The Clever Woman of the Family

CHAPTER IX. THE NEW SPORT

The day after Rachel’s adventure with Don a card came into the drawing-room, and therewith a message that the gentleman had availed himself of Mrs. Curtis’s kind permission, and was sketching the Spinster’s Needles, two sharp points of red rock that stood out in the sea at the end of the peninsula, and were specially appropriated by Rachel and Grace.

The card was written, not engraved, the name “Rd. R. H. C. L. Mauleverer;” and a discussion ensued whether the first letters stood for Richard or for Reverend, and if he could be unconscionable enough to have five initials. The sisters had some business to transact at Villars’s, the Avonmouth deposit of literature and stationery, which was in the hands of a somewhat aspiring genius, who edited the weekly paper, and respected Miss Rachel Curtis in proportion to the number of periodicals she took in, and the abstruseness of the publications she inquired after. The paper in its Saturday’s dampness lay fresh on the counter, and glancing at the new arrivals, Grace had the desired opportunity of pointing to Mr. Mauleverer’s name, and asking when he had come. About a week since, said the obliging Mr. Villars, he appeared to be a gentleman of highly literary and artistic tastes, a philanthropist; indeed, Mr. Villars understood him to be a clerical gentlemen who had opinions—

“Oh, Rachel, I am very sorry,” said Grace.

“Sorry, what for?”

“Why, you and mamma seemed quite inclined to like him.”

“Well, and what have we heard?”

“Not much that is rational, certainly,” said Grace, smiling; “but we know what was meant.”

“Granting that we do, what is proved against him? No, I will not say proved, but alleged. He is one of the many who have thought for themselves upon the perplexing problems of faith and practice, and has been sincere, uncompromising, self-sacrificing, in avowing that his mind is still in that state of solution in which all earnest and original minds must be ere the crystallizing process sets in. Observe, Grace, I am not saying for an instant that he is in the right. All I do say is, that when depth of thought and candour have brought misfortune upon a man, it is ungenerous, therefore, to treat him as if he had the leprosy.”

“Indeed, Rachel, I think you have made more out of his opinions than I did.”

“I was only arguing on your construction of his opinions.”

“Take care—!” For they were at this moment reaching a gate of Myrtlewood, and the sound of hoofs came close behind them. They were those of the very handsome chestnut, ridden by Alexander Keith, who jumped off his horse with more alacrity than usual as they were opening the gate for him, and holding out his hand, eagerly said—

“Then I conclude there is nothing the matter?”

“Nothing at all,” said Grace. “What did you hear?”

“Only a little drowning, and a compound fracture or two,” said he, relapsing into his languid ease as he gave his bridle to a groom, and walked with them towards the house.

“There, how very annoying!” exclaimed Rachel, “though, of course, the smallest adventure does travel.”

“I may venture to hope that neither are you drowned, nor my sister’s leg broken, nor a celebrated professor and essayist ‘in a high fever wi’ pulling any of you out of the sea.’”

“There, Grace,” exclaimed Rachel; “I told you he was something distinguished.”

“My dear Rachel, if his celebrity be in proportion to the rest of the story.”

“Then there really was a rescue!” exclaimed Captain Keith, now with much more genuine anxiety; and Rachel recollecting her desire that the right version should have the precedence, quickly answered, “There was no danger, only Don slipped down into that curved cove where we walked one day with the boys. I went down after him, but he had broken his leg. I could not get up with him in my arms, and Bessie called some one to help me.”

“And why could not Bessie help you herself?”

“Oh! strangers can never climb on our slippery rocks as we can.”

“Moreover, it would have spoilt the predicament,” muttered the brother to himself; then turning round with a smile, “And is the child behaving herself?”

Grace and Rachel answered in a eager duet how she was charming every one, so helpful, so kind, so everything.

“Ah!” he said with real satisfaction, apparent in the eyes that were so pleasant when open wide enough to be visible; “I knew she always did better when I was not there.”

They were by this time entering the hall, which, in the confident fashion of the sea-side, stood open; and at the moment Fanny came tripping downstairs with her dress looped up, and a shady hat on her head, looking fearfully girlish, thought her cousins, though her attire was still rigidly black.

“Oh, I am so glad to see you; Don is so much better, Rachel, and Conrade wants to thank you. He went up yesterday, and was so sorry you were out. Might it not have been dreadful, Alick? I have been so wanting to tell you how very delightful that dear sister of yours is. All the boys are distracted about her. Come out please. She has been teaching the boys such a delightful game; so much nicer than cricket, for I can play with them.”

Alick and Rachel could not but exchange a glance, and at the same moment, emerging through the screen of shrubs on the lawn, Bessie Keith, Conrade, Francis, and Leoline, were seen each with a mallet in hand and a gay ball in readiness to be impelled through the hoops that beset the lawn.

“And you really are learning croquet!” exclaimed innocent Grace; “well, it makes a beautiful ground.”

“Croquet!” exclaimed poor Lady Temple, with startled eyes; “you don’t really mean that it is croquet! O Bessie, Bessie!”

“Ah! I didn’t mean you to have come so soon,” said the much amused Bessie, as she gave her hand in greeting. “I meant the prejudice to be first conquered. See, dear Lady Temple, I’m not ashamed; this whitey brown moustache is going to kiss me nevertheless and notwithstanding.”

And so it certainly did, and smiled into the bargain, while the boys came clamouring up, and after thanks for Don’s preservation, began loudly to beg mamma would come, they could not make up their sides without her, but mamma was distressed and unhappy.

“Not now, my dears—I must—I must. Indeed I did not know.”

“Now, Alick, I trust to your generosity,” said Bessie, finding that they must be pacified. “Coming, Con—Come, Grace, come and convince Lady Temple that the pastime is not too wicked for you.”

“Indeed, Alick,” Lady Temple was saying. “I am very sorry, I won’t allow it one moment if you think it is objectionable.”

“But I don’t,” said Alick, smiling. “Far from it. It is a capital game for you and your boys.”

“I thought—I thought you disapproved and could not bear it,” said Lady Temple, wondering and wistful.

“Can’t bear is not disapprove. Indeed,” seeing that gentle earnest alone could console her, “there is no harm in the game itself. It is a wholly personal distaste, arising from my having been bored with it when I was ill and out of spirits.”

“But is not there something about it in ‘Punch?’” she still asked, so anxiously, that it was impossible not to smile; but there was not a particle of that subdued mockery that was often so perplexing in him, as he replied, “Certainly there is about its abuse as an engine for flirtation, which, to tell you the truth, was what sickened me with the sight at Littleworthy; but that is not the line Con and Francie will take just yet. Why, my uncle is specially addicted to listening to croquet, and knows by the step and sound how each player is getting on, till he is quite an oracle in disputed hits.”

“So Bessie told me,” said Fanny, still feeling that she had been taken in and the brother unkindly used; “but I can’t think how she could, when you don’t like it.”

“Nobody is bound to respect foolish prejudices,” said Alick, still quite in earnest. “It would have been very absurd not to introduce it.”

“Come, Alick,” said Bessie, advancing, “have you absolved her, and may we begin? Would it not be a generous act of amnesty if all the present company united in a match?”

“Too many,” said Alick, “odd numbers. I shall go down and call on Miss Williams. May I come back, Lady Temple, and have a holiday from the mess?”

“I shall be very glad; only I am afraid there is no dinner.”

“So much the better. Only let me see you begin, or I shall never dare to express an opinion for the future.”

“Mamma, do pray, pray begin; the afternoon is wasting like nothing!” cried Conrade of the much-tried patience. “And Aunt Rachel,” he added, in his magnanimity, “you shall be my partner, and I’ll teach you.”

“Thank you, Conrade, but I can’t; I promised to be at home at four,” said Rachel, who had all this time been watching with curious interest which influence would prevail—whether Alick would play for Fanny’s sake, or Fanny abstain for Alick’s sake. She was best satisfied as it was, but she had still to parry Bessie Keith’s persuasive determination. Why would she go home? it certainly was to inspect the sketches of the landscape-painter. “You heard, Alick, of the interesting individual who acted the part of Rachel’s preserver,” she added.

The very force of Rachel’s resolution not to be put out of countenance served to cover her with the most uncomfortable blushes, all the more at the thought of her own unlucky exclamation. “I came here,” said Alick, coolly, “to assist in recovering the beloved remains from a watery grave;” and then, as Bessie insisted on hearing the Avoncester version, he gave it; while Grace added the intelligence that the hero was a clergyman, sinking the opinions, as too vague to be mentioned, even had not the company been too flighty for a subject she thought serious and painful. “And he is at this moment sketching the Spinster’s Needles!” said Bessie. “Well, I am consoled. With all your resolve to flatten down an adventure, fate is too strong for you. Something will come of it. Is not the very resolve that it shall not be an adventure a token?”

“If any one should wish to forget it, it is you, I think, Bessie,” said Alick. “Your admirable sagacity seems to have been at fault. I thought you prided yourself on your climbing.”

“Up a slippery perpendicular—”

“I know the place,” he gravely answered.

“Well,” exclaimed Bessie, recovering herself, “I am not a mermaid nor even a dear gazelle, and, in my humble opinion, there was far more grace in preventing heroism from being ‘unwept, unnoticed, and unsung,’ than in perilling my own neck, craning down and strangling the miserable beast, by pulling him up by the scrough of his neck! What an introduction would have been lost!”

“If you are going to play, Bessie,” said her brother, “it would be kind to take pity upon those boys.”

“One achievement is mine,” she said, dancing away backwards, her bright eyes beaming with saucy merriment, “the great Alexander has bidden me to croquet.”

“I am afraid,” said her brother, turning to Rachel as she departed, “that it was all her fault. Pray be patient with her, she has had many disadvantages.”

His incomprehensible irony had so often perplexed Rachel, that she did not know whether his serious apologetic tone were making game of her annoyance, and she answered not very graciously, “Oh, never mind, it did not signify.” And at the same time came another urgent entreaty from the boys that the two “aunts” would join the game, Conrade evidently considering that partnership with him would seal the forgiveness Aunt Rachel had won by the rescue of Don.

Grace readily yielded, but Rachel pleaded her engagement, and when the incorrigible Bessie declared that they perfectly understood that nothing could compete with the sketch of the Spinster’s Needles, she answered, “I promised to write a letter for my mother on business before post time. The Burnaby bargain,” she explained, to add further conviction.

“A business-like transaction indeed!” exclaimed Bessie, much diverted with the name.

“Only a bit of land in trust for apprenticing poor children,” said Rachel. “It was left by a Curtis many generations ago, in trust to the rector of the parish and the lord of the manor; and poor Mr. Linton is so entirely effete, that it is virtually in our hands. It is one of the vexations of my life that more good cannot be done with it, for the fees are too small for superior tradespeople, and we can only bind them to the misery of lacemaking. The system belongs to a worn-out state of things.”

The word system in Rachel’s mouth was quite sufficient to send Bessie to her croquet, and the poor boys were at length rewarded for their unusual patience. Their mother had been enduring almost as much as they did in her dislike to see them tantalised, and she now threw herself into the game with a relish that proved that as yet, at least, Conrade’s approbation was more to her than Captain Keith’s. It was very pretty to see her so pleased with her instructions, so eager about her own game, and yet so delighted with every hit of her boys; while Bessie was an admirable general, playing everybody’s game as well as her own, and with such life and spirit, such readiness and good nature, that a far duller sport would have been delicious under her management.

“Poor Alick,” said she, meeting him when he again strolled into the garden, while the boys were collecting the mallets and balls; “he did think he had one lawn in the world undefiled by those horrible hoops!” then as she met his smile of amusement and pardon, “but it was so exactly what they wanted here. It is so good for Lady Temple and her boys to have something they can do together.”

The pleased affectionate smile was gone.

“I object to nothing but its being for her good,” he said gravely.

“But now, does not it make her very happy, and suit her excellently?”

“May be so, but that is not the reason you introduced it.”

“You have a shocking habit of driving one up into corners, Alick, but it shall be purely, purely for my own selfish delight,” and she clasped her hands in so droll an affectation of remorse, that the muscles round his eyes quivered with diversion, though the hair on his lip veiled what the corners of his mouth were about; “if only,” she proceeded, “you won’t let it banish you. You must come over to take care of this wicked little sister, or who knows what may be the consequences.”

“I kept away partly because I was busy, and partly because I believe you are such a little ape as always to behave worse when you have the semblance of a keeper;” he said, with his arm fondly on her shoulder as they walked.

“And in the mean time fell out the adventure of the distinguished essayist.”

“I am afraid,” he returned, “that was a gratuitous piece of mischief, particularly annoying to so serious and thoughtful a person as Miss Rachel Curtis.”

“Jealousy?” exclaimed Bessie in an ecstatic tone. “You see what you lost by not trusting me, to behave myself under the provocation of your presence.”

“What! the pleasure of boxing your ears for a coward?”

“Of seizing the happy opening! I am very much afraid for you now, Alick,” she proceeded with mock gravity. “What hope can a poor Captain of Highlanders, even if he does happen to be a wounded hero or two, have against a distinguished essayist and landscape painter; if it were a common case indeed, but where Wisdom herself is concerned—”

“Military frivolity cannot hope,” returned Alick, with a shake of his head, and a calm matter-of-fact acquiescent tone.

“Ah, poor Alick,” pursued his sister, “you always were a discreet youth; but to be connected with such a union of learning, social science, and homeaopathy, soared beyond my utmost ambition. I suppose the wedding tour—supposing the happy event to take place—will be through a series of model schools and hospitals, ending in Hanwell.”

“No,” said Alick, equally coolly, “to the Dutch reformatory, and the Swiss cretin asylum.”

She was exceedingly tickled at his readiness, and proceeded in a pretended sentimental tone, “I am glad you have revealed the secrets of your breast. I saw there was a powerful attraction and that you were no longer your own, but my views were humbler. I thought the profound respect with which you breathed the name of Avonmouth, was due to the revival of the old predilection for our sweet little—”

“Hush, Bessie,” said her brother, roused for the first time into sternness, “this is more than nonsense. One word more of this, and you will cut me off from my greatest rest and pleasure.”

“From the lawn where croquet waits his approbation,” was on Bessie’s tongue, but she did not say it. There were moments when she stood in fear of her brother. He paused, and as if perceiving that his vehemence was in itself suspicious, added, “Remember, I never met her from seven years old till after her marriage. She has been the kindest of friends in right of our fathers’ old friendship. You know how her mother nursed me, and the sister she was to me. And Bessie, if your selfishness—I wish I could call it thoughtlessness—involves her innocent simplicity in any scrape, derogatory to what is becoming her situation, I shall find it very hard to forgive you, and harder still to forgive myself for letting you come here.”

Bessie pouted for a moment, but her sweetness and good humour were never away. “There, you have given your wicked little sister a screed,” she said, looking insinuatingly up at him. “Just as if I did not think her a darling, and would not for the world do anything to spoil her. Have not I been leading the most exemplary life, talking systems and visiting cottages with Rachel and playing with the boys, and singing with the clergyman; and here am I pounced on, as if I were come to be the serpent in this anti-croquet paradise.”

“Only a warning, Bessie.”

“You’ll be better now you have had it out. I’ve seen you suppressing it all this time, for fear of frightening me away.”

Every one knows how the afternoon croquet match on the Myrtlewood Lawn became an institution, though with some variation in the observers thereof, owing to the exigencies of calls, rides, and Ermine Williams’s drive, which Lady Temple took care should happen at least twice a week. The most constant votaries of the mallet and hoop were, of course, the two elder boys, the next pair being distant worshippers only now and then admitted by special favour, but the ardour of their mother even exceeded that of Bessie Keith, and it was always a disappointment to her if she were prevented from playing. Grace and Alison Williams frequently took their share with enjoyment, though not with the same devotion, and visitors, civil and military, also often did their part, but the most fervent of all these was Mr. Touchett. Ever since that call of his, when, after long impatience of his shy jerks of conversation and incapacity of taking leave, Miss Keith had exclaimed, “Did you ever play at croquet? do come, and we will teach you,” he had been its most assiduous student. The first instructions led to an appointment for more, one contest to another, and the curate was becoming almost as regular a croquet player as Conrade himself, not conversing much but sure to be in his place; and showing a dexterity and precision that always made Lady Temple pleased to have him on her side, and exclaim with delight at his hits as a public benefit to the cause, or thank him with real gratitude when he croqued her or one of her sons out of a difficulty.

Indeed that little lawn at Myrtlewood was a battle-field, of which Alison used to carry her sister amusing and characteristic sketches. The two leading players were Miss Keith and Mr. Touchett, who alone had any idea of tactics; but what she did by intuition, sleight of hand or experience, he effected by calculation and generalship, and even when Conrade claimed the command of his own side, the suggestions of the curate really guided the party. Conrade was a sort of Murat on the croquet field, bold, dashing, often making wonderful hits, but uncertain, and only gradually learning to act in combination. Alison was a sure-handed, skilful hitter, but did not aspire to leadership. Mamma tried to do whatever her boys commanded, and often did it by a sort of dainty dexterity, when her exultation, was a very pretty sight, nor was Grace’s lady-like skill contemptible, but having Francis as an ally was like giving a castle; and he was always placed on the other side from Conrade, as it was quite certain that he would do the very reverse of whatever his brother advised. Now and then invitations were given for Rose Williams to join the game, but her aunts never accepted them. Ermine had long ago made up her mind against intimacies between her niece and any pupils of Alison’s, sure that though starts of pleasure might result, they would be at the cost of ruffling, and, perhaps, perturbing the child’s even stream of happiness—even girl-friendships might have been of doubtful effect where circumstances were so unequal; but Lady Temple’s household of boys appeared to Ermine by no means a desirable sphere for her child to be either teased or courted in. Violetta, Colinette, and Augustus were safer comrades, and Rose continued to find them sufficient, varied with the rare delight of now and then sharing her aunt’s drive, and brightened by many a kind message in Colonel Keith’s letters to her aunt, nay, occasionally a small letter to herself, or an enclosure of some pretty photograph for her much-loved scrap book, or some article for Colinette’s use, sometimes even a new book! She was never forgotten in his letters, and Ermine smiled her strange pensive smile of amusement at his wooing of the unconscious Rose.

CHAPTER X. THE PHILANTHROPIST.

The sturdy recusant against Myrtlewood croquet continued to be Rachel Curtis, and yet it was not a testimony against the game so much as real want of time for it. She was always full of occupation, even while her active mind craved for more definite and extended labour; and when she came upon the field of strategy, it was always either with some business before her, or else so late that the champions were only assisting their several lags to bring the battle to an end.

If there had been a will there would have been a way, but, as she said, she saw enough to perceive that proficiency could only be attained at the cost of much time and study, and she did not choose to be inferior and mediocre. Also, she found occupations open to her elsewhere that had long been closed or rendered unpleasant. Mr. Touchett had become wonderfully pacific and obliging of late, as if the lawn tactics absorbed his propensities for offence and defence, he really seemed obliged for one or two bits of parish work that she attended to; finding that between him and his staff of young ladies they were getting omitted. Somehow, too, an unaccountable blight was passing over the activity of those curatolatresses, as Rachel had been wont to call them; they were less frequently to be met with popping out of the schools and cottages, and Rachel, who knew well all the real poor, though refusing the bonds of a district, was continually detecting omissions which she more often supplied than reported. There was even a smaller sprinkling at the weekly services, and the odd thing was that the curate never seemed to remark or be distressed by the change, or if any one spoke of the thin congregation he would say, winter was the Avonmouth season, which was true enough, but the defaulters were mostly his own peculiar followers, the female youth of the professional and mercantile population.

Rachel did not trouble herself about the cause of all this, indeed she was too much occupied with the gradual gliding into somewhat of her original activity and importance in the field thus left open to her. None the less, however, did she feel the burden of life’s problems; the intercourse she had enjoyed with Colonel Keith had excited her for a time, but in the reaction, the old feelings returned painfully that the times were out of joint; the heavens above became obscure and misty as before, the dark places of the earth looked darker than ever, and those who lived at ease seemed to be employed either in sport upon the outside of the dungeon where the captives groaned, or in obstructing the way of those who would fain have plunged in to the rescue.

Her new acquaintance, Mr. Mauleverer, was an example of such prevention, which weighed much on her mind. He had been perfectly unobtrusive, but Mrs. Curtis meeting him on the second day of his sketching, had naturally looked at his drawing, and admired it so much that she brought her daughters to see it when in course of completion the next day. He had then asked whether there would be any objection to his making use of the sketches in the way of remunerative sale. Mrs. Curtis looked rather taken aback, it hardly agreed with her exclusive notions of privacy, and he at once apologized with such humility that she was touched, and felt herself doing him a wrong, whilst Rachel was angry at her scruple, yet uncomfortably thought of “that landscape painter,” then said in her decided way, “you did not mean to object, mother?”

“Oh, not for a moment, pray don’t think of it,” returned Mr. Mauleverer, in haste. “I would not think of the intrusion. It is only that these poor trifles are steps to one of the few means by which I can still hope to do even a little for my fellow creatures; the greatest solace that remains to me.”

“My mother did not mean to prevent anything,” said Rachel eagerly; “least of all any means of doing good.”

“Indeed, I cannot but be aware that Miss Curtis is the last individual who would do so, except indeed by the good works she herself absorbs.”

“You are too good, sir,” returned Mrs. Curtis; “I am sure I did not mean to object to anything for good. If it is for a charity, I am sure some of our friends would be very glad to take some sketches of our scenery; they have been begging me this long time to have it photographed. I should like to have that drawing myself, it would please your aunt so much, my dear, if we sent it to her.”

Mr. Mauleverer bowed, but Rachel was not sure whether he had not been insulted.

Next day he left at the door the drawing handsomely mounted, and looking so grand and meritorious that poor Mrs. Curtis became much troubled in mind whether its proper price might not be five or even ten guineas, instead of the one for which she had mentally bargained, or if this might not be the beginning of a series; “which would be quite another thing, you know, my dear.”

Rachel offered to go and talk to the artist, who was sketching in full view from the windows, and find out what value he set upon it.

“Perhaps, but I don’t know, my dear. Won’t it be odd? Had you not better wait till Grace comes in, or till I can come down with you?”

“No need at all, mother, I can do it much better alone, and at my age—”

So Rachel took a parasol and stepped out, looked at the outline newly produced, thanked and praised the drawing that had been received, adding that her mother would be glad to know what price Mr. Mauleverer set upon it. She was met by a profession of ignorance of its value, and of readiness to be contented with whatever might be conferred upon his project; the one way in which he still hoped to be of service to his fellow creatures, the one longing of his life.

“Ah!” said Rachel, greatly delighted with this congenial spirit, and as usual preferring the affirmative to the interrogative. “I heard you had been interesting yourself about Mrs Kelland’s lace school. What a miserable system it is!”

“My inquiries have betrayed me then? It is indeed a trying spectacle.”

“And to be helpless to alleviate it,” continued Rachel. “Over work, low prices and middle-men perfectly batten on the lives of our poor girls here. I have thought it over again and again, and it is a constant burden on my mind.”

“Yes, indeed. The effects of modern civilization are a constant burden on the compassion of every highly constituted nature.”

“The only means that seems to me likely to mitigate the evil,” continued Rachel, charmed at having the most patient listener who had ever fallen to her lot, “would be to commence an establishment where some fresh trades might be taught, so as to lessen the glut of the market, and to remove the workers that are forced to undersell one another, and thus oblige the buyers to give a fairly remunerative price.”

“Precisely my own views. To commence an establishment that would drain off the superfluous labour, and relieve the oppressed, raising the whole tone of female employment.”

“And this is the project you meant?”

“And in which, for the first time, I begin to hope for success, if it can only receive the patronage of some person of influence.”

“Oh, anything I can do!” exclaimed Rachel, infinitely rejoiced. “It is the very thing I have been longing for for years. What, you would form a sort of industrial school, where the children could be taught some remunerative labour, and it might soon be almost self-supporting?”

“Exactly; the first establishment is the difficulty, for which I have been endeavouring to put a few mites together.”

“Every one would subscribe for such a purpose!” exclaimed Rachel.

“You speak from your own generous nature, Miss Curtis; but the world would require patronesses to recommend.”

“There could be no difficulty about that!” exclaimed Rachel; but at this moment she saw the Myrtlewood pony carriage coming to the door, and remembering that she had undertaken to drive out Ermine Williams in it, she was obliged to break off the conversation, with an eager entreaty that Mr. Mauleverer would draw up an account of his plan, and bring it to her the next day, when she would give her opinion on it, and consider of the means.

“My dear,” said her mother, on her return, “how long you have been; and what am I to give for the water-colour?”

“Oh, I forgot all about the water-colour; but never mind what we give, mamma, it is all to go to an asylum for educating poor girls, and giving them some resource beyond that weary lace-making—the very thing I have always longed for. He is coming to settle it all with me to-morrow, and then we will arrange what to give.”

“Indeed, my dear, I hope it will be something well managed. I think if it were not for those middle-men, lace-making would not be so bad. But you must not keep poor Miss Williams waiting.”

Ermine had never seen Rachael in such high spirits as when they set out through the network of lanes, describing her own exceeding delight in the door thus opening for the relief of the suffering over which she had long grieved, and launching out into the details of the future good that was to be achieved. At last Ermine asked what Rachel knew of the proposer.

“Captain Keith, heard he was a distinguished professor and essayist.”

“Then I wonder we have not heard his name,” said Ermine. “It is a remarkable one; one might look in the ‘Clergy List’ at Villars’s.”

“Villars called him a clerical gentleman,” mused Rachel.

“Then you would be sure to be able to find out something about him before committing yourself.”

“I can see what he is,” said Rachel, “a very sensible, accomplished man, and a great deal more; not exactly a finished gentleman. But that is no objection to his doing a great work.”

“None at all,” said Ermine, smiling; “but please forgive me. We have suffered so much from trusting too implicitly, that I never can think it safe to be satisfied without thorough knowledge of a person’s antecedents.”

“Of course,” said Rachel, “I shall do nothing without inquiry. I will find out all about him, but I cannot see any opening for distrust. Schemes of charity are not compatible with self-seeking and dishonesty.”

“But did I not hear something about opinions?”

“Oh, as to that, it was only Villars. Besides, you are a clergyman’s daughter, and your views have a different colouring from mine. Modern research has introduced so many variations of thought, that no good work would be done at all if we required of our fellow-labourers perfect similarity of speculative belief.”

“Yet suppose he undertook to teach others?”

“The simple outlines of universal doctrine and morality which are required by poor children are not affected by the variations to which investigation conducts minds of more scope.”

“I am afraid such variations may often reach the foundation.”

“Now, Miss Williams, I am sure you must often have heard it observed how when it comes to real practical simple teaching of uninstructed people, villagers or may be heathens, the details of party difference melt away, and people find themselves in accordance.”

“True, but there I think party differences in the Church, and even the variations between Christian sects are concerned, both being different ways of viewing the same truth. These may, like the knights in the old fable, find that both were right about the shield, both have the same foundation. But where the foundation is not the same, the results of the teaching will not agree.”

“Every one agrees as to morality.”

“Yes, but do all give a motive sufficient to enforce the self-denial that morality entails? Nay, do they show the way to the spiritual strength needful to the very power of being moral?”

“That is begging the question. The full argument is whether the full church, say Christian system, exactly as you, as we hold it, is needful to the perfection of moral observance. I don’t say whether I assent, but the present question is whether the child’s present belief and practice need be affected by its teacher’s dogmatic or undogmatic system.”

“The system for life is generally formed in childhood. Harvest depends on seed time.”

“And after all,” added Rachel, “we have no notion whether this poor man be not precisely of your own opinions, and from their fruits I am sure you ought to claim them.”

“Their blossoms if you please,” laughed Ermine. “We have not seen their fruits yet.”

“And I shall take care the fruits are not nipped with the blight of suspicion,” said Rachel, good-humouredly.

However, after driving Ermine home, and seeing her lifted out and carried into the house by her sister, Rachel did send the carriage back by the groom and betake herself to Villars’s shop, where she asked for a sight of the “Clergy List.” The name of Mauleverer caught her eye, but only one instance of it appeared, and he was a cathedral canon, his presentation dated in 1832, the time at which, judging from appearances, the object of her search might have been born; besides, he rejoiced in the simple name of Thomas. But Rachel’s search was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the issue of Mr. Mauleverer himself from the reading-room within the shop. He bowed and passed by, but Rachel for the life of her could not hinder a burning colour from spreading to the very tips of her ears; so certain did she feel that she was insulting him by her researches, and that he perceived them. She felt absolutely ashamed to see him the next day, and even in her dreams was revolving speeches that might prove that though cautious and clear-sighted, she was neither suspicious nor narrow-minded.

He came when some morning visitors were at the Homestead, prosy neighbours whose calls were always a penance to Rachel, and the butler, either from the manner of the inquiry or not regarding him as drawing-room company, put him into the dining-room and announced, “Mr. Mauleverer to see Miss Rachel.” Up jumped Miss Rachel, with “You’ll excuse me, it is on business;” and went off highly satisfied that “the mother” was hindered by politeness from making any attempt at chaperonage either personally or through Grace, so unnecessary at her age, for since Colonel Keith’s departure, Rachel’s age had begun to grow on her again. She held out her hand as if to atone for her search, but she found at once that it had been remarked.

“You were doing me the honour to look for my name in the ‘Clergy List,’ Miss Curtis,” he said.

“Yes, one is apt—,” faltered Rachel, decidedly out of countenance.

“I quite appreciate the motive. It is exactly in accord with Miss Curtis’s prudence and good sense. I should wish to be fully explicit before any arrangements are made. I am unhappily not in orders, Miss Curtis. I know your liberality will regard the cause with leniency.”

“Indeed,” said Rachel, sufficiently restored to recall one of her premeditated reassurances. “I can fully appreciate any reluctance to become stringently bound to dogmatic enunciations, before the full powers of the intellect have examined into them.”

“You have expressed it exactly, Miss Curtis. Without denying an iota of them, I may be allowed to regret that our formularies are too technical for a thoughtful mind in the present age.”

“Many have found it so,” returned Rachel, thoughtfully, “who only needed patience to permit their convictions to ripen. Then I understand you, it was a rejection on negative not positive grounds?”

“Precisely; I do not murmur, but it has been the blight of my life.”

“And yet,” said Rachel, consolingly, “it may enable you to work with more freedom.”

“Since you encourage me to believe so, Miss Curtis, I will hope it, but I have met with much suspicion.”

“I can well believe it,” said Rachel; “even some of the most superior persons refuse to lay their hands to any task unless they are certified of the religious opinions of their coadjutors, which seems to me like a mason’s refusing to work at a wall with a man who liked Greek architecture when he preferred Gothic!”

If Rachel had been talking to Ermine she might have been asked whether the dissimilarity might not be in the foundations, or in the tempering of the mortar, but Mr. Mauleverer only commended her liberal spirit, and she thought it high time to turn from this subject to the immediate one in hand. He had wished to discuss the plan with her, he said, before drawing it up, and in effect she had cogitated so much upon it that her ideas came forth with more than her usual fluency and sententiousness. The scheme was that an asylum should be opened under the superintendence of Mr. Mauleverer himself, in which young girls might be placed to learn handicrafts that might secure their livelihood, in especial, perhaps, wood engraving and printing. It might even be possible, in time, to render the whole self-supporting, suppose by the publication of a little illustrated periodical, the materials for which might be supplied by those interested in the institution.

If anything could add to Rachel’s delight it was this last proposition. In all truth and candour, the relief to the victims to lace-making was her primary object, far before all besides, and the longing desire of her heart for years seemed about to be fulfilled; but a domestic magazine, an outlet to all the essays on Curatocult, on Helplessness, on Female Folly, and Female Rights, was a development of the plan beyond her wildest hopes! No dull editor to hamper, reject or curtail! She should be as happy, and as well able to expand as the Invalid herself.

Mr. Mauleverer had brought a large packet of letters with him, in all manner of hands. There were some testimonials from a German university, and letters from German professors in a compromise between English and German hand, looking impossible to read, also the neat writing and thin wavy water-marked paper of American professors and philanthropists in high commendation of his ability and his scheme, and a few others that he said were of too private a nature to do more than show Miss Curtis in confidence, but on which she recognised some distinguished names of persons interested in Social Science. She would not wound his feelings by too close an inquiry, but she felt armed at all points against cavillers. Really, she began to think, it was a great pity Colonel Keith should cross her path again, she had so much on her hands that it would be a public misfortune if any one man’s private domestic love should monopolize her; and yet, such was this foolish world, the Honourable Mrs. Colin Keith would be a more esteemed lady patroness than Miss Rachel Curtis, though the Curtises had been lords of the soil for many generations, and Colonel Keith was a mere soldier of fortune.

One disappointment Rachel had, namely, that Mr. Mauleverer announced that he was about to return to St. Herbert’s, the very large and fashionable watering-place in the next indentation of the coast. He had duties there, he said, and he had only come to Avonmouth for a brief holiday, a holiday that was to result in such happy effects. He lived in an exceedingly retired way, he said, being desirous of saving his small private means for his great object, and he gave Rachel his address at the chief printseller’s of the place, where his letters were left for him, while he made excursions from time to time to study the picturesque, and to give lectures on behalf of philanthropical subjects. He offered such a lecture at Avonmouth, but Mr. Touchett would not lend either school-room, and space was nowhere else available. In the meantime a prospectus was drawn up, which Rachel undertook to get printed at Villars’s, and to send about to all her friends, since a subscription in hand was the first desideratum.

Never since she had grown up to be a thinking woman had Rachel been so happy as with this outlet to her activity and powers of managing, “the good time coming at last.” Eagerly she claimed sympathy, names and subscriptions. Her own immediate circle was always easily under her influence, and Lady Temple, and Mrs. Curtis supplied the dignity of lady patronesses; Bessie Keith was immensely diverted at the development of “that landscape painter,” and took every opportunity of impressing on Rachel that all was the result of her summons to the rescue. Ermine wished Rachel had found out who was the bishop’s chaplain who rejected him, but allowed that it would have been an awkward question to ask, and also she wondered if he were a university man; but Mr. Touchett had been at a Hall, and never knew anybody, besides being so firmly convinced that Mr. Mauleverer was a pestiferous heretic, that no one, except Lady Temple, could have obtained a patient answer from him on that head—and even with her he went the length of a regret that she had given the sanction of her name to an undertaking by a person of whose history and principles nothing satisfactory was known. “Oh!” said Fanny, with her sweet look of asking pardon, “I am so sorry you think so; Rachel wished it so much, and it seems such a nice thing for the poor children.”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Touchett, well nigh disarmed by the look, “I am quite sensible of the kindness of all you do, I only ventured to wish there had been a little more delay, that we were more certain about this person.”

“When Colonel Keith comes back he will find out all about him, I am sure,” said Fanny, and Mr. Touchett, to whom seemed to have been transferred Rachel’s dislike to the constant quoting of Colonel Keith, said no more.

The immediate neighbourhood did not very readily respond to the appeal to it in behalf of the lace-makers. People who did not look into the circumstances of their neighbours thought lace furnished a good trade, and by no means wished to enhance its price; people who did care for the poor had charities of their own, nor was Rachel Curtis popular enough to obtain support for her own sake; a few five-pound notes, and a scanty supply of guineas and half-guineas from people who were ready at any cost to buy off her vehement eyes and voice was all she could obtain, and with a subscription of twenty pounds each from her mother, Lady Temple, and Grace, and all that she could scrape together of her own, hardly seemed sufficient to meet the first expenses, and how would the future be provided for? She calculated how much she could spare out of her yearly income, and actually, to the great horror of her mother and the coachman, sold her horse.

Bessie Keith was the purchaser. It was an expense that she could quite afford, for she and her brother had been left very well off by their father—a prudent man, who, having been a widower during his Indian service, had been able to live inexpensively, besides having had a large amount of prize money. She had always had her own horse at Littleworthy, and now when Rachel was one day lamenting to her the difficulty of raising money for the Industrial Asylum, and declaring that she would part with her horse if she was sure of its falling into good hands, Bessie volunteered to buy it, it was exactly what would suit her, and she should delight in it as a reminder of dear Avonmouth. It was a pang, Rachel loved the pretty spirited creature, and thought of her rides with the Colonel; but how weigh the pleasure of riding against the welfare of one of those hard-worked, half-stifled little girls, and besides, it might be best to have done with Colonel Keith now that her mission had come to find her. So the coachman set a purposely unreasonable value upon poor Meg, and Rachel reduced the sum to what had been given for it three years before; but Bessie begged her brother to look at the animal and give his opinion.

“Is that what you are after?” he exclaimed.

“Indeed, Alick, I thought it was the greatest kindness I could do her; she is so very eager about this plan, and so anxious to find poor Meg a good home.”

“Purely to oblige her?”

“Of course, Alick, it was much more convenient to her than if she had had to send about to horse-dealers or to advertise. I doubt if she could have done it at all; and it is for her asylum, you know.”

“Then give the coachman’s sixty guineas at once.”

“Ah, Alick, that’s your infatuation!” and she put on a droll gesture of pity. “But excuse me, where would be the fine edge of delicacy in giving a manifestly fancy price? Come and look at her.”

“I never meddle with horse-dealing.”

“Stuff, as if you weren’t the best-mounted man in the regiment. I shall send a note to Captain Sykes if you won’t; he knows how to drive a bargain.”

“And give a fancy price the other way. Well, Bessie, on one condition I’ll go, and that is, that Meg goes to Bishopsworthy the day she is yours. I won’t have her eating Lady Temple’s corn, and giving her servants trouble.”

“As if I should think of such a thing.”

Captain Keith’s estimate of the value of the steed precisely agreed with Rachel’s demand of the original price. Bessie laughed, and said there was collusion.

“Now seriously, Alick, do you think her worth so much? Isn’t it a pity, when you know what a humbug poor Rachel is going to give it to?” and she looked half comical, half saucy.

“If she were going to throw it into the sea, I don’t see what difference that would make.”

“Ah! you are far too much interested. Nothing belonging to her can bear a vulgar price.”

“Nothing belonging to me is to gain profit by her self-denial,” said Alick, gravely. “You cannot do less than give her what she gave for it, if you enter on the transaction at all.”

“You mean that it would look shabby. You see we womankind never quite know the code of the world on such matters,” she said, candidly.

“There is something that makes codes unnecessary, Bessie,” he said.

“Ah! I can make allowances. It is a cruel stroke. I don’t wonder you can’t bear to see any one else on her palfrey; above all as a sacrifice to the landscape painter.”

“Then spare my feelings, and send the mare to Bishopsworthy,” said Alick, as usual too careless of the imputation to take the trouble to rebut it or to be disconcerted.

Bessie was much tickled at his acceptance, and laughed heartily.

“To be sure,” she said, “it is past concealment now. You must have been very far gone, indeed, to have been taken in to suppose me to be making capital of her ‘charitable purposes.’”

“Your acting is too like life,” he said, not yet induced to laugh, and she rattled on with her droll, sham sentimental air. “Is it the long words, Alick, or is it ‘the great eyes, my dear;’ or is it—oh, yes, I know what is the great attraction—that the Homestead doesn’t possess a single spot where one could play at croquet!”

“Quite irresistible!” replied Alick, and Bessie retreated from the colloquy still not laughing at but with him; that is, if the odd, quaint, inward mirth which only visibly lengthened his sleepy eyes, could be called a laugh.

Next time Captain Keith rode to Avonmouth he met the riding party on the road, Bessie upon Rachel’s mare, and it appeared that Lady Temple had considered it so dreadful that Meg should not share her hospitality, that it had been quite impossible to send her away. “So, Alick, your feelings must endure the dreadful spectacle.”

Meanwhile Rachel was hard at work with the subscribers to the “Christian Knowledge Society.” Beginning with the A’s, and working down a page a day, she sent every member a statement of the wrongs of the lacemakers, and the plans of the industrial establishment, at a vast expense of stamps; but then, as she calculated, one pound thus gained paid for two hundred and forty fruitless letters.

“And pray,” said Alick, who had ridden on to call at the Homestead, “how do you reconcile yourself to the temptation to the postmen?”

“They don’t see what my letters are about?”

“They must be dull postmen if they don’t remark on the shower of envelopes that pass through their hands—ominous money-letters, all with the same address, and no detection remember. You don’t know who will answer and who will not.”

“I never thought of that,” said Rachel; “but risks must be run when any great purpose is in hand.”

“The corruption of one postman versus the rescue of—how many children make a postman?” asked Captain Keith, with his grave, considering look.

“The postman would be corrupt already,” said Grace, as Rachel thought the last speech too mocking to be worthy of reply, and went on picking up her letters.

“There is another objection,” added Captain Keith, as he watched her busy fingers. “Have you considered how you are frightening people out of the society? It is enough to make one only subscribe as Michael Miserly or as Simon Skinflint, or something equally uninviting to applications.”

“I shall ask you to subscribe by both names!” said Rachel, readily. “How much for Simon Skinflint?”

“Ten pounds. Stop—when Mr. Mauleverer gives him a reference.”

“That’s ungenerous. Will Michael Miserly make up for it?”

“Yes, when the first year’s accounts have been audited.”

“Ah! those who have no faith to make a venture can never effect any good.”

“You evidently build on a great amount of faith from the public. How do you induce them to believe—do you write in your own name?”

“No, it makes mamma unhappy. I was going to put R. C., but Grace said people would think it meant Roman Catholic. Your sister thought I had better put the initials of Female Union for Lacemaker’s Employment.”

“You don’t mean that Bessie persuaded you to put that?” exclaimed Alick Keith, more nearly starting up than Rachel had ever seen him.

“Yes. There is no objection, is there?”

“Oh, Rachel, Rachel, how could we have helped thinking of it?” cried Grace, nearly in a state of suffocation.

Rachel held up her printed appeal, where subscriptions were invited to the address of F. U. L. E., the Homestead, Avonmouth.

“Miss Curtis, though you are not Scottish, you ought to be well read in Walter Scott.”

“I have thought it waste of time to read incorrect pictures of pseudo-chivalry since I have been grown up,” said Rachel. “But that has nothing to do with it.”

“Ah, Rachel, if we had been more up in our Scotch, we should have known what F. U. L. E. spells,” sighed Grace.

A light broke in upon Rachel. “I am sure Bessie never could have recollected it,” was her first exclamation. “But there,” she continued, too earnest to see or stumble at straws, “never mind. It cannot be helped, and I dare say not one person in ten will be struck by it.”

“Stay,” said Grace, “let it be Englishwoman’s Employment. See, I can very easily alter the L into an E.”

Rachel would hardly have consented, but was forced to yield to her mother’s entreaties. However, the diligent transformation at L’s did not last long, for three days after a parcel was left at the Homestead containing five thousand printed copies of the appeal, with the E rightly inserted. Bessie laughed, and did not disavow the half reluctant thanks for this compensation for her inadvertence or mischief, whichever it might be, laughing the more at Rachel’s somewhat ungrateful confession that she had rather the cost had gone into a subscription for the F. U. E. E. As Bessie said to herself, it was much better and more agreeable for all parties that it should so stand, and she would consider herself in debt to Alick for the amount. Indeed, she fully expected him to send her in the bill, but in the meantime not one word was uttered between the brother and sister on the subject. They understood one another too well to spend useless words.

Contrary to most expectation, there was result enough from Rachel’s solicitations to serve as justification for the outlay in stamps. The very number of such missives that fly about the world proves that there must be a great amount of uninquiring benevolence to render the speculation anything but desperate, and Rachel met with very tolerable success. Mr. Mauleverer called about once a week to report progress on his side, and, in his character of treasurer, to take charge of the sums that began to accumulate. But Rachel had heard so much on all sides of the need of caution in dealing with one so entirely a stranger, that she resolved that no one should blame her for imprudence, and therefore retained in her own name, in the Avoncester Bank, all the sums that she received. Mr. Mauleverer declared himself quite contented with this arrangement, and eagerly anticipated the apologies that Rachel was ashamed even to make to him.

Enough was collected to justify a beginning on a small scale. A house was to be taken where Mr. Mauleverer and a matron would receive the first pupils, teach them wood engraving, and prepare the earlier numbers of the magazine. When a little more progress had been made, the purchase of a printing-press might be afforded, and it might be struck off by the girls themselves, but in the meantime they must be dependent on the regular printer. On this account Mr. Mauleverer thought it best to open the establishment, not at Avonmouth, but at St. Herbert’s, where he had acquaintance that would facilitate the undertaking.

Rachel was much disappointed. To be in and out constantly, daily teaching and watching the girls, and encouraging them by learning the employment herself, had been an essential portion of her vision. She had even in one of her most generous moods proposed to share the delight with the Williamses, and asked Ermine if she would not, if all things suited, become the resident matron. However, Mr. Mauleverer said that there was an individual of humbler rank, the widow of a National Schoolmaster, so anxious to devote herself to the work, that he had promised she should share it whenever he was in a condition to set the asylum on foot; and he assured Rachel that she would find this person perfectly amenable to all her views, and ready to work under her. He brought letters in high praise of the late school master, and recommendations of his widow from the clergyman of the parish where they had lived; and place and name being both in the “Clergy List,” even Ermine and Alison began to feel ashamed of their incredulity, whilst as to Grace, she had surrendered herself completely to the eager delight of finding a happy home for the little children in whom she was interested. Grace might laugh a little at Rachel, but in the main her trust in her sister’s superiority always led her judgment, and in the absence of Colonel Keith, Fanny was equally willing to let Rachel think for her when her own children were not concerned.

Rachel did not give up her hopes of fixing the asylum near her till after a considerable effort to get a house for it at Avonmouth, but this was far from easy. The Curtises’ unwillingness to part with land for building purposes enhanced the price of houses, and in autumn and winter the place was at its fullest, so that she could not even rent a house but at a ruinous price. It would be the best way to build on Homestead land, but this would be impracticable until spring, even if means were forthcoming, as Rachel resolved they should be, and in the meantime she was obliged to acquiesce in Mr. Mauleverer’s assurance that a small house in an overbuilt portion of St. Norbert’s would be more eligible than one in some inland parish. Anything was better than delay. Mr. Mauleverer was to superintend from his lodgings.

Rachel went with Grace and her mother to St. Norbert’s, and inspected the house, an ordinary cheap one, built to supply lodgings for the more economical class of visitors. It was not altogether what Rachel wished, but must serve till she could build, and perhaps it would be best to form her experience before her plans. Mr. Mauleverer’s own lodgings were near at hand, and he could inspect progress. The furniture was determined upon—neat little iron beds for the dormitories, and all that could serve for comfort and even pleasure, for both Mr. Mauleverer and Rachel were strong against making the place bare and workhouse-like, insulting poverty and dulling the spirit.

Grace suggested communication with the clergyman of the parish; but the North Hill turned out not to belong to St. Norbert’s proper, being a part of a great moorland parish, whose focus was twelve miles off. A district was in course of formation, and a church was to be built; but in the meantime the new houses were practically almost pastorless, and the children and their matron must take their chance on the free seats of one of the churches of St. Norbert’s. The staff of clergy there were so busy that no one liked to add extra parochial work to their necessary duties, and there was not sufficient acquaintance with them to judge how they would view Mr. Mauleverer’s peculiarities. Clerical interference was just what Rachel said she did not want; it was an escape that she did not call it meddling.

One bit of patronage at least she could exercise; a married pair of former Homestead servants had set up a fuel store at St. Norbert’s, receiving coal from the ships, and retailing it. They were to supply the F. U. E. E. with wood, coal, and potatoes; and this was a great ingredient in Mrs. Curtis’s toleration. The mother liked anything that brought custom to Rossitur and Susan.

The establishment was at present to consist of three children: the funds were not sufficient for more. One was the child of the matron, and the other two were Lovedy Kelland and the daughter of a widow in ill health, whose family were looking very lean and ill cared for. Mrs. Kelland was very unwilling to give Lovedy up, she had always looked to receiving the apprentice fee from the Burnaby bargain for her as soon as the child was fourteen, and she had a strong prejudice against any possible disturbance to the lace trade; but winter would soon come and her sale was uncertain; her best profit was so dependent on Homestead agency that it was impolitic to offend Miss Curtis; and, moreover, Lovedy was so excited by the idea of learning to make pictures to books that she forgot all the lace dexterity she had ever learnt, and spoilt more than she made, so that Mrs. Kelland was reduced to accept the kind proposal that Lovedy should be Lady Temple’s nominee, and be maintained, by her at the F. U. E. E. at seven shillings a week.

Fanny, however, asked the clergyman’s consent first, telling him, with her sweet, earnest smile, how sorry she was for the little girl, and showing him the high testimonials to Mrs. Rawlins. He owned that they were all that could be wished, and even said at her request that he would talk to Mr. Mauleverer. What the talk amounted to they never knew; but when Fanny said “she hoped he had found nothing unsatisfactory, the poor man must be so glad to be of use;” Mr. Touchett replied with, “Indeed, it is an unfortunate situation;” and his opposition might therefore be considered as suspended.

“Of course,” cried Bessie, “we know by what witchery!” But Alison Williams, her listener, turned on her such great eyes of wilful want of comprehension, that she held her peace.

Rachel and Grace united in sending Mary Morris, the other child; they really could do nothing more, so heavily had their means been drawn upon for the first expenses; but Rachel trusted to do more for the future, and resolved that her dress should henceforth cost no more than Alison Williams’s; indeed, she went through a series of assertions by way of examining Alison on the expenses of her wardrobe.

The house was taken from Michaelmas, and a few days after, the two little victims, as Bessie laughingly called them, were taken over to St. Norbert’s in the Homestead carriage, Lady Temple chaperoning the three young ladies to see the inauguration, and the height of Rachel’s glory.

They were received by Mr. Mauleverer at the door, and slightly in the rear saw the matron, Mrs. Rawlins, a handsome pale woman, younger than they expected, but whose weeds made Fanny warm to her directly; but she was shy and retiring, and could not be drawn into conversation; and her little Alice was only three years old, much younger than Rachel had expected as a pupil, but a very pretty creature with great black eyes.

Tea and cake were provided by way of an inauguration feast, and the three little girls sat up in an atmosphere of good cheer, strongly suggestive of school feasts, and were left in the midst, with many promises of being good, a matter that Lovedy seemed to think would be very easy in this happy place, with no lace to make.

Mrs. Rawlins, whose husband had been a trained schoolmaster, was to take the children to church, and attend to their religious instruction; indeed, Mr. Mauleverer was most anxious on this head, and as Rachel already knew the scruples that withheld him from ordination were only upon the absolute binding himself to positive belief in minor technical points, that would never come in the way of young children.

Altogether, the neat freshness of the room, the urbanity of Mr. Mauleverer, the shy grief of the matron, all left a most pleasant impression. Rachel was full of delight and triumph, and Grace and Fanny quite enthusiastic; the latter even to the being sure that the Colonel would be delighted, for the Colonel was already beginning to dawn on the horizon, and not alone. He had written, in the name of his brother, to secure a cottage of gentility of about the same calibre as Myrtlewood, newly completed by a speculator on one of the few bits of ground available for building purposes. A name was yet wanting to it; but the day after the negotiation was concluded, the landlord paid the delicate compliment to his first tenant by painting “Gowanbrae” upon the gate-posts in letters of green. “Go and bray,” read Bessie Keith as she passed by; “for the sake of the chief of my name, I hope that it is not an omen of his occupations here.”