Uncle Max

GILES HAMILTON, ESQ.

It was quite late in the afternoon when I put the last finishing-touches to my sitting-room, and it was already dusk when I left the cottage and walked quickly up the road that led to the vicarage.

My busy day had not tired me, and I should have enjoyed a solitary ramble in spite of the wet roads and dark November sky, only I knew Uncle Max would be waiting for me. A keen sense of independence, of liberty, of congenial work in prospective, seemed to tingle in my veins, as though new life were coursing through them. I was no longer trammelled by the constant efforts to move in other people's grooves. I was free to think my own thought and lead my own life without reproof or hindrance.

The vicarage was a red, irregular house, shut off from the road by a low wall, with a court-yard planted somewhat thickly with shrubs: the living-rooms were chiefly at the back of the house, and their windows looked out on a pleasant garden: a glass door in the hall opened on a broad gravel terrace bordered by standard rose-trees, and beyond lay a smooth green lawn almost as level as a bowling-green; a laurel hedge divided it from an extensive kitchen-garden, to which Uncle Max and Mr. Tudor devoted a great deal of their spare time and superfluous energies.

It was far too large a house for an unmarried man: the broad staircase and spacious rooms seemed to require the echo of children's voices. Uncle Max used to call it the barracks, but I think in his heart he liked the roomy emptiness; when he was restless he would prowl up and down the wide landing from one unused room to another. It was an old-fashioned house, and more than one generation had grown up in it. Uncle Max was fond of telling me about his predecessors' histories. Two little children had died in the big nursery overlooking the garden. There was a little brown room where a ci-devant vicar had written his sermons, with a big cupboard in the wall where he hung his cassock. He had a grown-up family, but his wife was dead. One day he married again and brought home a slim, pale-faced girl—a certain Priscilla Howe—to be the mistress of his house. There were stories rife in the village that her step-children were too much for poor, pretty Priscilla; that while her husband wrote his sermons in the little brown room the young wife pined and moped in her green sitting-room.

Uncle Max found a picture of her one day in a garret where they stored apples; a faint musty smell clung to the canvas. 'Priscilla Howe' was written in one corner; there was a childish look on the small oval face; large melancholy eyes seemed appealing to one out of the canvas. She was dressed in a heavy white material like dimity, and held a few primroses between her fingers. What an innocent, pathetic little bride the stern-faced vicar must have brought home!

I read her epitaph afterwards when Uncle Max showed me her grave,—'Priscilla, wife of Ralph Combermere, aged twenty, and her infant son.' What a sad little inscription! But Uncle Max read something sadder still one day. A letter in faded ink was found in a corner of the same old garret, and the signature was 'Priscilla'; there was only one sentence legible in the whole, and to whom it was written remained a mystery: 'Trust me, dear love, that I shall ever do my duty, in spite of flaunts and jeers and most unkindly looks; and if God spares me health, which I cannot believe, He may yet right me in the eyes that no longer look at me with fondness.'

Poor Priscilla! so her husband had ceased to love her. No wonder the poor child dwindled and pined among 'the flaunts and jeers and most unkindly looks' of her step-children. One could imagine her clasping her baby to her sad heart as she closed her eyes to the bitter misunderstanding of this life. 'Where the weary are at rest,'—they might have written those words upon her tomb.

The thought of Priscilla used to haunt me when I roamed about the passages on windy days; the old garret especially seemed haunted by her memory. Uncle Max once said to me that he could have constructed a romance out of her poor little history. 'She came from a place called Ecclesbourne Hall,' he said, one day. 'She was an heiress; old Ralph Combermere knew what he was about when he transplanted the pale primrose. Do you know, Ursula, this room is supposed to be haunted? And one of the maids told me seriously that Mistress Combermere walks here on windy nights with her babe in her arms. Fancy such a report in an English vicarage!'

When I reached the house the little maid who opened the door informed me that Uncle Max was in his study: it was a large room with a bow-window overlooking the garden, and I knew Uncle Max never used any other room except for his meals. I had volunteered to announce myself. I was never formal with Max, so I knocked at the door, and, without waiting to hear his voice in reply, marched in without ceremony.

But the next moment I stood discomfited on the threshold, for instead of Uncle Max's familiar face I saw a dark, closely-cropped head bending over the table as though searching for something, and the ruddy firelight reflected the broad shoulders and hairless profile of the obnoxious Mr. Hamilton.

My first idea was to escape, and my fingers were already on the door-handle, when he turned abruptly and saw me. 'I beg your pardon,' coming towards me and speaking in the deep peculiar voice I had already heard. 'I was hunting for the matches that Cunliffe always mislays. You are Miss Garston, are you not? I was told to expect you.' And then he actually shook hands with me in an off-hand way.

I am not generally devoid of presence of mind, but at that moment I behaved as awkwardly as a school-girl. If I could only have thought of some excuse for leaving him,—an errand or a message to Mrs. Drabble; but no form of words would occur to me. I could only mutter an apology for my abrupt entrance, and ask after Uncle Max, stammering with confusion all the time, and then take the chair he was placing for me, while he renewed his search for the match-box.

'Oh, Cunliffe has only gone down to the village to post his letters: he will be back in a few minutes. Ah! here are the matches. Now we shall be able to see each other.' And he coolly lighted Uncle Max's reading-lamp and two candles, and stirred the fire with such a vigorous hand that the huge lump of coal splintered into fragments.

'There; I do like a mighty blaze. Take that newspaper, Miss Garston, if the flame scorches your face. I know young ladies are afraid of their complexions.' Why need he have said that, as though my brown skin were Sara's pretty pink cheeks? 'Why do you not throw off your wraps if the room be too hot?' And he spoke so imperatively that I actually obeyed him, and got rid of my hat and ulster, which he deposited on the couch.

I did not like the look of Mr. Hamilton any better than I had liked it yesterday. His dark, smoothly-shaven face was not to my taste; it looked stern and forbidding. He had a low forehead, and there was a hard set look about the mouth, and the eyes were almost disagreeable in their keenness.

Perhaps I was prejudiced, but he looked to me like a man who rarely laughed, and who would take a pleasure in saying bitter things; his voice was not unpleasant, but it had a peculiar depth in it, and now and then there was an odd break in it that was almost a hesitation.

'Well,' he said, looking full at me, but, I was sure, not in the least wishful to set me at my ease, 'I suppose I ought to introduce myself. My name is Hamilton.'

I bowed. I certainly did not think it necessary that I should tell him that I was aware of that fact.

'We met yesterday, when you were good enough to put up with Nap's company. I was half disposed to introduce myself then: only I feared you would be shocked at such a piece of unconventionality; young ladies have such strict ideas of decorum.'

'And very properly so, too,' I put in severely, for my irritation was getting the better of my nervousness. I could not bear the tone in which he said 'young ladies.' I felt convinced he had an antipathy to the whole sex.

'Our skies were very uncivil in their welcome,' he went on, quite disregarding my remark: 'it was the wettest night we have had for an age. I was quite savage when I found the horses had been taken out of their warm stables: the coachman was an ass, as I told him.'

'You scolded him somewhat severely.'

'Ah! did you hear me?' smiling a little at that, as though he were amused. 'I am afraid I speak my mind pretty freely, in spite of bystanders. Well, Miss Garston, so I hear you have come down as a sort of female Quixote among us. Heathfield is to be the scene of your mission.'

I was so angry at the tone in which he said this that I made no reply. What right had a perfect stranger to meddle in my business? It was all Uncle Max's fault; if he had only held his tongue.

'Cunliffe was up at Gladwyn the other night,' he continued in the same off-hand way, 'and he told us all about it.'

'I am sorry to hear it,' very stiffly.

'Sorry! Why? Good deeds ought to be talked about, ought they not, pro bono publico, eh? Why not, Miss Garston?'

'Good intentions are not deeds.'

'True; you have me there. I suppose you think you must not reckon on your chickens before they are hatched; the pro bono publico scheme is not properly hatched yet, except in theory. I am afraid I shall make you angry if I tell you I was rather amused at the whole thing.'

'I am glad to afford you amusement, Mr. Hamilton.'

'Ah, I see you are deeply offended; what a pity, and in five minutes too! That comes of my unfortunate habit of speaking my mind. Let me follow this out. I am afraid Cunliffe has been a traitor; that fellow is not reliable: no parsons are. Let me hear what you have against me, Miss Garston. I have spoken against your pet theory, and you are aggrieved in consequence,'

He spoke in a half-jesting manner, but his ironical voice challenged me.

I felt I detested him, and he should know why.

'I expected to be misunderstood,' I returned coldly, 'but hardly to be accused of hysterical goodness. To be sure, a girl will do anything nowadays to get herself talked about!'

'Oh,' in a low voice, 'that rascal! But I will be even with him. How many more of my speeches did Cunliffe repeat?'

'Oh, I had heard enough,' I replied hastily. 'Does it not strike you as a little hard, Mr. Hamilton, that one should be judged beforehand in this harsh manner?—that because some girls are full of vagaries, the whole sex must be condemned?'

'Oh, if you put it in that cut-and-dried way, I must plead guilty: in fact, I should owe you some sort of apology, only'—with a stress on the word—'my speech was not intended for the house-top. I am rather a sceptic about female missions, Miss Garston, and do not always measure my words when I am discussing abstract theories with a friend. In my opinion Cunliffe is the one you ought to blame, though if the speech rankles I will take my share.'

'I certainly wish you had not said it, Mr. Hamilton.'

'There, now,'—in an injured voice,—'that is the way you treat my handsome apology, and I am not a man ever to own myself in the wrong, mind you. What does it matter, may I ask, what I think of girls in the abstract? I had not met you, Miss Garston, or discussed the subject in its bearings: so where may the offence lie? Of course you have no answer ready; of course you have taken offence where none is meant. This is so like a woman—to undertake to renovate society, and lose her temper at the first adverse word.'

He was looking at me with a peculiar but not unkindly smile as he spoke; in fact, his expression was almost pleasant; but I was too much prejudiced to be softened. I did not care in the least what he thought of my temper; I was quite sure he had one of his own.

'No one likes to meet discouragement on the threshold,' I answered curtly.

'Not if it comes out with timbrels and dances, like Jephtha's daughter, to be sacrificed: that was discouragement on the threshold with a vengeance. I was always sorry for that old fellow. Well, apropos of that touching remark,—which, by the way, is exquisitely feminine,—supposing we strike a truce. I daresay you look upon me as an interfering stranger; but the fact is, I am the poor folk's doctor down here; so you cannot work without me. That alters the case, eh?'—with a smile meant to be propitiatory, but really too triumphant for my taste.

'Under those circumstances I could wish that you had less narrow views of women's work,' I returned, with some warmth.

He opened his eyes so widely at this that at any other moment I should have been amused.

'By all that is wonderful, it is the first time I have been accused of narrowness.' And here he gave a gruff little laugh. 'I think I had better leave yon alone, Miss Garston, and label you "dangerous." There is a hot sparkle in your eyes that warns me to keep off the premises. "Trespassers will be taken up." I begin to feel uncomfortable. Cunliffe has put me en parole, and I dare not break bounds. Can you manage to sit in the same room a little longer with such a heretic?'

'Heretics can be converted.'

He shrugged his shoulders at this.

'Not such a hardened sceptic as myself. Now, look here, Miss Garston. I will say something civil. I believe you are in earnest; so it shall be pax between us; and I will promise not to thwart you. As for women's mission in general, I believe their principal mission is not to stop at home and mind their own business; in fact, home and homely duties are the last straws that break the back of the emancipated woman.' And with these audacious words Mr. Hamilton stirred the fire again with prodigious energy. Happily, Uncle Max came into the room at that moment; so I was spared any reply.

Max must have thought that I was suspiciously glad to see him, for he looked from one to the other rather anxiously.

'Sorry to be so late, Ursula; but I met Pardoe, and he entrapped me into an argument. Well, how have you and my friend Hamilton got on together?'

I turned away without answering, but Mr. Hamilton responded, in a melancholy voice—

'I have been suppressed, like the dormouse in Alice's teapot. There is very little left of me. I had no idea your niece had such a taste for argument, Cunliffe. I take it rather unkindly that I was not warned off the track.'

'So you two have been quarrelling.' And Uncle Max looked a little vexed. 'What a fellow you are, Hamilton, for stroking a person the wrong way! Of course Ursula has believed all your cross-grained remarks?'

'Swallowed them whole and entire; and a fit of moral indigestion is the result. Well, I must be going; but first let me administer a palliative, Miss Garston. What time do you have breakfast? If it be before ten, I shall be happy to introduce you to a very eligible case.'

I would have given much to dispense with Mr. Hamilton's patronage; but under the circumstances it would have been absurd to refuse his offer. I could not sacrifice my work to my temper; but I recognised with a sinking heart that Mr. Hamilton would cross my daily path. The idea was as delightful to me as the anticipation of a daily east wind. I restrained myself, however, and briefly mentioned that I would be ready by nine.

'Oh, that is an hour too early: I will call for you at ten. Let me see, you are at the White Cottage. You are not curious about your first patient; in that you are not a true daughter of Eve. Well, good-bye, Miss Garston; good-bye, Cunliffe.' And he left the room without shaking hands with me again.

Uncle Max followed him out into the hall, and they stood so long talking that I lost patience, and went into the kitchen to see Mrs. Drabble.

She received me in a resigned way, as usual, and talked without taking breath once while she buttered the hot cakes and prepared the tea-tray. I understood her to say that Mr. Tudor's collars were her chief cares in life; that no young gentleman she had ever known was so hard to please in the matter of starch; that her master was a lamb in comparison; and did I not think he was looking ill and overworking himself?

I had some difficulty in finding out to whom she was alluding, but I imagined she meant her master, who was certainly looking a little thin, and then she went off on another tack.

'Folks seem mighty curious about you, Miss Ursula; people do say that only a young lady crossed in love would think of doing such an out-of-the-way thing as putting up at the White Cottage and nursing poor people. There was Rebecca Saunders,—you know Rebecca at the post-office,—she said to me last night, "So your young lady has come, Mrs. Drabble; the vicar was at the station, I hear, and Dr. Hamilton came down by the same train: wasn't that curious, now? I am thinking she must be a mighty independent sort of person to take this work on her; there has been trouble somewhere, take my word for it, for it is not in young folks' nature to go in for work and no play."'

'Oh, I mean to play as well as work,' I returned, laughing. 'Don't tell me any more, Mrs. Drabble; people will talk in a village, but I would rather not hear what they say.' And then I went back to the study and made tea for Uncle Max, and tried to pretend that I felt quite myself, and was not the least uneasy in my mind,—as though I could deceive Max.

'Well, Ursula,' he said, shaking his head at me, 'did Hamilton or Mrs. Drabble give you those hot cheeks?'

'Oh, Uncle Max,' I returned hastily, 'I am so sorry Mr. Hamilton is your friend.'

'Why so, little she-bear?'

'Because—because—I detest him: he is the most disagreeable, insufferable, domineering person I have ever met.'

'Candid; but then you were always outspoken, my dear. Now, shall I tell you what this disagreeable, insufferable, domineering person said to me in the hall?'

'Oh, nothing he said will make any difference in my opinion, I assure you.'

'Possibly not, but it is too good to be lost. He said, "That little girl actually believes in herself and her work; it is quite refreshing to meet with such naïveté nowadays. Ursula did you call her? Well, the name just suits her." How do you like that, poor little bear?'

'I like it as well as I liked all Mr. Hamilton's speeches. Max, do you really care for that odious man? Must I be civil to him?'

'Indeed, I hope you will be civil, Ursula,' replied Uncle Max, in an alarmed voice. 'My dear, Giles Hamilton, Esq., is my most influential parishioner; he is rich; he doctors all my poor people gratis, bullies them one moment, and does them a good turn in the next; he is clever, kind-hearted, and has no end of good points, and, though he is eccentric and has plenty of faults, we chum together excellently, and I am very intimate with his people.'

'His people—who are they?' I asked irritably.

'Oh, it is a queer household up at Gladwyn,' returned Max, rather uneasily. 'Hamilton has a cousin living with him, as well as his two sisters; her name is Darrell,—Etta Darrell; she is a stylish-looking woman, about five-and-thirty; one never knows a lady's age exactly.'

'Are his sisters very young, then? Does Miss Darrell manage the house?'

'Yes. How could you guess that?' looking at me in surprise. 'Gladys, Miss Hamilton, is about three-and-twenty, but she is very delicate; the younger one, Elizabeth, is two years younger; they are Hamilton's half-sisters,—his father married twice: that accounts for a good deal.'

'How do you mean,—accounts for a good deal, Max?'

'Why people say that Hamilton doesn't always get on with his sisters,' he returned reluctantly: 'there are often misunderstandings in families,—want of harmony, and that sort of thing. Mind, I do not say it is true.'

'But you are so often at Gladwyn, you ought to know, Max.'

'Yes, of course; and now and then I have seen Hamilton a little stern with his sisters; he is rather irritable by nature. I don't quite understand things myself, but I have got it into my head that they would be happier without Miss Darrell; she is a splendid manager, but it puts Miss Hamilton out of her right place.'

'But she is an invalid, you say?'

'No, not an invalid, only very delicate, and a little morbid; not quite what a girl ought to be. You could do some good there, Ursula,' rather eagerly. 'Miss Hamilton has no friends of her own age; she is reserved,—peculiar. You might be a comfort to her; you are sympathetic, sensible, and have known trouble yourself. I should like to see you use your influence there.'

'I will try, if you wish it, Max. And her name is Gladys?'

'Yes, Gladys, of Gladwyn,' he returned, with a smile, but I thought he said it with rather a singular intonation, but it had a musical sound, and I repeated it again to myself,—'Gladys, of Gladwyn.'

NEW BROOMS SWEEP CLEAN

We were interrupted just then by Mrs. Drabble, who came in for the tea-things, and, as usual, held a long colloquy with her master on sundry domestic affairs. When she had at last withdrawn, Uncle Max did not resume the subject. I was somewhat disappointed at this, and in spite of my strong antipathy to Mr. Hamilton I wanted to hear more about his sisters.

He disregarded my hints, however, and began talking to me about my work.

'Do you know anything about the family Mr. Hamilton mentioned?' I asked, rather eagerly.

'Oh yes; Mary Marshall's is a very sad case; she has seven children, not one of them old enough to work for himself; and she is dying, poor creature, of consumption. Her husband is a navvy, and he is at work at Lewes; I believe he is pretty steady, and sends the greater part of his wages to his wife, but there are too many mouths to feed to allow of comforts; his old blind mother lives with them. I believe the neighbours are kind and helpful, and Peggy, the eldest child, is a sharp little creature, but you can imagine the miserable condition of such a home.'

'Yes, indeed.' And I shuddered as I recalled many a sad scene in my father's home.

'I have sent in a woman once or twice to clean up the place; and Mrs. Drabble has made excellent beef-tea, but the last lot turned sour from being left in the hot kitchen one night, and the cat upset the basin of calf's-foot jelly,—at least the children said so. I go there myself, because Tudor says the air of the place turns him sick: he looked as white as a ghost after his last visit, and declared he was poisoned with foul air.'

'I daresay he was right, Max; poor people have such an objection to open their windows.'

'I believe you there. I have talked myself nearly hoarse on that subject. Hamilton and I propose giving lectures in the schoolroom on domestic hygiene. There is a fearful want of sanitary knowledge in women belonging to the lower class; want of cleanliness, want of ventilation, want of whitewashing, are triple evils that lead to the most lamentable results. We cannot get people to understand the common laws of life; the air of their rooms may be musty, stagnant, and corrupt, and yet they are astonished if their children have an attack of scarlet fever or diphtheria.'

I commended the notion of the lectures warmly, and asked with whom the idea had originated.

'Oh, Hamilton, of course: he is the moving spirit of everything. We have planned the whole thing out. There is to be a lecture every Friday evening; the first is to be on household hygiene, the sanitary condition of houses, ventilation, cleanliness, etc. In the second lecture Hamilton will speak of the laws of health, self-management, personal cleanliness, to be followed by a few simple lectures on nursing, sick-cookery, and the treatment of infantile diseases. We want all the mothers to attend. Do you think it a good idea, Ursula?'

'It is an excellent one,' I returned reluctantly, for I grudged the praise to Mr. Hamilton. He could benefit his fellow-creatures, and give time and strength and energy to the poor sick people, and yet sneer at me civilly when I wanted to do the same, just because I was a woman. Perhaps Max was disappointed with my want of enthusiasm, for he ceased talking of the lectures, and said he had some more letters to write before dinner, and during the rest of the evening, though we discussed a hundred different topics, Mr. Hamilton's name was not again mentioned.

Uncle Max walked with me to the gate of the White Cottage, and bade me a cheerful good-night.

'I like to feel you are near me, Ursula,' he said, quite affectionately; 'an old bachelor like myself gets into a groove, and the society of a vigorous young woman, brimful of philanthropy and crotchets, will rub me up and do me good; one goes to sleep sometimes,' he finished, rather mournfully, and then he walked away in the darkness, and I stood for a minute to watch him.

It seemed to me that Max was a little different this evening. He was always kind, always cheerful; he never wrapped himself up in gloomy reserve like other people, however depressed or ill at ease he might be; but Mrs. Drabble was right, he was certainly thinner, and there was an anxious careworn look about his face when he was not speaking. I was certain, too, that his cheerfulness and ready flow of conversation were not without effort. I had asked him once if he were quite well, and he had looked at me in evident astonishment.

'Perfectly well, thank you,—in a state of rude health. Nothing ever ails me. Why do you ask?' But I evaded this question, for I knew Max hated to be watched; and, after all, what right had I to intrude into his private anxieties? doubtless he had plenty of these, like other men. The management of a large parish was on his shoulders, and he was too conscientious and hard-working to spare himself; but somehow the shadow lying deep down in Max's honest brown eyes haunted me as I unlatched the cottage door.

I heard Nathaniel's voice in the kitchen, and went in to bid him and his mother good-night. Mrs. Barton was not there, however, but, to my chagrin, Mr. Hamilton occupied her seat. He looked up with a rather quizzical glance as I entered: he and Nathaniel had the round table between them, strewn with books and papers; Nathaniel was writing, and Mr. Hamilton was sitting opposite to him.

'I beg your pardon,' I said hurriedly. 'I thought Mrs. Barton was here.'

'She has gone to bed,' returned Mr. Hamilton coolly: 'my friend Nathaniel and I are hard at work, as you see. Do you know anything of mathematics, Miss Garston?—no, you shake your head—' I do not know what more he would have said, but I escaped with a quick good-night.

As I went upstairs I made a resolution to avoid the kitchen in future: I might at any moment stumble upon Mr. Hamilton. I had forgotten that he gave Nathaniel lessons sometimes in the evening. What a ubiquitous mortal this man appeared, here, there, and everywhere! It had given me rather a shock to see him so comfortably domiciled in Mrs. Barton's cosy kitchen; he looked as much at home there as in Uncle Max's study. How bright Nathaniel had looked as he raised his head to bid me good-night! I was obliged to confess that they had seemed as happy as possible.

It was very late when he left the cottage; I was just sinking off to sleep when I heard his voice under my window. Tinker heard it too, and barked, and then the gate shut with a sudden sharp click and all was still. Nathaniel must have crept up to bed in his stocking-feet, as they say in some parts, for I never heard him pass my door.

I was glad to be greeted by sunshine the next morning; the day seemed to smile on my new work like an unuttered benison, as I went down to my solitary breakfast. I resolved that nothing Mr. Hamilton could say should damp or put me out of temper, and then I sat down and read a sad rambling letter from Jill, which was so quaint and original, in spite of its lugubriousness, that it made me smile.

I was standing by the door, caressing Tinker, who was in a frolicking mood this morning, when I saw Mr. Hamilton cross the road; he wore a dark tweed suit and a soft felt hat,—a costume that did not suit him in the least; he held open the gate for me, and made a sign that I should join him. As I approached without hurrying myself in the least, he looked inquiringly at the basket I carried.

'I hope you do not intend to pauperise your patients,' was his first greeting.

'Oh no,' was my reply, but I did not volunteer any information as to the contents of the basket. There was certainly a jar of beef-tea that Mrs. Drabble had given me, and a few grapes; but the little store of soap, soda, fine rags, and the two or three clean towels and cloths would have surprised him a little, though he might have understood the meaning of the neat housewife.

'I am glad you wear print dresses,' was his next remark; 'they are proper for a nurse. Stuff gowns that do not wash are abominations. I am taking you to a very dirty place, Miss Garston, but what can you expect when there are seven children under thirteen years of age and the mother is dying? She was a clean capable body when she was up; it is hard for her to see the place like a pig-sty now. Old Mrs. Marshall is blind, and as helpless as the children,' He spoke abruptly, but not without feeling.

'The neighbours are good to them, Uncle Max tells me.'

'Oh yes; they come in and tidy up a bit, that is their expression; now and then they wash the baby or take off a batch of dirty clothes, but they have their own homes and children. I tell my patient that she would be far more comfortable in a hospital; but she says she cannot leave the children, she would rather die at home. That is what they all say.'

'But the poor creatures mean what they say, Mr. Hamilton.'

'Oh, but it is all nonsense!' he returned irritably. 'She can do nothing for the children; she cannot have a moment's quiet or a moment's comfort, with all those grimy noisy creatures rushing in and out. I found her sitting up in bed yesterday, in danger of breaking a blood-vessel through coughing, because one of the imps had fallen down and cut his head and she was trying to plaster it.'

'Her husband ought to be with her,' I said, somewhat indignantly.

'He is on a job somewhere, and cannot come home; they must have bread to eat, and he must work. This is the house,' pointing to a low white cottage at the end of a long straggling street of similar houses; two or three untidy-looking children were playing in the front garden with some oyster-shells and a wooden horse without a head. One little white-headed urchin clapped his hands when he saw Mr. Hamilton, and a pretty little girl with a very dirty face ran up to him and clasped him round the knee.

''As 'oo any pennies to-day?' she lisped.

'No nonsense; run away, children,' he said, in a rough voice that did not in the least alarm them, for they scampered after us into the porch until an elder girl, with a year-old baby in her arms, met us on the threshold and scolded them away.

Mr. Hamilton shook a big stick at them.

'I shall give no pennies to children with dirty faces. Well, Peggy, how is mother? Have the boys gone to school, both of them? That is right. This is the lady who is coming to look after mother.'

Here Peggy dropped a courtesy, and said, 'Yes, sir,' and 'yes please, mum.'

'Mind you do all she tells you. Now out of my way. I want to speak to your grandmother a moment, and then I will come into the other room.'

I followed him into the untidy, miserable looking kitchen. An old woman was sitting by the fire with an infant in her arms; we found out that it belonged to the neighbour who was washing out some things in the yard. She came in by and by, clattering over the stones in her thick clogs,—a brisk, untidy-looking young woman,—and looked at me curiously as she took her baby.

'I must be going home now, granny,' she said, in a loud, good-humoured voice. 'Peggy can rinse out the few things I've left.'

Granny had a pleasant, weather-beaten face, only it looked sunken and pale, and the poor blind eyes had a pathetic, unseeing look in them. To my surprise, she looked neat and clean. I had yet to learn the slow martyrdom the poor soul had endured during the last few months in that squalid, miserable household. To her, cleanliness was next to godliness. She had brought up a large family well and thriftily, and now in her old age and helplessness her life had no comfort in it. I was rather surprised to see Mr. Hamilton shake the wrinkled hand heartily.

'Well, Elspeth, what news of your son? Is he likely to come home soon?'

'Nay, doctor,' in a faint old treble: 'Andrew cannot leave his job for two or three months to come. He is terrible down-hearted about poor Mary. Ay, she has been a good wife to him and the bairns; but look at her now! Poor thing! Poor thing!'

'We must all dree our weird. You are a canny Scotch-woman, and know what that means. Come, you must cheer up, for I have brought a young lady with me who is going to put your daughter-in-law a little more comfortable and see after her from time to time.'

'Ay, but that is cheering news,' returned Elspeth; and one of the rare tears of old age stole down her withered cheek. 'My poor Mary! she is patient, and never complains; but the good Lord is laying a heavy cross on her.'

'That is true,' muttered Mr. Hamilton, and then he said, in a business-like tone, 'Now for the patient, Miss Garston'; and as he led the way across the narrow passage we could hear the hard, gasping cough of the sick woman.

Peggy, with the baby still in her arms, was trying to stir a black, cindery fire, that was filling the room with smoke. The child was crying, and the poor invalid was sitting up in bed nearly suffocated by her cough. The great four-post bed blocked up the little window. The remains of a meal were still on the big round table. Some clothes were drying by the hearth; a thin tortoise-shell cat was licking up a stream of milk that was filtering slowly across the floor, in the midst of jugs, cans, a broken broom, some children's toys, and two or three boots. The bed looked as though it had not been made for days; the quilt and valance were deplorably dirty; but the poor creature herself looked neat and clean, and her hair was drawn off from her sunken cheeks and knotted carefully at the back of her head. Mr. Hamilton uttered an exclamation of impatience when he saw the smoke, and almost snatched the poker out of Peggy's hands.

'Take the child away,' he said angrily. 'Miss Garston, if you can find some paper and wood in this infernal confusion, I shall be obliged to you: this smoke must be stopped.'

I found the broken lid of a box that split up like tinder, and Peggy brought me an old newspaper, and then I stood by while Mr. Hamilton skilfully manipulated the miserable fire.

'All these ashes must be removed,' he said curtly, as he rose with blackened hands: 'the whole fireplace is blocked up with them.' And then he went to the pump and washed his hands, while I sent Peggy after him with a nice clean towel from my basket. While he was gone I stepped up to the bed and said a word or two to poor Mrs. Marshall.

She must have been a comely creature in her days of health, but she was fearfully wasted now. The disease was evidently running its course; as she lay there exhausted and panting, I knew her lease of life would not be long.

'It was the smoke,' she panted. 'Peggy is young: she muddles over the fire. Last night it went out, and she was near an hour getting it to light.'

'It is burning beautifully now,' I returned; and then Mr. Hamilton came back and began to examine his patient, professionally. I was surprised to find that his abrupt manner left him; he spoke to Mrs. Marshall so gently, and with such evident sympathy, that I could hardly believe it was the same person; her wan face seemed to light up with gratitude; but when he turned to me to give some directions for her treatment he spoke with his old dryness.

'I shall be here about the same time to-morrow,' he finished; and then he nodded to us both, and went away.

'Mrs. Marshall,' I said, as I warmed the beef-tea with some difficulty in a small broken pipkin, 'do you know of any strong capable girls who would clean up the place a little for me?'

'There is Weatherley's eldest girl Hope still at home,' she replied, after a moment's hesitation, 'but her mother will not let her work without pay. She is a poor sort of neighbour, is Susan Weatherley, and is very niggardly in helping people.'

'Of course I should pay Hope,' I answered decidedly; and when the beef-tea was ready I called Peggy and sent her on my errand. One glance at the place showed me that I could do nothing for my patient without help. Happily, I had seen some sheets drying by the kitchen fire, but they would hardly be ready for us before the evening; but when Mrs. Marshall had taken her beef-tea I covered her up and tried to smooth the untidy quilt. Then, telling her that we were going to make her room a little more comfortable, I pinned up my dress and enveloped myself in a holland apron ready for work.

Peggy came back at this moment with a big, strapping girl of sixteen, who looked strong and willing. She was evidently not a woman of words, but she grinned cheerful acquiescence when I set her to work on the grate, while I cleared the table and carried out all the miscellaneous articles that littered the floor.

Mrs. Marshall watched us with astonished eyes. 'Oh dear! oh dear!' I heard her say to herself, 'and a lady too!' but I took no notice.

I sent Hope once or twice across to her mother for various articles we needed,—black lead, a scrubbing-brush, some house flannel and soft soap,—and when she had finished the grate I set her to scrub the floor, as it was black with dirt. I was afraid of the damp boards for my patient, but I covered her up as carefully as possible, and pinned some old window-curtains across the bed. Neglect and want of cleanliness had made the air of the sick-room so fetid and poisonous that one could hardly breath it with safety.

Now and then I looked in the other room and spoke a cheerful word to granny. Peggy was doing her best for the children, but the poor baby seemed very fretful. Towards noon two rough-headed boys made their appearance and began clamouring for their dinner. The same untidy young woman whom I had seen before came clattering up the yard again in her clogs and helped Peggy spread great slices of bread and treacle for the hungry children, and warmed some food for the baby. I saw granny trying to eat a piece of bread and dripping that they gave her and then lay it down without a word: no wonder her poor cheeks were so white and sunken.

Mrs. Drabble had promised me some more beef-tea, so I warmed a cupful for granny and broke up a slice of stale bread in it: it was touching to see her enjoyment of the warm food. The eldest boy, Tim, was nearly eleven years old, and looked a sharp little fellow, so I set him to clean up the kitchen with Peggy and make things a little tidier, and promised some buns to all the children who had clean faces and hands at tea-time.

I left Hope still at work when I went up to the White Cottage to eat some dinner. Mrs. Barton had made a delicate custard-pudding, which I carried off for the invalid's and granny's supper. My young healthy appetite needed no tempting, and my morning's work had only whetted it. I did not linger long in my pretty parlour, for a heavy task was before me. I was determined the sick-room should have a different appearance the next morning.

I sent Hope to her dinner while I washed and made my patient comfortable. The room felt fresher and sweeter already; a bright fire burned in the polished grate; Hope had scoured the table and wiped the chairs, and the dirty quilt and valance had been sent to Mrs. Weatherley's to be washed. When Hope returned, and the sheets were aired, we re-made the bed. I had sent a message early to Mrs. Drabble begging for some of the lending blankets and a clean coloured quilt, which she had sent down by a boy. The scarlet cover looked so warm and snug that I stood still to admire the effect; poor Mary fairly cried when I laid her back on her pillow.

'It feels all so clean and heavenly,' she sobbed; 'it is just a comfort to lie and see the room.'

'I mean granny to come and have her tea here,' I said, for I was longing for the dear old woman to have her share of some of the comfort; and I had just led her in and put her in the big shiny chair by the fire, when Uncle Max put his head in and looked at us.

'Just so,' he said, nodding his head, and a pleased expression came into his eyes. 'Bravo, Ursula! Tudor won't know the place again. How you must have worked, child!' And then he came in and talked to the sick woman.

I had taken a cup of tea standing, for I was determined not to go home and rest until I left for the night. I could not forget the poor fretful baby, and, indeed, all the children were miserably neglected. I made up my mind that Hope and I would wash the poor little creatures and put them comfortably to bed. My first day's work was certainly exceptionally hard, but it would make my future work easier.

The baby was a pale, delicate little creature, very backward for its age; it left off fretting directly I took it in my lap, and began staring at me with its large blue eyes. Hope had just filled the large tub, and the children were crowding round it with evident amusement, when Uncle Max came in. He contemplated the scene with twinkling eyes.

'"There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,"' he began humorously. 'My dear Ursula, do you mean to say you are going to wash all those children? The tub looks suggestive, certainly.'

I nodded.

'Who would have believed in such an overplus of energy? Hard work certainly agrees with you.' And then he went out laughing, and we set to work, and then Hope and I carried in the children by detachments, that the poor mother might see the clean rosy faces. I am afraid we had to bribe Jock, the youngest boy, for he evidently disliked soap and water.

Peggy and the baby slept in the mother's room; there was a little bed in the corner for them. I did not leave until granny had been taken upstairs and poor tired Peggy was fast asleep with the baby beside her.

The room looked so comfortable when I turned for a last peep. I had drawn the round table to the bed, and left the night-light and cooling drink beside the sick woman; she was propped up with pillows, and her breathing seemed easier. When I bade her good-night, and told her I should be round early in the morning, she said, 'Then it will be the first morning I shall not dread to wake. Thank you kindly, dear miss, for all you have done'; and her soft brown eyes looked at me gratefully.

THE FLAG OF TRUCE

It could not be denied that I was extremely tired as I walked down the dark road; but in spite of fatigue my heart felt lighter than it had done since Charlie's death, and the warm glow from the window of my little parlour seemed to welcome me, it looked so snug and bright. My low chair was drawn to the fire, a sort of tea-supper was awaiting me, and Mrs. Barton came out of the kitchen as soon as I had lifted the latch, to ask what she could do for me.

The first words surprised me greatly. Mr. Hamilton had called late in the afternoon, and had seemed somewhat surprised to hear I was still at the cottage, but he had left no message, and Mrs. Barton had no idea what he wanted with me.

I was half inclined to think that he had another case ready for me, but I had done my day's work and refused to think of the morrow. The first volume of Kingsley's Life was lying on the little table: I had brought it from the vicarage the preceding evening. I passed a delicious hour in my luxurious chair, and went to bed reluctantly that I might be fit for the next day's fatigue.

As soon as I had breakfasted the next morning and read my letters, a chatty one from Sara and an affectionate note from Lesbia, I went down to the cottage.

I found my patient a little easier; she had passed a better night, and seemed, on the whole, more cheerful. Hope had arrived, and was scrubbing the kitchen, as I had enjoined her. Baby seemed poorly and fretful. I gave her in charge of Peggy, and set myself to the work of putting my patient and the sick-room in order, after which I intended to wash the baby and see after granny's and the children's dinner.

I had just brushed up the hearth and put the kettle to boil, when Mr. Hamilton's shadow crossed the window, and the next moment he was in the room.

I was sure that a half-smile of approbation came to his lips as he looked round the room; he lifted his eyebrows as though in surprise as he noticed everything,—the neat hearth, white boards, and bright window, and lastly the comfortable appearance of the bed, with its scarlet quilt and clean sheets.

'This is quite a transformation-scene, Miss Garston,' he said, in an approving tone. 'No wonder you were not at home in the afternoon. My patient looks cheery too: one would think I had set the fairy Order to work.' I felt that this was meant for high praise, and I received it graciously. I knew I had worked well and achieved wonders; but then I had Hope's strong arms to help me: it had been straightforward work, too, with no complication: any charwoman could have done it as well. I was sorry that his commendation set Mrs. Marshall's tongue going; she became so voluble, in spite of her cough, that I was obliged to enforce silence.

Mr. Hamilton's visit was very brief. I asked him to prescribe for the baby, but he said nothing ailed it in particular; it had always been sickly, and had been so neglected of late, most likely sour food had been given it. Mrs. Tyler, the next-door neighbour, who had looked after it, was a thoughtless body. 'You must take it in hand yourself, Miss Garston,' he finished; 'keep it warm and clean, and see the food properly prepared: that will be better than any medicine.' And then he went off with his usual abruptness, only I saw him stop at the gate to give pennies to Janie and little Jock.

There was still so much to do that I determined to spend the whole day at the cottage. I sent off all the dirty things for Mrs. Tyler to wash at home, for she was so noisy and untidy that I did not care to have her on the premises, and I thought granny could sit in Mrs. Marshall's room and hold baby while Peggy waited on me and ran errands.

Hope worked splendidly: when she had scoured the kitchen and front passage, she went upstairs and scrubbed the two rooms where granny and the children slept. I had made a potato pie with some scraps of meat Peggy had brought from the butcher's, and had seen the dish emptied by the hungry children. When I had fed the sandy cat and had had my own dinner, which Mrs. Barton had packed in a nice clean basket, and had peeped at my patient, I went upstairs to help Hope, and Peggy went with me. The state of the sleeping-rooms had horrified me in the morning; the windows had evidently not been open for weeks, and the sheets on granny's bed were black with dirt. Hope had washed the bedstead, and Peggy had lighted a fire, that the room might be habitable by night. Tim came up while we were busy, and stared at us. I was helping Peggy drag the mattresses and bedclothes into the passage. The open windows and the wet boards reeking with soft soap evidently astonished him.

'Where be us to sleep to-night?' quoth Tim; 'it is colder than in the yard.' But Peggy, who was excited by her work, bade him hold his tongue and not stand gaping there blocking up the passage.

I had been singing over my work, just to put heart into all of us and make us forget what a very disagreeable business it was, when Tim again made his appearance and said there was a gentleman in the kitchen. 'He thought he knowed him, but wasn't sure, but he had asked for the lady.' I went down at once, and found it was Mr. Tudor; he was sitting very comfortably by the fire, with all the children round him; little Janie was on his knee; her face was clean, and her pretty curls had been nicely brushed, so I did not mind her cuddling up to him, and I knew he was fond of children and always ready to play with them.

He put her down and shook hands with me, and said the vicar had sent him to look after me, as he could not come himself. I thought he looked a little amused at my appearance; and no wonder. I had quite forgotten that I had tied a handkerchief over my head to keep the dust from off my hair; with my holland bib-apron and sleeves, and pinned-up dress, I must have looked an odd figure; but when I said so he laughed, and observed that he rather admired my novel costume: it reminded him of a Highland peasant he had once seen.

'Was that you who were singing just now, Miss Garston?' he asked presently, looking at me with some attention.

'Yes,' I returned. 'You seem surprised. Surely you have heard me sing at Hyde Park Gate?' But he shook his head very decidedly.

'I should not have forgotten your voice if I had once heard it,' he said, in such a pleasant manner that the straightforward compliment did not embarrass me. 'You ought not to let such a talent rust, Miss Garston: the vicar must utilise you for our Penny Readings.'

I was horrified at this notion, and told him very seriously that nothing would induce me to sing on a platform, but that it was not my intention to let it rust, only I had my own ideas how best to utilise it.

He looked curious at this, but I changed the subject by asking him if he would like to see Mrs. Marshall. He hesitated, coloured slightly as though the question were distasteful, then he put down Janie from his knee,—for the child had clambered up again,—and said the vicar had undertaken the case, as he was rather new to the work, but he would see her if I wished it.

I was provoking enough to say that I did wish it, for I wanted him to see the comfortable appearance of the room that he so dreaded to enter. I felt sorry for Mr. Tudor in my heart that his work should be so distasteful to him: he was a fine, manly young fellow, who would have made a splendid sailor or soldier, but sick-rooms and old women were not to his taste, and yet he was very gentle and sympathising in his manners, and all the poor people liked him.

Granny was dozing by the fire, and the baby was asleep on the mother's bed, and as I opened the door I quite enjoyed Mr. Tudor's start of astonishment at the changed scene. I did not let him stay long, but I thought his kind looks and pleasant voice would cheer poor Mary. He said very little to either her or Elspeth, but what he said was sensible and to the point.

I sent him away after this, for my work was waiting for me. He went off laughing, and protesting that he had no idea that I had taken up the rôle of a charitable charwoman, and that the vicar would remonstrate with me on the subject.

I think we all felt the brighter for Mr. Tudor's little visit, though he had said nothing specially clever; but he was an honest, genial creature, and I liked him thoroughly. I stopped at the cottage late that evening, for Mrs. Marshall wanted a letter written to her husband, and I could not refuse to do it. I was almost too tired to enjoy Kingsley that night, and found myself dozing over it, so I shut it up and went to bed.

Mr. Hamilton did not make his appearance until later the next day, when I was presiding over the children's dinner. I had just carried in a plate of lentil soup to granny, whom I now kept entirely in the sick-room, as she was too old to bear the children's noise, and the constant draughts from the opening door would soon have laid her on a sick-bed. I had baby in my lap, and was feeding her when he looked in on us.

I rose at once to follow him into the sick-room, but he waved me back.

'Do not disturb yourself, Miss Garston; you all look very comfortable. Jock, are you trying to swallow that spoon? You will find it a hard morsel.' And then he went into the other room, and, to my surprise, we did not see him again.

I left a little earlier that evening, as I knew Uncle Max meant to pay me a visit; but it was already dark when I closed the little gate behind me. I had not gone many paces when I heard footsteps behind me, and, somewhat to my dismay, Mr. Hamilton joined me.

'Have you only just finished your day's work?' he said, in evident surprise. 'This will never do, Miss Garston; we shall have you knocking yourself up if you use up your time and strength so recklessly, and I want you for another case.'

'I am quite prepared for that,' I answered; but I am afraid my voice was a little weary. 'You called on me yesterday, Mr. Hamilton. I was sorry to be out, but there was so much to do that I stayed at the cottage until quite late in the evening.'

'Just so,' in rather a vexed tone. 'The village nurse will be on a sick-bed herself if this goes on.'

'Oh, what nonsense!' I returned, laughing, for I forgot for the moment in the darkness that I was speaking to the formidable Mr. Hamilton. 'I do not always mean to work quite so hard. Mr. Tudor called me a charitable charwoman last evening; but this is an exceptional case,—so many helpless beings, and such shocking mismanagement and neglect. When I put things on a proper footing I shall not spend so much time there.'

'What do you mean by putting things on a proper footing?' he asked, with some show of interest.

'When the place has been properly cleaned it will be kept tolerably tidy with less labour. Hope Weatherley has been hard at work for two days, and things are now pretty comfortable.'

'I suppose—excuse me if the question seems impertinent, but I imagine that you paid Hope out of your own purse?'

'For those two days, certainly. It was necessary for my own comfort, speaking selfishly, that the place should be made habitable. My nursing would have been a mere mockery unless we could have got rid of the dirt,'

'You are perfectly right. I had no idea you were such a practical person. But, if you will allow me to give you a hint, Marshall earns good wages, and there ought to be sufficient money to pay for a moderate amount of help.'

'I told Mrs. Marshall so this morning,' I returned, pleased to find myself talking with such ease to Mr. Hamilton; but he seemed quite different to-night; evidently his brusquerie was a mere mannerism that he laid aside at times; he had lost that sneering manner that I so much disliked. I remembered Uncle Max said that he was kind-hearted and eccentric.

'We had a long talk,' I went on. 'Marshall sends the money regularly, and I am to manage it. Mrs. Tyler is to wash for us, and I think we can afford to have Hope for at least an hour a day, to do the rough work; Peggy is so little to do everything.'

'Heaven help poor Peg!' he ejaculated; 'for she will soon have all those children on her hands. Mrs. Marshall cannot last long. Well, Miss Garston, how many hours do you intend to spend at the cottage daily?'

'I should think two hours in the morning and an hour and a half in the late afternoon or evening might do, unless there be a change for the worse, or Elspeth falls ill; she is very old and feeble.'

'She was half starved, poor old creature,—fairly clemmed, as they say in the North. Here we are at your place, Miss Garston. How bright and inviting your parlour looks! I wonder if I may ask to come in for a few minutes, while I tell you about the other case?'

Of course I could not do less than invite him to enter, after that; but I am afraid my manner lacked enthusiasm, and betrayed the fact that I was unwilling to entertain Mr. Hamilton as a guest, for when I saw his face in the lamplight he was regarding me with some amusement.

'Cunliffe has done me no end of mischief,' he said, as he offered to relieve me of my wraps: 'that unfortunate speech has strongly prejudiced you against me. Confess, now, you think me a very disagreeable person, because I happened to disagree with you that evening.'

'Certainly not on that account,' I returned, falling into the trap; and then we both laughed, for I had as good as owned that I thought him disagreeable. That laugh made us better friends. I felt I no longer disliked him: it was certainly not his fault that Providence had given him that type of face, and I supposed one could get used to it.

'I was in an evil mood that afternoon,' he went on, and then I knew instinctively that he wanted to efface his satirical words from my memory. 'Things had gone wrong somehow,—for this world of ours is a mighty muddle sometimes.' And here he gave an impatient sigh. 'It is a relief to human nature to vent one's spleen on the first handy person that crosses one's path, and, pardon me for saying so, you were just a little aggressive yourself,' looking at me rather dubiously, as though he were not quite sure how I should take this hit. My conscience told me that I had been far from peaceable; on the contrary, I had been decidedly cross; not that I would confess that this was the case, so I only returned mildly that I considered that he had been hard on me that day, and had handled my pet theory very roughly.

'Come, now you are talking like a reasonable woman, and I will plead guilty to some severity. Let me own that I distrusted you, Miss Garston. I have a horror of gush, and what I call the working mania of young ladies, and you had not proved to me then that you could work. At the present day, if a girl is restless and bad-tempered, and cannot get on with her own people, she takes up hospital-nursing, and a rare muddle she makes of it sometimes. I own hospital work is better than the convent of the Middle Ages, where the troublesome young ladies were safely immured; but, as I said before, I distrust the hysterical restlessness of the age.'

'No doubt you have a fair amount of argument on your side,' I replied, so meekly that he looked at me, and then got up from his chair and said hastily that I was tired, and he was thoughtless to keep me waiting for my tea.

'Let me give you some, while you tell me about the case,' was my hospitable reply; for, though I felt no special desire to prolong our tête-à-tête, mere civility prompted my offer.

He hesitated, then, to my surprise, sat down again, and said he would be very much obliged if I would give him a cup of tea, as he was tired too, and had to go farther and keep his dinner waiting.

I went out of the room to remove my hat and speak to Mrs. Barton. When I came back he was standing before Charlie's photograph, and evidently studying it with some attention, but he made no remark about it; and I told him of my own accord that it was the portrait of my twin-brother, who had died two years ago.

'Indeed! There is no likeness; at least I should not have known it was your brother. This is often the case between relations,' he continued hastily, as though he feared he had hurt me. 'What a snug little berth you have, Miss Garston, and everything so ship-shape too! I suppose that is your piano; but I am afraid you will have little time to practise.' And then, as I handed him his tea, he threw himself down in the easy-chair and seemed prepared to enjoy himself.

Looking at Mr. Hamilton this evening, I could have believed he had two sides to his character: he presented such a complete contrast to the Mr. Hamilton in Uncle Max's study that I was quite puzzled by it. He had certainly a clever face, and his smile was quick and bright; it was only in rest that his mouth looked so stern and hard. I found myself wondering once or twice if he had known any great trouble that had embittered him.

'Well, I must tell you about poor Phoebe Locke,' he began suddenly. 'I want you to find out what you can do for her. The Lockes are respectable people: Phoebe and her sister were dressmakers. They live a little lower down,—at Woodbine Cottage.

'Some years ago spinal disease came on, and now Phoebe is bedridden. She suffers a good deal at times, but her worst trouble is that her nerves are disordered, most likely from the dulness and monotony of her life. She suffers cruelly from low spirits; and no wonder, lying all day in that dull little back room. Her sister cannot sit with her, as Phoebe cannot bear the noise of the sewing-machine, and the sight of the outer world seems to irritate her. The neighbours would come in to cheer her up, but she does not seem able to bear their loud voices. It is wonderful,' he continued musingly, 'how education and refinement train the voice: strange to say, though my voice is not particularly low, and certainly not sweet, it never seems to jar upon her.'

'Very likely not,' I returned quickly; 'no doubt she depends upon you for all her comforts: to most invalids the doctor's visit is the one bright spot in the day.'

'It seems strange that we do not project our own shadows sometimes, and make our patient shiver,' he said, with a touch of gruffness. 'It is little that I can do for Phoebe, except order her a blister or ice when she needs it. One cannot touch the real nervous suffering: there is where I look to you for help; a little cheerful talk now and then may lighten her burden. Anyhow, it would be a help for poor Miss Locke, who has a sad time of it trying to earn food for them both. There is a little niece who lives with them, a subdued, uncanny little creature, who looks as though the childhood were crushed out of her; you might take her in hand too.'

'I wonder if Phoebe would like me to sing to her,' I observed quietly. 'I have found it answer sometimes in nervous illnesses.'

I thought my remark surprised him.

'It is a good idea,' he said slowly. 'You might try it. Of course it would depend a great deal on the quality of voice and style of singing. I wonder if you would allow me to judge of this,'—looking meaningly at the piano; but I shook my head at this, and he did not press the point.

We had very little talk after this, for he went away almost directly, first arranging to meet me at Mrs. Marshall's about four the next day and go with me to Woodbine Cottage.

'You will find plenty of work, Miss Garston,' were his final words, 'so do not waste your strength unnecessarily.' And then he left the room, but came back a moment afterwards to say that his sisters meant to call on me, only they thought I was hardly settled yet: 'we must get Mr. Cunliffe to bring you up to Gladwyn: we must not let you mope.'

I thought there was little chance of this, with Uncle Max and Mr. Tudor always looking after me. Mr. Hamilton had hardly closed the door before Uncle Max opened it again.

'So the enemy has tasted bread and salt, Ursula,' he said, looking excessively pleased: 'that is right, my dear: do not give way to absurd prejudices. You and Hamilton will get on splendidly by and by, when you get used to his brusque manner.' And, though I did not quite endorse this opinion, I was obliged to acknowledge to myself that the last half-hour had not been so unpleasant after all.