field in the Italian quarter of New York. Mr. Thomas is familiar with Italy as well as New York, and the local color of his vivaciou
s pictures gives his story a peculiar zest. As a story pure and simple his novel is distinguished by originality in motive, by a succession of striking and dramatic scenes, and by an understanding of the motives of the characters, and a justness and sympathy in their presentation which imparts a constant glow of human interest to the tale. The author has a quaint and delightful humor which will be relished by every reader. While his story deals with actualities, it is neither depressing nor unpleasantly realistic, like many "stories of low life," and the reader gains a vivid impression of the sunnier aspects of life in the Italian quarter. The book contains a series of well-studied and effective illustrations by Mr. Emil Pollak.

  _BY THE AUTHOR OF "RED POTTAGE."_

  =Diana Tempest.=

  A Novel. By MARY CHOLMONDELEY, author of "Red Pottage," "The DanversJewels," etc. With Portrait and Sketch of the Author. 12mo. Cloth,$1.50.

  "Of Miss Cholmondeley's clever novels, 'Diana Tempest' is quite the cleverest."--_London Times._

  "The novel is hard to lay by, and one likes to take it up again for a second reading."--_Boston Literary World._

  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.

  DAVID HARUM.

  A Story of American Life. By Edward Noyes Westcott. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.

  "David Harum deserves to be known by all good Americans; he is one of them in boundless energy, in large-heartedness, in shrewdness, and in humor."--_The Critic_, _New York_.

  "We have in the character of David Harum a perfectly clean and beautiful study, one of those true natures that every one, man, woman, or child, is the better for knowing."--_The World_, _Cleveland_.

  "The book continues to be talked of increasingly. It seems to grow in public favor, and this, after all, is the true test of merit."--_The Tribune_, _Chicago_.

  "A thoroughly interesting bit of fiction, with a well-defined plot, a slender but easily followed 'love' interest, some bold and finely sketched character drawing, and a perfect gold mine of shrewd, dialectic philosophy."--_The Call_, _San Francisco_.

  "The newsboys on the street can talk of 'David Harum,' but scarcely a week ago we heard an intelligent girl of fifteen, in a house which entertains the best of the daily papers and the weekly reviews, ask, 'Who is Kipling?'"--_The Literary World_, _Boston_.

  "A masterpiece of character painting. In David Harum, the shrewd, whimsical, horse-trading country banker, the author has depicted a type of character that is by no means new to fiction, but nowhere else has it been so carefully, faithfully, and realistically wrought out."--_The Herald_, _Syracuse_.

  "We give Edward Noyes Westcott his true place in American letters--placing him as a humorist next to Mark Twain, as a master of dialect above Lowell, as a descriptive writer equal to Bret Harte, and, on the whole, as a novelist on a par with the best of those who live and have their being in the heart of hearts of American readers. If the author is dead--lamentable fact--his book will live."--_Philadelphia Item_.

  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.

  FELIX GRAS'S ROMANCES.

  =The White Terror.=

  A Romance. Translated from the Provencal by Mrs. Catharine A. Janvier.Uniform with "The Reds of the Midi" and "The Terror." 16mo. Cloth,$1.50.

  "No one has done this kind of work with finer poetic grasp or more convincing truthfulness than Felix Gras.... This new volume has the spontaneity, the vividness, the intensity of Interest of a great historical romance."--_Philadelphia Times_.

  =The Terror.=

  A Romance of the French Revolution. Uniform with "The Reds of the Midi."Translated by Mrs. Catharine A. Janvier. 16mo. Cloth, $1.50.

  "If Felix Gras had never done any other work than this novel, it would at once give him a place in the front rank of the writers of to-day.... 'The Terror' is a story that deserves to be widely read, for, while it is of thrilling interest, holding the reader's attention closely, there is about it a literary quality that makes it worthy of something more than a careless perusal."--_Brooklyn Eagle_.

  =The Reds of the Midi.=

  An episode of the French Revolution. Translated from the Provencal byMrs. Catharine A. Janvier. With an Introduction by Thomas A. Janvier.With Frontispiece. 16mo. Cloth, $1.50.

  "I have read with great and sustained interest 'The Reds of the South,' which you were good enough to present to me. Though a work of fiction, it aims at painting the historical features, and such works if faithfully executed throw more light than many so-called histories on the true roots and causes of the Revolution, which are so widely and so gravely misunderstood. As a novel it seems to me to be written with great skill."--_William E. Gladstone_.

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  BOOKS BY ANTHONY HOPE

  =The King's Mirror.=

  Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.

  "Mr. Hope has never given more sustained proof of his cleverness than in 'The King's Mirror.' In elegance, delicacy, and tact it ranks with the best of his previous novels, while in the wide range of its portraiture and the subtlety of its analysis it surpasses all his earlier ventures."--_London Spectator_.

  "Mr. Anthony Hope is at his best in this new novel. He returns in some measure to the color and atmosphere of 'The Prisoner of Zenda.' ...A strong book, charged with close analysis and exquisite irony; a book full of pathos and moral fiber--in short, a book to be read."--_London Chronicle_.

  "A story of absorbing interest and one that will add greatly to the author's reputation.... Told with all the brilliancy and charm which we have come to associate with Mr. Anthony Hope's work."--_London Literary World_.

  =The Chronicles of Count Antonio.=

  With Photogravure Frontispiece by S. W. Van Schaick. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.

  "No adventures were ever better worth recounting than are those of Antonio of Monte Velluto, a very Bayard among outlaws.... To all those whose pulses still stir at the recital of deeds of high courage, we may recommend this book.... The chronicle conveys the emotion of heroic adventure, and is picturesquely written."--_London Daily News_.

  "It has literary merits all its own, of a deliberate and rather deep order.... In point of execution 'The Chronicles of Count Antonio' is the best work that Mr. Hope has yet done. The design is clearer, the workmanship more elaborate, the style more colored."--_Westminster Gazette_.

  =The God in the Car.=

  New edition, uniform with "The Chronicles of Count Antonio." 12mo.Cloth, $1.25.

  "'The God in the Car' is just as clever, just as distinguished in style, just as full of wit, and of what nowadays some persons like better than wit--allusiveness--as any of his stories. It is saturated with the modern atmosphere; is not only a very clever but a very strong story; in some respects, we think, the strongest Mr. Hope has yet written."--_London Speaker_.

  "A very remarkable book, deserving of critical analysis impossible within our limit; brilliant, but not superficial; well considered, but not elaborated; constructed with the proverbial art that conceals, but yet allows itself to be enjoyed by readers to whom fine literary method is a keen pleasure."--_London World_.

  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'SPUBLICATIONS.

  BY A. CONAN DOYLE.

  Uniform edition. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50 per volume.

  _A DUET, WITH AN OCCASIONAL CHORUS._

  "Charming is the one word to describe this volume adequately. Dr. Doyle's crisp style and his rare wit and refined humor, utilized with cheerful art that is perfect of its kind, fill these chapters with joy and gladness for the reader."--_Philadelphia Press_.

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  _UNCLE BERNAC. A Romance of the Empire._

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  _THE EXPLOITS OF BRIGADIER GERARD._

  _A Romance of the Life of a Typical Napoleonic Soldier._

  "Good, stirring tales are they.... Remind one of those adventures indulged in by 'The Three Musketeers.' ... Written with a dash and swing that here and there carry one away."--_New York Mail and Express_.

  _RODNEY STONE._

  "A notable and very brilliant work of genius."--_London Speaker_.

  "Dr. Doyle's novel is crowded with an amazing amount of incident and excitement.... He does not write history, but shows us the human side of his great men, living and moving in an atmosphere charged with the spirit of the hard-living, hard-fighting Anglo-Saxon."--_New York Critic_.

  _ROUND THE RED LAMP._

  _Being Facts and Fancies of Medical Life._

  "A strikingly realistic and decidedly original contribution to modern literature."--_Boston Saturday Evening Gazette_.

  _THE STARK MUNRO LETTERS._

  Being a Series of Twelve Letters written by Stark Munro, M. B., to hisfriend and former fellow-student, Herbert Swanborough, of Lowell,Massachusetts, during the years 1881-1884.

  "Cullingworth, ... a much more interesting creation than Sherlock Holmes, and I pray Dr. Doyle to give us more of him."--_Richard le Gallienne, in the London Star_.

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  BOOKS BY ALLEN RAINE.

  Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents.

  =Garthowen: A Welsh Idyl.=

  "Wales has long waited for her novelist, but he seems to have come at last in the person of Mr. Allen Raine, who has at once proved himself a worthy interpreter and exponent of the romantic spirit of his country."--_London Daily Mail_.

  =By Berwen Banks.=

  "Mr. Raine enters into the lives and traditions of the people, and herein lies the charm of his stories."--_Chicago Tribune_.

  "Interesting from the beginning, and grows more so as it proceeds."--_San Francisco Bulletin_.

  "It has the same grace of style, strength of description, and dainty sweetness of its predecessors."--_Boston Saturday Evening Gazette_.

  =Torn Sails.=

  "It is a little idyl of humble life and enduring love, laid bare before us, very real and pure, which in its telling shows us some strong points of Welsh character--the pride, the hasty temper, the quick dying out of wrath.... We call this a well-written story, interesting alike through its romance and its glimpses into another life than ours."--_Detroit Free Press_.

  "Allen Raine's work is in the right direction and worthy of all honor."--_Boston Budget_.

  =Mifanwy: A Welsh Singer.=

  "Simple in all its situations, the story is worked up in that touching and quaint strain which never grows wearisome no matter how often the lights and shadows of love are introduced. It rings true, and does not tax the imagination."--_Boston Herald_.

  "One of the most charming tales that has come to us of late."--_Brooklyn Eagle_.

  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. D. APPLETON AND COMPANY'SPUBLICATIONS.

  _FAMILIAR LIFE IN FIELD AND FOREST._

  By F. SCHUYLER MATHEWS. Uniform with "Familiar Flowers," "FamiliarTrees," and "Familiar Features of the Roadside." With manyIllustrations. 12mo. Cloth, $1.75.

  The great popularity of Mr. F. Schuyler Mathews's charmingly illustrated books upon flowers, trees, and roadside life insures a cordial reception for his forthcoming book, which describes the animals, reptiles, insects, and birds commonly met with in the country. His book will be found a most convenient and interesting guide to an acquaintance with common wild creatures.

  _FAMILIAR FEATURES OF THE ROADSIDE._

  By F. SCHUYLER MATHEWS, author of "Familiar Flowers of Field andGarden," "Familiar Trees and their Leaves," etc. With 130 Illustrationsby the Author. 12mo. Cloth, $1.75.

  "Which one of us, whether afoot, awheel, on horseback, or in comfortable carriage, has not whiled away the time by glancing about? How many of us, however, have taken in the details of what charms us? We see the flowering fields and budding woods, listen to the notes of birds and frogs, the hum of some big bumblebee, but how much do we know of what we sense? These questions, these doubts have occurred to all of us, and it is to answer them that Mr. Mathews sets forth. It is to his credit that he succeeds so well. He puts before us in chronological order the flowers, birds, and beasts we meet on our highway and byway travels, tells us how to recognize them, what they are really like, and gives us at once charming drawings in words and lines, for Mr. Mathews is his own illustrator."--_Boston Journal_.

  _FAMILIAR TREES AND THEIR LEAVES._

  By F. SCHUYLER MATHEWS, author of "Familiar Flowers of Field andGarden," "The Beautiful Flower Garden," etc. Illustrated with over 200Drawings from Nature by the Author, and giving the botanical names andhabitat of each tree and recording the precise character and coloring ofits leafage. 12mo. Cloth, $1.75.

  "It is not often that we find a book which deserves such unreserved commendation. It is commendable for several reasons: it is a book that has been needed for a long time, it is written in a popular and attractive style, it is accurately and profusely illustrated, and it is by an authority on the subject of which it treats."--_Public Opinion_.

  _FAMILIAR FLOWERS OF FIELD AND GARDEN._ By F. SCHUYLER MATHEWS.Illustrated with 200 Drawings by the Author. 12mo. Library Edition,cloth, $1.75; Pocket Edition, flexible morocco, $2.25.

  "A book of much value and interest, admirably arranged for the student and the lover of flowers.... The text is full of compact information, well selected and interestingly presented.... It seems to us to be a most attractive handbook of its kind."--_New York Sun_.

  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.

  FRANK M. CHAPMAN'S BOOKS.

  =Bird Studies with a Camera.=

  With Introductory Chapters on the Outfit and Methods of the BirdPhotographer. By FRANK M. CHAPMAN, Assistant Curator of VertebrateZoology in the American Museum of Natural History; Author of "Handbookof Birds of Eastern North America" and "Bird-Life." Illustrated withover 100 Photographs from Nature by the Author. 12mo. Cloth.

  Bird students and photographers will find that this book possesses for them a unique interest and value. It contains fascinating accounts of the habits of some of our common birds and descriptions of the largest bird colonies existing in eastern North America; while its author's phenomenal success in photographing birds in Nature not only lends to the illustrations the charm of realism, but makes the book a record of surprising achievements with the camera. Several of these illustrations have been described by experts as "the most remarkable photographs of wild life we have ever seen." The book is practical as well as descriptive, and in the opening chapters the questions of camera, lens, plates, blinds, decoys, and other pertinent matters are fully discussed.

  =Bird-Life.=

  A Guide to the Study of our Common Birds. With 75 full-page uncoloredplates and 25 drawings in the text, by ERNEST SETON THOMPSON. LibraryEdition. 12mo. Cloth, $1.75.

  =The Same=, with lithographic plates in colors. 8vo. Cloth, $5.00.

  =TEACHERS' EDITION=. Same as Library Edition, but
containing an Appendixwith new matter designed for the use of teachers, and including lists ofbirds for each month of the year. 12mo. Cloth, $2.00.

  =TEACHERS' MANUAL=. To accompany Portfolios of Colored Plates ofBird-Life. Contains the same text as the Teachers' Edition of"Bird-Life," but is without the 75 uncolored plates. Sold only with thePortfolios, as follows:

  =Portfolio No. I=.--Permanent Residents and Winter Visitants. 32 plates.

  =Portfolio No. II=.--March and April Migrants. 34 plates.

  =Portfolio No. III=.--May Migrants, Types of Birds' Eggs, Types ofBirds' Nests from Photographs from Nature. 34 plates. Price ofPortfolios, each, $1.25; with Manual, $2.00. The three Portfolios withManual, $4.00.

  =Handbook of Birds of Eastern North America.=

  With nearly 200 Illustrations. 12mo. Library Edition, cloth, $3.00;Pocket Edition, flexible morocco, $3.50.

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  By ELLEN THORNEYCROFT FOWLER.

  =A Double Thread.= 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.

  "Even more gay, clever, and bright than 'Concerning IsabelCarnaby.'"--_Boston Herald._

  "Abounds in excellent character study and brilliant dialogue."--_NewYork Commercial Advertiser._

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  "Brilliant and witty. Shows fine insight into character."--_MinneapolisJournal._

  "'A Double Thread' is that rare visitor--a novel to be recommendedwithout reserve."--_London Literary World._

  =Concerning Isabel Carnaby.= New edition. With Portrait and BiographicalSketch. Cloth, $1.50.

  "Rarely does one find such a charming combination of wit and tenderness,of brilliancy and reverence for the things that matter, as is concealedwithin the covers of 'Concerning Isabel Carnaby.' It is bright withoutbeing flippant, tender without being mawkish, and as joyous and aswholesome as sunshine. The characters are closely studied and clearlylimned, and they are created by one who knows human nature.... It wouldbe hard to find its superior for all around excellence.... No one whoreads it will regret it or forget it."--_Chicago Tribune._

  "For brilliant conversations, bits of philosophy, keenness of wit, andfull insight into human nature, 'Concerning Isabel Carnaby' is aremarkable success."--_Boston Transcript._

  D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.

 

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