'Then you agree with me,' said Maurice, 'as, in fact, every rational person must.'
'Then you are with me,' said Lily, in the same breath; 'and you will convince Maurice of the danger of this nonsense.'
'Umph,' sighed Claude, throwing himself into his father's arm-chair, ''tis a Herculean labour! It seems I agree with you both.'
'Why, every Christian must be with me, who has not lost his way in a mist of his own raising,' said Lilias.
'Do you mean to say,' said Maurice, 'that these colours are not produced by refraction? Look at them on those prisms;' and he pointed to an old-fashioned lustre on the chimney-piece. 'I hope this is not a part of the Christian faith.'
'Take care, Maurice,' and Claude's eyes were bent upon him in a manner that made him shrink. And he added, 'Of course I do believe that chapter about Noah. I only meant that the immediate cause of the rainbow is the refraction of light. I did not mean to be irreverent, only the girls took me up in such a way.'
'And I know well enough that you can make those colours by light on drops of water,' said Lily.
'So you agreed all the time,' said Claude.
'But,' added Lily, 'I never liked to know it; for it always seemed to be explaining away the Bible, and I cannot bear not to regard that lovely bow as a constant miracle.'
'You will remember,' said Claude, 'that some commentators say it should be, "I have set my bow in the cloud," which would make what already existed become a token for the future.
'I don't like that explanation,' said Lily.
'Others say,' added Claude, 'that there might have been no rain at all till the windows of heaven were opened at the flood, and, in that case, the first recurrence of rain must have greatly alarmed Noah's family, if they had not been supported and cheered by the sight of the rainbow.'
'That is reasonable,' said Maurice.
'I hate reason applied to revelation,' said Lily.
'It is a happier state of mind which does not seek to apply it,' said Claude, looking at Phyllis, who had dried her tears, and stood in the window gazing at him, in the happy certainty that he was setting all right. Maurice respected Claude for his science as much as his character, and did not make game of this observation as he would if it had been made by one of his sisters, but he looked at him with an odd expression of perplexity. 'You do not think ignorant credulity better than reasonable belief?' said he at length.
'It is not I only who think most highly of child-like unquestioning faith, Maurice,' said Claude-'faith, that is based upon love and reverence,' added he to Lily. 'But come, the shower is over, and philosophers, or no philosophers, I invite you to walk in the wood.'
'Aye,' said Maurice, 'I daresay I can find some of the Arachne species there. By the bye, Claude, do you think papa would let me have a piece of plate-glass, eighteen by twenty, to cover my case of insects?'
'Ask, and you will discover,' said Claude.
Accordingly, Maurice began the next morning at breakfast, 'Papa, may I have a piece of plate-glass, eighteen by-?'
But no one heard, for Emily was at the moment saying, 'The Westons are to dine here to-day.'
Claude and Maurice both looked blank.
'I persuaded papa to ask the Westons,' said Lily, 'because I am determined that Claude shall like Alethea.'
'You must expect that I shall not, you have given me so many orders on the subject,' said Claude.
'Take care it has not the same effect as to tell Maurice to like a book,' said Emily; 'nothing makes his aversion so certain.'
'Except when he takes it up by mistake, and forgets that it has been recommended to him,' said Claude.
'Take care, Redgie, with your knife; don't put out my eyes in your ardour against that wretched wasp. Wat Greenwood may well say "there is a terrible sight of waspses this year."'
'I killed twenty-nine yesterday,' said Reginald.
'And I will tell you what I saw,' said Phyllis; 'I was picking up apples, and the wasps were flying all round, and there came a hornet.'
'Vespa Crabro!' cried Maurice; 'oh, I must have one!'
'Well, what of the hornet?' said Mr. Mohun.
'I'll tell you what,' resumed Phyllis, 'he saw a wasp flying, and so he went up in the air, and pounced on the poor wasp as the hawk did on Jane's bantam. So then he hung himself up to the branch of a tree by one of his legs, and held the wasp with the other five, and began to pack it up. First he bit off the yellow tail, then the legs, and threw them away, and then there was nothing left but the head, and so he flew away with it to his nest.'
'Which way did he go?' said Maurice.
'To the Old Court,' answered Phyllis; 'I think the nest is in the roof of the old cow-house, for they were flying in and out there yesterday, and one was eating out the wood from the old rails.'
'Well,' said Mr. Mohun, 'you must show me a hornet hawking for wasps before the nest is taken, Phyllis; I suppose you have seen the wasps catching flies?'
'Oh yes, papa! but they pack them up quite differently. They do not hang by one leg, but they sit down quite comfortably on a branch while they bite off the wings and legs.'
'There, Maurice,' said Mr. Mohun, 'I had rather hear of one such well-observed fact than of a dozen of your hard names and impaled insects.'
Phyllis looked quite radiant with delight at his approbation.
'But, papa,' said Maurice, 'may I have a piece of plate-glass, eighteen by twenty?'
'When you observe facts in natural history, perhaps I may say something to your entomology,' said Mr. Mohun.
'But, papa, all my insects will be spoilt if I may not have a piece of glass, eighteen by-'
He was interrupted by the arrival of the post-bag, which Jane, as usual, opened. 'A letter from Rotherwood,' said she; 'I hope he is coming at last.'
'He is,' said Claude, reading the letter, 'but only from Saturday till Wednesday.'
'He never gave us so little of his good company as he has this summer,' said Emily.
'You will have them all in the autumn, to comfort you,' said Claude, 'for he hereby announces the marvellous fact, that the Marchioness sends him to see if the castle is fit to receive her.'
'Are you sure he is not only believing what he wishes?' said Mr. Mohun.
'I think he will gain his point at last,' said Claude.
'How stupid of him to stay no longer!' said Reginald.
'I think he has some scheme for this vacation,' said Claude, 'and I suppose he means to crowd all the Beechcroft diversions of a whole summer into those few days.'
'Emily,' said Mr. Mohun, 'I wish him to know the Carringtons; invite them and the Westons to dinner on Tuesday.'
'Oh don't!' cried Reginald. 'It will be so jolly to have him to take wasps' nests; and may I go out rabbit-shooting with him?'
'If he goes.'
'And may I carry a gun?'
'If it is not loaded,' said his father.
'Indeed, I would do no mischief,' said Reginald.
'Let me give you one piece of advice, Reginald,' said Mr. Mohun, with a mysterious air-'never make rash promises.'
Lilias was rather disappointed in her hopes that Miss Weston and Claude would become better acquainted. At dinner the conversation was almost entirely between the elder gentlemen; Claude scarcely spoke, except when referred to by his father or Mr. Devereux. Miss Weston never liked to incur the danger of having to repeat her insignificant speeches to a deaf ear, and being interested in the discussion that was going on, she by no means seconded Lily's attempt to get up an under-current of talk. In general, Lily liked to listen to conversation in silence, but she was now in very high spirits, and could not be quiet; fortunately, she had no interest in the subject the gentlemen were discussing, so that she could not meddle with that, and finding Alethea silent and Claude out of reach, she turned to Reginald, and talked and tittered with him all dinner-time.
In the drawing-room she had it all her own way, and talked enough for all the sisters.
'Have you heard that Cousin R
otherwood is coming?'
'Yes, you said so before dinner.'
'We hope,' said Emily, 'that you and Mr. Weston will dine here on Tuesday. The Carringtons are coming, and a few others.'
'Thank you,' said Alethea; 'I daresay papa will be very glad to come.'
'Have you ever seen Rotherwood?' said Lilias.
'Never,' was the reply.
'Do not expect much,' said Lily, laughing, though she knew not why; 'he is a very little fellow; no one would suppose him to be twenty, he has such a boyish look. Then he never sits down-'
'Literally?' said Emily.
'Literally,' persisted Lily; 'such a quick person you never did see.'
'Is he at Oxford?'
'Oh yes! it was all papa's doing that he was sent to Eton. Papa is his guardian. Aunt Rotherwood never would have parted with him.'
'He is the only son,' interposed Emily.
'Uncle Rotherwood put him quite in papa's power; Aunt Rotherwood wanted to keep him at home with a tutor, and what she would have made of him I cannot think,' said Lily; and regardless of Emily's warning frowns, and Alethea's attempt to change the subject, she went on: 'When he was quite a child he used to seem a realisation of all the naughty Dicks and Toms in story-books. Miss Middleton had a perfect horror of his coming here, for he would mind no one, and played tricks and drew Claude into mischief; but he is quite altered since papa had the management of him-Oh! such talks as papa has had with Aunt Rotherwood - do you know, papa says no one knows what it is to lose a father but those who have the care of his children, and Aunt Rotherwood is so provoking.'
Here Alethea determined to put an end to this oration, and to Emily's great relief, she cut short the detail of Lady Rotherwood's offences by saying, 'Do you think Faith Longley likely to suit us, if we took her to help the housemaid?'
'Are you thinking of taking her?' cried Lily. 'Yes, for steady, stupid household work, Faith would do very well; she is just the stuff to make a servant of-"for dulness ever must be regular"-I mean for those who like mere steadiness better than anything more lovable.'
As Alethea said, laughing, 'I must confess my respect for that quality,' Mr. Devereux and Claude entered the room.
'Oh, Robert!' cried Lily, 'Mrs. Weston is going to take Faith Longley to help the housemaid.'
'You are travelling too fast, Lily,' said Alethea, 'she is only going to think about it.'
'I should be very glad,' said Mr. Devereux, 'that Faith should have a good place; the Longleys are very respectable people, and they behaved particularly well in refusing to let this girl go and live with some dissenters at Stoney Bridge.'
'I like what I have seen of the girl very much,' said Miss Weston.
'In spite of her sad want of feeling,' said Robert, smiling, as he looked at Lily.
'Oh! she is a good work-a-day sort of person,' said Lily, 'like all other poor people, hard and passive. Now, do not set up your eyebrows, Claude, I am quite serious, there is no warmth about any except-'
'So this is what Lily is come to!' cried Emily; 'the grand supporter of the poor on poetical principles.'
'The poor not affectionate!' said Alethea.
'Not, compared within people whose minds and affections have been cultivated,' said Lily. 'Now just hear what Mrs. Wall said to me only yesterday; she asked for a black stuff gown out of the clothing club, "for," said she, "I had a misfortune, Miss;" I thought it would be, "and tore my gown," but it was, "I had a misfortune, Miss, and lost my brother."'
'A very harsh conclusion on very slight grounds,' said Mr. Devereux.
'Prove the contrary,' said Lily.
'Facts would scarcely demonstrate it either way,' said Mr. Devereux. 'They would only prove what was the case with individuals who chanced to come in our way, and if we are seldom able to judge of the depth of feeling of those with whom we are familiar, how much less of those who feel our presence a restraint.'
'Intense feeling mocks restraint,' said Lily.
'Violent, not intense,' said Mr. Devereux. 'Besides, you talk of cultivating the affections. Now what do you mean? Exercising them, or talking about them?'
'Ah!' said Emily, 'the affection of a poor person is more tried; we blame a poor man for letting his old mother go to the workhouse, without considering how many of us would do the same, if we had as little to live upon.'
'Still,' said Alethea, 'the same man who would refuse to maintain her if poor, would not bear with her infirmities if rich.'
'Are the poor never infirm and peevish?' said Mr. Devereux.
'Oh! how much worse it must be to bear with ill-temper in poverty,' said Emily, 'when we think it quite wonderful to see a young lady kind and patient with a cross old relation; what must it be when she is denying herself, not only her pleasure, but her food for her sake; not merely sitting quietly with her all day, and calling a servant to wait upon her, but toiling all day to maintain her, and keeping awake half the night to nurse her?'
'Those are realities, indeed,' said Alethea; 'our greatest efforts seem but child's play in comparison.'
Lilias could hardly have helped being sobered by this conversation if she had attended to it, but she had turned away to repeat the story of Mrs. Walls to Jane, and then, fancying that the others were still remarking upon it, she said in a light, laughing tone, 'Well, so far I agree with you. I know of a person who may well be called one of ourselves, who I could quite fancy making such a speech.'
'Whom do you mean?' said Mr. Devereux. Alethea wished she did not know.
'No very distant relation,' said Jane.
'Do not talk nonsense, Jane,' said Claude, gravely.
'No nonsense at all, Claude,' cried Jane in her very very pertest tone, 'it is exactly like Eleanor; I am sure I can see her with her hands before her, saying in her prim voice, "I must turn my old black silk and trim it with crape, for I have had a misfortune, and lost my brother."'
'Lilias,' said Miss Weston, somewhat abruptly, 'did you not wish to sing with me this evening?'
And thus she kept Lilias from any further public mischief that evening.
Claude, exceedingly vexed by what had passed, with great injustice, laid the blame upon Miss Weston, and instead of rendering her the honour which she really deserved for the tact with which she had put an end to the embarrassment of all parties, he fancied she was anxious to display her talents for music, and thus only felt fretted by the sounds.
Mr. Weston and his daughter intended to walk home that evening, as it was a beautiful moonlight night.
'Oh, let us convoy you!' exclaimed Lilias; 'I do long to show Alethea a glow-worm. Will you come, Claude? May we, papa? Feel how still and warm it is. A perfect summer night, not a breath stirring.'
Mr. Mohun consented, and Lily almost hurried Alethea upstairs, to put on her bonnet and shawl. When she came down she found that the walking party had increased. Jane and Reginald would both have been in despair to have missed such a frolic; Maurice hoped to fall in with the droning beetle, or to lay violent hands on a glow-worm; Emily did not like to be left behind, and even Mr. Mohun was going, being in the midst of an interesting conversation with Mr. Weston. Lily, with an absurd tragic gesture, told Alethea that amongst so many, such a crowd, all the grace and sweet influence of the walk was ruined. The 'sweet influence' was ruined as far as Lily was concerned, but not by the number of her companions. It was the uneasy feeling caused by her over-strained spirits and foolish chattering that prevented her from really entering into the charm of the soft air, the clear moon, the solemn deep blue sky, the few stars, the white lilies on the dark pond, the long shadows of the trees, the freshness of the dewy fields. Her simplicity, and her genuine delight in the loveliness of the scene, was gone for the time, and though she spoke much of her enjoyment, it was in a high-flown affected style.
When the last good-night had been exchanged, and Lily had turned homeward, she felt the stillness which succeeded their farewells almost oppressive; she started at the dark shadow of a tree which lay across the
path, and to shake off a sensation of fear which was coming over her, she put her arm within Claude's, exclaiming, 'You naughty boy, you will be stupid and silent, say what I will.'
'I heard enough to-night to strike me dumb,' said Claude.
For one moment Lily thought he was in jest, but the gravity of his manner showed her that he was both grieved and displeased, and she changed her tone as she said, 'Oh! Claude, what do you mean?'
'Do you not know?' said Claude.
'What, you mean about Eleanor?' said Lily; 'you must fall upon Miss Jenny there-it was her doing.'
'Jane's tongue is a pest,' said Claude; 'but she was not the first to speak evil falsely of one to whom you owe everything. Oh! Lily, I cannot tell you how that allusion of yours sounded.'
'What allusion?' asked Lily in alarm, for she had never seen her gentle brother so angry.
'You know,' said he.
'Indeed, I do not,' exclaimed Lily, munch frightened. 'Claude, Claude, you must mistake, I never could have said anything so very shocking.'
'I hope I do,' said Claude; 'I could hardly believe that one of the little ones who cannot remember him, could have referred to him in that way-but for you!'
'Him?' said Lilias.
'I do not like to mention his name to one who regards him so lightly,' said Claude. 'Think over what passed, if you are sufficiently come to yourself to remember it.'
After a little pause Lily said in a subdued voice, 'Claude, I hope you do not believe that I was thinking of what really happened when I said that.'
'Pray what were you thinking of?'
'The abstract view of Eleanor's character.'
'Abstract nonsense!' said Claude. 'A fine demonstration of the rule of love, to go about the world slandering your sister!'
'To go about the world! Oh! Claude, it was only Robert, one of ourselves, and Alethea, to whom I tell everything.'
'So much the worse. I always rejoiced that you had no foolish young lady friend to make missish confidences to.'
'She is no foolish young lady friend,' said Lilias, indignant in her turn; 'she is five years older than I am, and papa wishes us to be intimate with her.'
'Then the fault is in yourself,' said Claude. 'You ought not to have told such things if they were true, and being utterly false-'
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