"What then? He is the more likely to attempt the fulfilment of his own prophecies."

"Then he is the more likely to try to fulfil his own prophecies.


"It would not do to permit incidents of this sort to affect one's nerves."

Chapter 13: FURTHER COMMUNICATIONS ON BUSINESS


"Pass straight down the fields, not round by the lade and plantations."


"It is late. For my part, I am going in. Will you promise me not to wander in the Hollow to-night?"

"It is late. For my part, I am going in. Will you promise me not to wander in the Hollow tonight?"


"I do wish it. May I ask whether you consider life valueless?"

"I do wish it. Do you consider life valueless?"


"By no means. On the contrary, of late I regard my life as invaluable."

"On the contrary, of late I regard my life as invaluable.


"Existence is neither aimless nor hopeless to me now, and it was both three months ago. I was then drowning, and rather wished the operation over. All at once a hand was stretched to me--such a delicate hand I scarcely dared trust it; its strength, however, has rescued me from ruin."

Existence is neither aimless nor hopeless to me now," said Moore, "and it was both three months ago. I was then drowning. All at once a hand was stretched to me - such a delicate hand I scarcely dared trust it; its strength, however, has rescued me from ruin."


"For the time. Your assistance has given me another chance."


"Live to make the best of it. Don't offer yourself as a target to Michael Hartley; and good-night!"


Miss Helstone was under a promise to spend the evening of the next day at Fieldhead. She kept her promise. Some gloomy hours had she spent in the interval. Most of the time had been passed shut up in her own apartment, only issuing from it, indeed, to join her uncle at meals, and anticipating inquiries from Fanny by telling her that she was busy altering a dress, and preferred sewing upstairs, to avoid interruption.

Caroline had promised to spend the next evening at Fieldhead. The gloomy hours beforehand she spent shut up in her own apartment, only leaving it to join her uncle at meals, and avoiding inquiries from Fanny by telling her that she was busy altering a dress.


She did sew. She plied her needle continuously, ceaselessly, but her brain worked faster than her fingers. Again, and more intensely than ever, she desired a fixed occupation, no matter how onerous, how irksome. Her uncle must be once more entreated, but first she would consult Mrs. Pryor. Her head laboured to frame projects as diligently as her hands to plait and stitch the thin texture of the muslin summer dress spread on the little white couch at the foot of which she sat. Now and then, while thus doubly occupied, a tear would fill her eyes and fall on her busy hands; but this sign of emotion was rare and quickly effaced. The sharp pang passed; the dimness cleared from her vision. She would re-thread her needle, rearrange tuck and trimming, and work on.

She did sew. She plied her needle ceaselessly, but her brain worked faster than her fingers. More intensely than ever, she desired a fixed occupation. Her uncle must be once more entreated, but first she would consult Mrs. Pryor. Her head laboured to make plans: now and then, a tear would fall on her busy hands; but this sign of emotion was rare and quickly effaced. She would re-thread her needle, and work on.


Late in the afternoon she dressed herself. She reached Fieldhead, and appeared in the oak parlour just as tea was brought in. Shirley asked her why she came so late.

Late in the afternoon she reached Fieldhead, and appeared in the oak parlour just as tea was brought in. Shirley asked her why she came so late.


"Because I have been making my dress," said she. "These fine sunny days began to make me ashamed of my winter merino, so I have furbished up a lighter garment."

"Because I have been making my summer dress," said she.


"In which you look as I like to see you," said Shirley. "You are a lady-like little person, Caroline.--Is she not, Mrs. Pryor?"

"In which I will like to see you," said Shirley. "You are a lady-like little person, Caroline. Is she not, Mrs. Pryor?"


Mrs. Pryor never paid compliments, and seldom indulged in remarks, favourable or otherwise, on personal appearance. On the present occasion she only swept Caroline's curls from her cheek as she took a seat near her, caressed the oval outline, and observed, "You get somewhat thin, my love, and somewhat pale. Do you sleep well? your eyes have a languid look." And she gazed at her anxiously.

Mrs. Pryor never paid compliments on personal appearance. On this occasion she only swept Caroline's curls from her cheek, and observed, "You get somewhat thin, my love, and somewhat pale. Do you sleep well?" And she gazed at her anxiously.


"I sometimes dream melancholy dreams," answered Caroline; "and if I lie awake for an hour or two in the night, I am continually thinking of the rectory as a dreary old place. You know it is very near the churchyard. The back part of the house is extremely ancient, and it is said that the out-kitchens there were once enclosed in the churchyard, and that there are graves under them. I rather long to leave the rectory."

"I sometimes dream melancholy dreams," answered Caroline; "and if I lie awake at night, the rectory seems a dreary old place. You know it is very near the churchyard, and it is said that there are graves underneath the out-kitchens. I rather long to leave the rectory."


"My dear, you are surely not superstitious?"


"No, Mrs. Pryor; but I think I grow what is called nervous. I see things under a darker aspect than I used to do. I have fears I never used to have--not of ghosts, but of omens and disastrous events; and I have an inexpressible weight on my mind which I would give the world to shake off, and I cannot do it."

"No, Mrs. Pryor; but I think I grow what is called nervous. I see things under a darker aspect than I used to do. I have fears I never used to have; and I have an inexpressible weight on my mind which I would give the world to shake off, and I cannot do it."


"Strange!" cried Shirley. "I never feel so." Mrs. Pryor said nothing.


"Fine weather, pleasant days, pleasant scenes, are powerless to give me pleasure," continued Caroline. "Calm evenings are not calm to me. Moonlight, which I used to think mild, now only looks mournful. Is this weakness of mind, Mrs. Pryor, or what is it? I cannot help it. I often struggle against it. I reason; but reason and effort make no difference."

"Fine weather and pleasant scenes give me no pleasure," continued Caroline. "Calm evenings are not calm to me. Is this weakness of mind, Mrs. Pryor, or what is it? I cannot help it. I often struggle against it. I reason; but reason and effort make no difference."


"You should take more exercise," said Mrs. Pryor.


"Exercise! I exercise sufficiently. I exercise till I am ready to drop."

"Exercise! I exercise till I am ready to drop."


"My dear, you should go away from home."


"Mrs. Pryor, I should like to go from home, but not on any purposeless excursion or visit. I wish to be a governess, as you have been. It would oblige me greatly if you would speak to my uncle on the subject."

"Mrs. Pryor, I should like to. I wish to be a governess, as you have been. It would oblige me greatly if you would speak to my uncle on the subject."


"Nonsense!" broke in Shirley. "What an idea! Be a governess! Better be a slave at once. Where is the necessity of it? Why should you dream of such a painful step?"

"Nonsense!" broke in Shirley. "What an idea! Be a governess! Better be a slave. Why should you dream of such a painful step?"


"My dear," said Mrs. Pryor, "you are very young to be a governess, and not sufficiently robust. The duties a governess undertakes are often severe."


"And I believe I want severe duties to occupy me."

"I believe I want severe duties to occupy me."


"Occupy you!" cried Shirley. "When are you idle? I never saw a more industrious girl than you. You are always at work. Come," she continued--"come and sit by my side, and take some tea to refresh you. You don't care much for my friendship, then, that you wish to leave me?"

"Occupy you!" cried Shirley. "When are you idle? I never saw a more industrious girl. You are always at work. Come, sit by my side, and take some tea. Don't you care for my friendship, then, that you wish to leave me?"


"Indeed I do, Shirley; and I don't wish to leave you. I shall never find another friend so dear."

"Indeed I do, Shirley; I shall never find another friend so dear."


At which words Miss Keeldar put her hand into Caroline's with an impulsively affectionate movement, which was well seconded by the expression of her face.

Miss Keeldar put her hand into Caroline's with impulsive affection.


"If you think so, you had better make much of me," she said, "and not run away from me. I hate to part with those to whom I am become attached. Mrs. Pryor there sometimes talks of leaving me, and says I might make a more advantageous connection than herself. I should as soon think of exchanging an old-fashioned mother for something modish and stylish. As for you--why, I began to flatter myself we were thoroughly friends; that you liked Shirley almost as well as Shirley likes you, and she does not stint her regard."

"If you think so, you had better make much of me," she said, "and not run away. I hate to part with those to whom I am become attached. Mrs. Pryor there sometimes talks of leaving me, and says I might find someone more advantageous, but I should as soon think of exchanging an old-fashioned mother for something modish. As for you - why, I began to flatter myself we were thoroughly friends; that you liked Shirley almost as well as Shirley likes you."


"I _do_ like Shirley. I like her more and more every day. But that does not make me strong or happy."

"I do like Shirley. I like her more every day. But that does not make me strong or happy."


"And would it make you strong or happy to go and live as a dependent amongst utter strangers? It would not. And the experiment must not be tried; I tell you it would fail. It is not in your nature to bear the desolate life governesses generally lead; you would fall ill. I won't hear of it."

"And would it make you strong or happy to go and live as a dependent amongst utter strangers? It would not. It is not in your nature to bear the desolate life governesses generally lead; you would fall ill. I won't hear of it."


And Miss Keeldar paused, having uttered this prohibition very decidedly. Soon she recommenced, still looking somewhat _courrouce_, "Why, it is my daily pleasure now to look out for the little cottage bonnet and the silk scarf glancing through the trees in the lane, and to know that my quiet, shrewd, thoughtful companion and monitress is coming back to me; that I shall have her sitting in the room to look at, to talk to or to let alone, as she and I please. This may be a selfish sort of language--I know it is--but it is the language which naturally rises to my lips, therefore I utter it."

And Miss Keeldar paused, having said this very decidedly. Soon she went on, "Why, it is my daily pleasure now to look out for you, to know that my quiet, shrewd companion and monitress is coming; that I shall have her sitting in the room to look at or to talk to, as we please. This may be selfish, but it is true."


"And what are letters? Only a sort of _pis aller_. Drink some tea, Caroline. Eat something--you eat nothing. Laugh and be cheerful, and stay at home."

"And what are letters? Only a stopgap. Drink some tea, Caroline. Eat something - you eat nothing. Laugh and be cheerful, and stay at home."


Miss Helstone shook her head and sighed. She felt what difficulty she would have to persuade any one to assist or sanction her in making that change in her life which she believed desirable. Might she only follow her own judgment, she thought she should be able to find perhaps a harsh but an effectual cure for her sufferings. But this judgment, founded on circumstances she could fully explain to none, least of all to Shirley, seemed, in all eyes but her own, incomprehensible and fantastic, and was opposed accordingly.

Miss Helstone shook her head and sighed. She felt how difficult it would be to persuade anyone to help her make the change which she believed desirable. But this cure for circumstances which she could fully explain to none, least of all to Shirley, seemed, in all eyes but her own, incomprehensible.


There really was no present pecuniary need for her to leave a comfortable home and "take a situation;" and there was every probability that her uncle might, in some way, permanently provide for her. So her friends thought, and, as far as their lights enabled them to see, they reasoned correctly; but of Caroline's strange sufferings, which she desired so eagerly to overcome or escape, they had no idea, of her racked nights and dismal days no suspicion. It was at once impossible and hopeless to explain; to wait and endure was her only plan. Many that want food and clothing have cheerier lives and brighter prospects than she had; many, harassed by poverty, are in a strait less afflictive.

There really was no financial need for her to leave a comfortable home and "take a situation." So her friends thought; but of Caroline's strange sufferings, which she desired so eagerly to escape, they had no idea. It was both impossible and hopeless to explain; to wait and endure was her only plan.


"Now, is your mind quieted?" inquired Shirley. "Will you consent to stay at home?"

"Now, is your mind quieter?" inquired Shirley. "Will you stay at home?"


"I shall not leave it against the approbation of my friends," was the reply; "but I think in time they will be obliged to think as I do."

"I shall not leave it against the approval of my friends," was the reply; "but I think in time they will be obliged to think as I do."


During this conversation Mrs. Pryor looked far from easy. Her extreme habitual reserve would rarely permit her to talk freely or to interrogate others closely. She could think a multitude of questions she never ventured to put, give advice in her mind which her tongue never delivered. Had she been alone with Caroline, she might possibly have said something to the point: Miss Keeldar's presence, accustomed as she was to it, sealed her lips. Now, as on a thousand other occasions, inexplicable nervous scruples kept her back from interfering. She merely showed her concern for Miss Helstone in an indirect way, by asking her if the fire made her too warm, placing a screen between her chair and the hearth, closing a window whence she imagined a draught proceeded, and often and restlessly glancing at her. Shirley resumed: "Having destroyed your plan," she said, "which I hope I have done, I shall construct a new one of my own. Every summer I make an excursion. This season I propose spending two months either at the Scotch lochs or the English lakes--that is, I shall go there provided you consent to accompany me. If you refuse, I shall not stir a foot."

During this conversation Mrs. Pryor looked uneasy. Her extreme habitual reserve would rarely permit her to interrogate others. She had a multitude of questions she never ventured to put. Had she been alone with Caroline, she might have spoken: but Miss Keeldar's presence sealed her lips, and nervous scruples kept her from interfering. She merely showed her concern for Miss Helstone indirectly, by asking her if the fire made her too warm, closing a window whence she imagined a draught blew, and often glancing at her.
Shirley resumed. "Having destroyed your plan," she said, "which I hope I have done, I shall construct a new one of my own. Every summer I make an excursion. This season I propose spending two months either at the Scotch lochs or the English lakes - that is, I shall go provided you consent to accompany me. If you refuse, I shall not stir."


"I would be very good if you would let me. I have every disposition to be good. It is my misfortune and habit, I know, to think of myself paramount to anybody else; but who is not like me in that respect? However, when Captain Keeldar is made comfortable, accommodated with all he wants, including a sensible, genial comrade, it gives him a thorough pleasure to devote his spare efforts to making that comrade happy. And should we not be happy, Caroline, in the Highlands? We will go to the Highlands. We will, if you can bear a sea-voyage, go to the Isles--the Hebrides, the Shetland, the Orkney Islands. Would you not like that? I see you would.--Mrs. Pryor, I call you to witness. Her face is all sunshine at the bare mention of it."

"I would be very good if you would let me. I have every intention to be good. I know I think of myself more than anybody else; but who does not? However, when Captain Keeldar is made comfortable, and has a sensible, congenial comrade, it gives him a thorough pleasure to make that comrade happy. Should we not be happy, Caroline, in the Highlands? Or if you can bear a sea-voyage, we can go to the Isles - the Hebrides, Shetland, the Orkney Islands. Would you not like that? I see you would. Your face is all sunshine at the mention of it."


"I should like it much," returned Caroline, to whom, indeed, the notion of such a tour was not only pleasant, but gloriously reviving. Shirley rubbed her hands.

"I should like it very much," returned Caroline, to whom, indeed, the notion of such a tour was gloriously reviving. Shirley rubbed her hands.


"Come; I can bestow a benefit," she exclaimed. "I can do a good deed with my cash. My thousand a year is not merely a matter of dirty bank-notes and jaundiced guineas (let me speak respectfully of both, though, for I adore them), but, it may be, health to the drooping, strength to the weak, consolation to the sad. I was determined to make something of it better than a fine old house to live in, than satin gowns to wear, better than deference from acquaintance and homage from the poor. Here is to begin. This summer, Caroline, Mrs. Pryor and I go out into the North Atlantic, beyond the Shetland, perhaps to the Faroe Isles. We will see seals in Suderoe, and, doubtless, mermaids in Stromoe.--Caroline is laughing, Mrs. Pryor. _I_ made her laugh; _I_ have done her good."

"Come; I can do a good deed with my cash," she exclaimed. "My thousand a year can bring health to the drooping, and consolation to the sad. This summer, we shall go out into the North Atlantic, beyond the Shetlands, perhaps to the Faroe Isles. We will see seals and mermaids. Caroline is laughing, Mrs. Pryor. I have done her good."


"I shall like to go, Shirley," again said Miss Helstone. "I long to hear the sound of waves--ocean-waves--and to see them as I have imagined them in dreams, like tossing banks of green light, strewed with vanishing and reappearing wreaths of foam, whiter than lilies. I shall delight to pass the shores of those lone rock-islets where the sea-birds live and breed unmolested. We shall be on the track of the old Scandinavians--of the Norsemen. We shall almost see the shores of Norway. This is a very vague delight that I feel, communicated by your proposal, but it _is_ a delight."

"I shall like to go, Shirley," said Miss Helstone. "I long to hear the ocean-waves, and to see them as I have imagined them in dreams, like tossing banks of green light, strewed with vanishing and reappearing wreaths of foam. I shall delight to see those lone rock-islets where the sea-birds live unmolested. We shall be on the track of the Vikings; we shall almost see the shores of Norway."


"Will you think of Fitful Head now when you lie awake at night, of gulls shrieking round it, and waves tumbling in upon it, rather than of the graves under the rectory back-kitchen?"

"Will you think of Fitful Head now when you lie awake at night, of gulls shrieking round it, and waves tumbling upon it, rather than of the graves under the rectory back-kitchen?"


"I will try; and instead of musing about remnants of shrouds, and fragments of coffins, and human bones and mould, I will fancy seals lying in the sunshine on solitary shores, where neither fisherman nor hunter ever come; of rock crevices full of pearly eggs bedded in seaweed; of unscared birds covering white sands in happy flocks."

"I will try; and instead of musing about shrouds and coffins, I will fancy seals lying in the sunshine on solitary shores; of happy flocks of unscared birds."


"And what will become of that inexpressible weight you said you had on your mind?"

"And what will become of that weight you said you had on your mind?"


"I will try to forget it in speculation on the sway of the whole great deep above a herd of whales rushing through the livid and liquid thunder down from the frozen zone--a hundred of them, perhaps, wallowing, flashing, rolling in the wake of a patriarch bull, huge enough to have been spawned before the Flood, such a creature as poor Smart had in his mind when he said,--

"I will try to forget it in imagining a herd of whales rushing through the deep, a hundred of them wallowing and rolling in the wake of a patriarch bull."


'Strong against tides, the enormous whale Emerges as he goes.'"


"I hope our bark will meet with no such shoal, or herd as you term it, Caroline. (I suppose you fancy the sea-mammoths pasturing about the bases of the 'everlasting hills,' devouring strange provender in the vast valleys through and above which sea-billows roll.) I should not like to be capsized by the patriarch bull."

"I hope our boat will meet with no such herd, Caroline. I should not like to be capsized by the patriarch bull."


"I suppose you expect to see mermaids, Shirley?"


"One of them, at any rate--I do not bargain for less--and she is to appear in some such fashion as this. I am to be walking by myself on deck, rather late of an August evening, watching and being watched by a full harvest moon. Something is to rise white on the surface of the sea, over which that moon mounts silent and hangs glorious. The object glitters and sinks. It rises again. I think I hear it cry with an articulate voice; I call you up from the cabin; I show you an image, fair as alabaster, emerging from the dim wave. We both see the long hair, the lifted and foam-white arm, the oval mirror brilliant as a star. It glides nearer; a human face is plainly visible--a face in the style of yours--whose straight, pure (excuse the word, it is appropriate)--whose straight, pure lineaments paleness does not disfigure. It looks at us, but not with your eyes. I see a preternatural lure in its wily glance. It beckons. Were we men, we should spring at the sign--the cold billow would be dared for the sake of the colder enchantress; being women, we stand safe, though not dreadless. She comprehends our unmoved gaze; she feels herself powerless; anger crosses her front; she cannot charm, but she will appal us; she rises high, and glides all revealed on the dark wave-ridge. Temptress-terror! monstrous likeness of ourselves! Are you not glad, Caroline, when at last, and with a wild shriek, she dives?"

"One of them, at any rate - and she is to appear like this. I am to be walking by myself on deck, under a full harvest moon. Something will rise white on the surface of the sea, over which that moon hangs glorious. The object glitters and sinks. It rises again. I think I hear it cry out; I call you up from the cabin; we see an image emerging from the dim wave. We both see the long hair, the lifted foam-white arm. It glides nearer; a human face is plainly visible, with an alluring glance. It beckons. Were we men, we should spring into the cold billow; being women, we stand safe, though not without dread. She feels herself powerless; anger crosses her face; she cannot charm, but she will appal us; she rises high, and glides revealed on the dark wave-ridge. Temptress-terror! monstrous likeness of ourselves! Are you not glad, Caroline, when at last, with a wild shriek, she dives?"


"But, Shirley, she is not like us. We are neither temptresses, nor terrors, nor monsters."


"Some of our kind, it is said, are all three. There are men who ascribe to 'woman,' in general, such attributes."


"My dears," here interrupted Mrs. Pryor, "does it not strike you that your conversation for the last ten minutes has been rather fanciful?"

"My dears," here interrupted Mrs. Pryor, "does it not strike you that your conversation is rather fanciful?"


"But there is no harm in our fancies; is there, ma'am?"


"We are aware that mermaids do not exist; why speak of them as if they did? How can you find interest in speaking of a nonentity?"

"Mermaids do not exist; why speak of them as if they did?


"My dear, I think there is an arrival. I heard a step in the lane while you were talking; and is not that the garden-gate which creaks?"

My dear, I think there is an arrival. I heard a step in the lane while you were talking."


"Yes, there is some one," said she, turning quietly away; and as she resumed her seat a sensitive flush animated her face, while a trembling ray at once kindled and softened her eye. She raised her hand to her chin, cast her gaze down, and seemed to think as she waited.

"Yes, there is some one," said she, turning quietly away; a sensitive flush animated her face. She cast her gaze down, and seemed to think as she waited.


The servant announced Mr. Moore, and Shirley turned round when Mr. Moore appeared at the door. His figure seemed very tall as he entered, and stood in contrast with the three ladies, none of whom could boast a stature much beyond the average. He was looking well, better than he had been known to look for the past twelve months. A sort of renewed youth glowed in his eye and colour, and an invigorated hope and settled purpose sustained his bearing. Firmness his countenance still indicated, but not austerity. It looked as cheerful as it was earnest.

The servant announced Mr. Moore, and Shirley turned. He seemed very tall as he entered, and stood in contrast with the three ladies. He was looking well; a renewed youth and hope glowed in his eye. His face was as cheerful as it was earnest.


"I am just returned from Stilbro'," he said to Miss Keeldar, as he greeted her; "and I thought I would call to impart to you the result of my mission."

"I am just returned from Stilbro'," he said to Miss Keeldar; "and I thought I would call to tell you the result of my mission."


"You did right not to keep me in suspense," she said, "and your visit is well timed. Sit down. We have not finished tea. Are you English enough to relish tea, or do you faithfully adhere to coffee?"

"Your visit is well timed," she said. "Sit down. We have not finished tea. Are you English enough to enjoy tea, or do you faithfully adhere to coffee?"


"I am learning to be a naturalized Englishman," said he; "my foreign habits are leaving me one by one."


And now he paid his respects to Mrs. Pryor, and paid them well, with a grave modesty that became his age compared with hers. Then he looked at Caroline--not, however, for the first time: his glance had fallen upon her before. He bent towards her as she sat, gave her his hand, and asked her how she was. The light from the window did not fall upon Miss Helstone; her back was turned towards it. A quiet though rather low reply, a still demeanour, and the friendly protection of early twilight kept out of view each traitorous symptom. None could affirm that she had trembled or blushed, that her heart had quaked or her nerves thrilled; none could prove emotion; a greeting showing less effusion was never interchanged. Moore took the empty chair near her, opposite Miss Keeldar. He had placed himself well. His neighbour, screened by the very closeness of his vicinage from his scrutiny, and sheltered further by the dusk which deepened each moment, soon regained not merely _seeming_ but _real_ mastery of the feelings which had started into insurrection at the first announcement of his name.

, and paid his respects to Mrs. Pryor with grave modesty. Then he looked at Caroline - not, however, for the first time: his glance had fallen upon her before. He gave her his hand, and asked her how she was. Miss Helstone replied quietly. She was in the shadow, and the friendly protection of early twilight kept out of view each traitorous blush.
Moore took the empty chair near her, opposite Miss Keeldar. Caroline, screened by his very closeness, and sheltered by the deepening dusk, soon regained mastery of her feelings.


He addressed his conversation to Miss Keeldar.


"I went to the barracks," he said, "and had an interview with Colonel Ryde. He approved my plans, and promised the aid I wanted. Indeed, he offered a more numerous force than I require--half a dozen will suffice. I don't intend to be swamped by redcoats. They are needed for appearance rather than anything else. My main reliance is on my own civilians."

"I went to the barracks," he said, "and had an interview with Colonel Ryde. He approved my plans, and promised the aid I wanted. Indeed, he offered more soldiers than I require - half a dozen will suffice. I don't intend to be swamped by redcoats. They are needed for appearance rather than anything else. My main reliance is on my own civilians."


"And on their captain," interposed Shirley.


"What, Captain Keeldar?" inquired Moore, slightly smiling, and not lifting his eyes. The tone of raillery in which he said this was very respectful and suppressed.

"What, Captain Keeldar?" inquired Moore, smiling slightly, in a tone of respectful raillery.


"No," returned Shirley, answering the smile; "Captain Grard Moore, who trusts much to the prowess of his own right arm, I believe."

"No," returned Shirley, answering the smile; "Captain Grard Moore, who trusts to the prowess of his own right arm, I believe."


"Furnished with his counting-house ruler," added Moore. Resuming his usual gravity, he went on: "I received by this evening's post a note from the Home Secretary in answer to mine. It appears they are uneasy at the state of matters here in the north; they especially condemn the supineness and pusillanimity of the mill-owners. They say, as I have always said, that inaction, under present circumstances, is criminal, and that cowardice is cruelty, since both can only encourage disorder, and lead finally to sanguinary outbreaks. There is the note--I brought it for your perusal; and there is a batch of newspapers, containing further accounts of proceedings in Nottingham, Manchester, and elsewhere."

"Furnished with his counting-house ruler," added Moore. Resuming his usual gravity, he went on: "I received by this evening's post a note from the Home Secretary in answer to mine. It appears they are uneasy at the state of matters here in the north; they especially condemn the weakness of the mill-owners. They say, as I have always said, that inaction can only encourage disorder, and lead to bloodshed. There is the note - I brought it for your perusal; and there is a batch of newspapers, containing further accounts of uprisings in Nottingham, Manchester, and elsewhere."


He produced letters and journals, and laid them before Miss Keeldar. While she perused them he took his tea quietly; but though his tongue was still, his observant faculties seemed by no means off duty. Mrs. Pryor, sitting in the background, did not come within the range of his glance, but the two younger ladies had the full benefit thereof.

He laid them before Miss Keeldar. While she read them he took his tea quietly; but his eyes were busy, watching the two young ladies.


Miss Keeldar, placed directly opposite, was seen without effort. She was the object his eyes, when lifted, naturally met first; and as what remained of daylight--the gilding of the west--was upon her, her shape rose in relief from the dark panelling behind. Shirley's clear cheek was tinted yet with the colour which had risen into it a few minutes since. The dark lashes of her eyes looking down as she read, the dusk yet delicate line of her eyebrows, the almost sable gloss of her curls, made her heightened complexion look fine as the bloom of a red wild flower by contrast. There was natural grace in her attitude, and there was artistic effect in the ample and shining folds of her silk dress--an attire simply fashioned, but almost splendid from the shifting brightness of its dye, warp and woof being of tints deep and changing as the hue on a pheasant's neck. A glancing bracelet on her arm produced the contrast of gold and ivory. There was something brilliant in the whole picture. It is to be supposed that Moore thought so, as his eye dwelt long on it, but he seldom permitted his feelings or his opinions to exhibit themselves in his face. His temperament boasted a certain amount of phlegm, and he preferred an undemonstrative, not ungentle, but serious aspect to any other.

Miss Keeldar, directly opposite, was easily seen. Her clear cheek was tinted still with the colour which had risen into it a few minutes since. Her dark lashes looking down as she read, the dusky yet delicate line of her eyebrows, the gloss of her curls, made her heightened complexion look like the bloom of a wild flower. There was natural grace in her attitude, and her silk dress, though simply fashioned, was almost splendid in the shifting brightness of its tints. On her arm she wore a bracelet of gold and ivory. There was something brilliant in the whole picture. It is to be supposed that Moore thought so, as his eye dwelt long on it, but he seldom permitted his feelings to show in his serious face.


He could not, by looking straight before him, see Caroline, as she was close at his side. It was necessary, therefore, to manuvre a little to get her well within the range of his observation. He leaned back in his chair, and looked down on her. In Miss Helstone neither he nor any one else could discover brilliancy. Sitting in the shade, without flowers or ornaments, her attire the modest muslin dress, colourless but for its narrow stripe of pale azure, her complexion unflushed, unexcited, the very brownness of her hair and eyes invisible by this faint light, she was, compared with the heiress, as a graceful pencil sketch compared with a vivid painting. Since Robert had seen her last a great change had been wrought in her. Whether he perceived it might not be ascertained. He said nothing to that effect.

He could not see Caroline without manuvering a little. He leaned back in his chair, and looked down on her. Miss Helstone had no brilliancy. Sitting in the shade, without ornaments, her modest muslin dress colourless but for its narrow stripe of pale azure, the very brownness of her hair and eyes invisible by this faint light, she was, compared with the heiress, as a graceful pencil sketch compared with a vivid painting. Since Robert had seen her last a great change had been wrought in her. If he perceived it, he said nothing.


"How is Hortense?" asked Caroline softly.


"Very well; but she complains of being unemployed. She misses you."


"Tell her that I miss her, and that I write and read a portion of French every day."

"Tell her that I miss her, and that I write and read some French every day."


"She will ask if you sent your love; she is always particular on that point. You know she likes attention."


"My best love--my very best. And say to her that whenever she has time to write me a little note I shall be glad to hear from her."

"My very best love. And say to her that whenever she has time to write me a little note I shall be glad to hear from her."


"What if I forget? I am not the surest messenger of compliments."


"No, don't forget, Robert. It is no compliment; it is in good earnest."


"And must, therefore, be delivered punctually."


"Hortense will be ready to shed tears. She is tenderhearted on the subject of her pupil; yet she reproaches you sometimes for obeying your uncle's injunctions too literally. Affection, like love, will be unjust now and then."

"Hortense will be ready to shed tears. She is tenderhearted about her pupil; yet she reproaches you sometimes for obeying your uncle's injunctions too literally. Affection, like love, will be unjust now and then."


And Caroline made no answer to this observation; for indeed her heart was troubled, and to her eyes she would have raised her handkerchief if she had dared. If she had dared, too, she would have declared how the very flowers in the garden of Hollow's Cottage were dear to her; how the little parlour of that house was her earthly paradise; how she longed to return to it, as much almost as the first woman, in her exile, must have longed to revisit Eden. Not daring, however, to say these things, she held her peace; she sat quiet at Robert's side, waiting for him to say something more. It was long since this proximity had been hers--long since his voice had addressed her; could she, with any show of probability, even of possibility, have imagined that the meeting gave him pleasure, to her it would have given deep bliss. Yet, even in doubt that it pleased, in dread that it might annoy him, she received the boon of the meeting as an imprisoned bird would the admission of sunshine to its cage. It was of no use arguing, contending against the sense of present happiness; to be near Robert was to be revived.

Caroline made no answer; for indeed her heart was troubled, and she would have raised her handkerchief to her eyes if she had dared. If she had dared, too, she would have declared how the very flowers in the garden of Hollow's Cottage were dear to her; how the little parlour of that house was her earthly paradise; how she longed to return to it, as Eve, in her exile, must have longed to revisit Eden. Not daring, however, to say these things, she held her peace, waiting for Robert to say something more. It was long since his voice had addressed her; if she could have imagined that the meeting gave him pleasure, to her it would have been blissful. Yet, even in doubt, the meeting was as welcome as sunshine to the cage of an imprisoned bird. To be near Robert was to be revived.


"And are you glad or sad for all these menacing tidings?" she inquired of her tenant.

"And are you glad or sad for all these menacing tidings?" she asked him.


"Not precisely either; but I certainly am instructed. I see that our only plan is to be firm. I see that efficient preparation and a resolute attitude are the best means of averting bloodshed."

"Neither; but I certainly am instructed. I see that our only plan is to be firm. Efficient preparation and a resolute attitude are the best means of averting bloodshed."


He then inquired if she had observed some particular paragraph, to which she replied in the negative, and he rose to show it to her. He continued the conversation standing before her. From the tenor of what he said, it appeared evident that they both apprehended disturbances in the neighbourhood of Briarfield, though in what form they expected them to break out was not specified. Neither Caroline nor Mrs. Pryor asked questions. The subject did not appear to be regarded as one ripe for free discussion; therefore the lady and her tenant were suffered to keep details to themselves, unimportuned by the curiosity of their listeners.

As the candles were brought in, he rose to show her a particular paragraph; it seemed that he expected disturbances around Briarfield, though in what form was not specified. Neither Caroline nor Mrs. Pryor asked questions.


Miss Keeldar, in speaking to Mr. Moore, took a tone at once animated and dignified, confidential and self-respecting. When, however, the candles were brought in, and the fire was stirred up, and the fullness of light thus produced rendered the expression of her countenance legible, you could see that she was all interest, life, and earnestness. There was nothing coquettish in her demeanour; whatever she felt for Moore she felt it seriously. And serious, too, were his feelings, and settled were his views, apparently, for he made no petty effort to attract, dazzle, or impress. He contrived, notwithstanding, to command a little; because the deeper voice, however mildly modulated, the somewhat harder mind, now and then, though involuntarily and unintentionally, bore down by some peremptory phrase or tone the mellow accents and susceptible, if high, nature of Shirley. Miss Keeldar looked happy in conversing with him, and her joy seemed twofold--a joy of the past and present, of memory and of hope.

Miss Keeldar, however, spoke with interest, life, and earnestness. There was nothing coquettish in her demeanour; whatever she felt for Moore, she felt it seriously. And serious, too, were his feelings, apparently, for he made no effort to dazzle or impress. Notwithstanding, his deeper voice and somewhat harder mind gave him an aspect of command. Miss Keeldar looked happy in conversing with him, and her joy seemed twofold - joy of the past and present, of memory and of hope.


What I have just said are Caroline's ideas of the pair. She felt what has just been described. In thus feeling she tried not to suffer, but suffered sharply nevertheless. She suffered, indeed, miserably. A few minutes before her famished heart had tasted a drop and crumb of nourishment, that, if freely given, would have brought back abundance of life where life was failing; but the generous feast was snatched from her, spread before another, and she remained but a bystander at the banquet.

These were Caroline's ideas of the pair. She tried not to suffer, but suffered miserably nevertheless. A few minutes before, her famished heart had tasted a crumb of nourishment; but the feast was snatched from her, spread before another, and she remained a bystander at the banquet.


The clock struck nine; it was Caroline's time for going home. She gathered up her work, put the embroidery, the scissors, the thimble into her bag. She bade Mrs. Pryor a quiet good-night, receiving from that lady a warmer pressure of the hand than usual. She stepped up to Miss Keeldar.

The clock struck nine; it was Caroline's time for going home. She gathered up her work, and bade Mrs. Pryor a quiet good-night, receiving from her a warmer pressure of the hand than usual. She stepped up to Miss Keeldar.


Shirley started up. "What! so soon? Are you going already?"

Shirley started up. "What! Are you going already?"


"I never heard the clock. You will come again to-morrow, and you will be happy to-night, will you not? Remember our plans."

"I never heard the clock. You will come again tomorrow, and be happy tonight, will you not? Remember our plans."


"Yes," said Caroline; "I have not forgotten."


Her mind misgave her that neither those plans nor any other could permanently restore her mental tranquillity. She turned to Robert, who stood close behind her. As he looked up, the light of the candles on the mantelpiece fell full on her face. All its paleness, all its change, all its forlorn meaning were clearly revealed. Robert had good eyes, and might have seen it if he would; whether he did see it, nothing indicated.

But she felt that no plans could permanently restore her mental tranquillity. She turned to Robert, who stood close behind her. As he looked up, the light of the candles fell full on her face. All its paleness, all its change, all its forlorn meaning were clearly revealed. Whether Robert saw it, nothing indicated.


"Good-night!" she said, shaking like a leaf, offering her thin hand hastily, anxious to part from him quickly.

"Good-night!" she said, shaking like a leaf, hastily offering her thin hand, anxious to depart quickly.


"You are going home?" he asked, not touching her hand.


"I may as well accompany you a step of the way; not up to the rectory, though, lest my old friend Helstone should shoot me from the window."


He laughed, and took his hat. Caroline spoke of unnecessary trouble; he told her to put on her bonnet and shawl. She was quickly ready, and they were soon both in the open air. Moore drew her hand under his arm, just in his old manner--that manner which she ever felt to be so kind.

He laughed, and took his hat. Caroline spoke of unnecessary trouble; he told her to put on her bonnet and shawl. They were soon both in the open air. Moore drew her hand under his arm, just in his old, kind manner.


"You may run on, Fanny," he said to the housemaid; "we shall overtake you." And when the girl had got a little in advance, he enclosed Caroline's hand in his, and said he was glad to find she was a familiar guest at Fieldhead. He hoped her intimacy with Miss Keeldar would continue; such society would be both pleasant and improving.

"You may run on, Fanny," he said to the housemaid. When the girl had got a little in advance, he enclosed Caroline's hand in his, and said he was glad to find she was a familiar guest at Fieldhead. He hoped her intimacy with Miss Keeldar would continue; such society would be both pleasant and improving.


Caroline replied that she liked Shirley.


"And there is no doubt the liking is mutual," said Moore. "If she professes friendship, be certain she is sincere. She cannot feign; she scorns hypocrisy. And, Caroline, are we never to see you at Hollow's Cottage again?"


"I suppose not, unless my uncle should change his mind."


"Yes, a good deal. I have little pleasure in any society but Miss Keeldar's."


"You must take care of yourself. Be sure not to neglect exercise. Do you know I fancied you somewhat altered--a little fallen away, and pale. Is your uncle kind to you?"

"You must take care of yourself. Be sure not to neglect exercise. I fancied you somewhat altered - a little fallen away, and pale. Is your uncle kind to you?"


"Not too tender, that is to say--not too protective and attentive. And what ails you, then? Tell me, Lina."

"Not too attentive, then. And what ails you? Tell me, Lina."


"Nothing, Robert." But her voice faltered.


"That is to say, nothing that you will tell me. I am not to be taken into confidence. Separation is then quite to estrange us, is it?"

"That is to say, nothing that you will tell me. I am not to be taken into confidence. Separation is to estrange us, is it?"


"I do not know. Sometimes I almost fear it is."

"I do not know. Sometimes I fear it is."


"But it ought not to have that effect. 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and days o' lang syne?'"

"But it ought not to. 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot?'"


"It is two months, I should think, Caroline, since you were at the cottage."


"Have you ever passed that way in your walk?"


"I have come to the top of the fields sometimes of an evening and looked down. Once I saw Hortense in the garden watering her flowers, and I know at what time you light your lamp in the counting-house. I have waited for it to shine out now and then, and I have seen you bend between it and the window. I knew it was you; I could almost trace the outline of your form."

"I have come to the top of the fields sometimes of an evening and looked down. Once I saw Hortense in the garden watering her flowers, and now and then I have waited for your lamp to shine out from the counting-house, and I have seen your outline between it and the window. I knew it was you."


"I wonder I never encountered you. I occasionally walk to the top of the Hollow's fields after sunset."

"I wonder I never met you. I occasionally walk to the top of the Hollow's fields after sunset."


"I know you do. I had almost spoken to you one night, you passed so near me."

"I know," said Caroline. "I almost spoke to you one night, you passed so near me."


"Did I? I passed near you, and did not see you! Was I alone?"

"Did I? And I did not see you! Was I alone?"


"I saw you twice, and neither time were you alone."


"Who was my companion? Probably nothing but Joe Scott, or my own shadow by moonlight."


"No; neither Joe Scott nor your shadow, Robert. The first time you were with Mr. Yorke; and the second time what you call your shadow was a shape with a white forehead and dark curls, and a sparkling necklace round its neck. But I only just got a glimpse of you and that fairy shadow; I did not wait to hear you converse."

"The first time you were with Mr. Yorke; and the second time, somebody with dark curls, and a sparkling necklace. But I only just got a glimpse of you both; I did not wait to hear you converse."


"It appears you walk invisible. I noticed a ring on your hand this evening; can it be the ring of Gyges? Henceforth, when sitting in the counting-house by myself, perhaps at dead of night, I shall permit myself to imagine that Caroline may be leaning over my shoulder reading with me from the same book, or sitting at my side engaged in her own particular task, and now and then raising her unseen eyes to my face to read there my thoughts."

"It appears you walk invisible. Henceforth, when sitting in the counting-house at dead of night, I shall imagine that Caroline may be leaning over my shoulder reading with me from the same book, or sitting at my side."


"You need fear no such infliction. I do not come near you; I only stand afar off, watching what may become of you."


"When I walk out along the hedgerows in the evening after the mill is shut, or at night when I take the watchman's place, I shall fancy the flutter of every little bird over its nest, the rustle of every leaf, a movement made by you; tree-shadows will take your shape; in the white sprays of hawthorn I shall imagine glimpses of you. Lina, you will haunt me."

"When I walk out along the hedgerows in the evening, I shall fancy the flutter of every little bird over its nest is a movement made by you; tree-shadows will take your shape; in the white sprays of hawthorn I shall imagine glimpses of you. Lina, you will haunt me."


"I will never be where you would not wish me to be, nor see nor hear what you would wish unseen and unheard."


"I shall see you in my very mill in broad daylight. Indeed, I have seen you there once. But a week ago I was standing at the top of one of my long rooms; girls were working at the other end, and amongst half a dozen of them, moving to and fro, I seemed to see a figure resembling yours. It was some effect of doubtful light or shade, or of dazzling sunbeam. I walked up to this group. What I sought had glided away; I found myself between two buxom lasses in pinafores."

"I shall see you in my very mill in broad daylight. Indeed, I have seen you there once. A week ago, amongst the mill-girls, moving to and fro, I seemed to see a figure resembling yours. It was some effect of light; when I walked up to the group, I found only buxom lasses in pinafores."


"I shall not follow you into your mill, Robert, unless you call me there."


"Nor is that the only occasion on which imagination has played me a trick. One night, when I came home late from market, I walked into the cottage parlour thinking to find Hortense; but instead of her I thought I found you. There was no candle in the room; my sister had taken the light upstairs with her. The window-blind was not drawn, and broad moonbeams poured through the panes. There you were, Lina, at the casement, shrinking a little to one side in an attitude not unusual with you. You were dressed in white, as I have seen you dressed at an evening party. For half a second your fresh, living face seemed turned towards me, looking at me; for half a second my idea was to go and take your hand, to chide you for your long absence, and welcome your present visit. Two steps forward broke the spell. The drapery of the dress changed outline; the tints of the complexion dissolved, and were formless. Positively, as I reached the spot, there was nothing left but the sweep of a white muslin curtain, and a balsam plant in a flower-pot, covered with a flush of bloom. 'Sic transit,' et cetera."

"Nor is that the only time on which imagination has played me a trick. One night, when I came home late from market, I walked into the cottage parlour and thought I saw you. There was no candle; moonbeams poured through the panes. There you were, Lina, at the window, dressed in white. For half a second your face seemed turned towards me; for half a second my idea was to go and take your hand, to welcome you. Two steps forward broke the spell. The drapery of the dress changed; the face dissolved. When I reached the spot, there was nothing but the sweep of a white muslin curtain, and a plant in a flower-pot.


"It was not my wraith, then? I almost thought it was."


"No; only gauze, crockery, and pink blossom--a sample of earthly illusions."


"I wonder you have time for such illusions, occupied as your mind must be."


"So do I. But I find in myself, Lina, two natures--one for the world and business, and one for home and leisure. Grard Moore is a hard dog, brought up to mill and market; the person you call your cousin Robert is sometimes a dreamer, who lives elsewhere than in Cloth-hall and counting-house."

"So do I. But I find I have two natures - one for the world and business, and one for home and leisure. Grard Moore is a hard dog, but your cousin Robert is sometimes a dreamer."


"Your two natures agree with you. I think you are looking in good spirits and health. You have quite lost that harassed air which it often pained one to see in your face a few months ago."

"Your two natures agree with you. I think you are looking in good spirits and health. You have quite lost that harassed air of a few months ago."


"Do you observe that? Certainly I am disentangled of some difficulties. I have got clear of some shoals, and have more sea-room."

"Certainly I am disentangled of some difficulties. I have got clear of some shoals, and have more sea-room."


"And, with a fair wind, you may now hope to make a prosperous voyage?"

"And, with a fair wind, you hope to make a prosperous voyage?"


"I may _hope_ it--yes--but hope is deceptive. There is no controlling wind or wave. Gusts and swells perpetually trouble the mariner's course; he dare not dismiss from his mind the expectation of tempest."

"I hope it - yes - but hope is deceptive. The mariner must always expect a tempest."


"But you are ready for a breeze; you are a good seaman, an able commander. You are a skilful pilot, Robert; you will weather the storm."

"But you are a skilful pilot, Robert; you will weather the storm."


"My kinswoman always thinks the best of me, but I will take her words for a propitious omen. I will consider that in meeting her to-night I have met with one of those birds whose appearance is to the sailor the harbinger of good luck."

"My kinswoman always thinks the best of me, but I will take her words for a good omen, as if she is one of those birds that signifies good luck to the sailor."


"A poor harbinger of good luck is she who can do nothing, who has no power. I feel my incapacity. It is of no use saying I have the will to serve you when I cannot prove it. Yet I have that will. I wish you success. I wish you high fortune and true happiness."

"I can do nothing for you. I have no power. It is of no use saying I have the will to serve you. Yet I have that will. I wish you fortune and true happiness."


"When did you ever wish me anything else? What is Fanny waiting for? I told her to walk on. Oh! we have reached the churchyard. Then we are to part here, I suppose. We might have sat a few minutes in the church porch, if the girl had not been with us. It is so fine a night, so summer-mild and still, I have no particular wish to return yet to the Hollow."

"When did you ever wish me anything else? Oh! we have reached the churchyard. We are to part here, I suppose. It is so fine a night, I have no particular wish to return yet to the Hollow.


"But we cannot sit in the porch now, Robert."


Caroline said this because Moore was turning her round towards it.


"Perhaps not. But tell Fanny to go in. Say we are coming. A few minutes will make no difference."

Tell Fanny to go in. Say we are coming. A few minutes will make no difference."


"My uncle will be coming out to take his usual sentinel round, and he always surveys the church and churchyard."

"My uncle will be coming out: he always surveys the church and churchyard at this hour."


"And if he does? If it were not for Fanny, who knows we are here, I should find pleasure in dodging and eluding him. We could be under the east window when he is at the porch; as he came round to the north side we could wheel off to the south; we might at a pinch hide behind some of the monuments. That tall erection of the Wynnes would screen us completely."

"And if he does? I should find pleasure in eluding him. We could be under the east window when he is at the porch; as he came round to the north side we could wheel off to the south; we might even hide behind the monuments."


"Robert, what good spirits you have! Go! go!" added Caroline hastily. "I hear the front door----"

"Robert, what good spirits you have! Go! go!" added Caroline hastily. "I hear the front door-"


"I don't want to go; on the contrary, I want to stay."


"You know my uncle will be terribly angry. He forbade me to see you because you are a Jacobin."

"You know my uncle will be terribly angry. He forbade me to see you.


"Go, Robert, he is coming; I hear him cough."


"Diable! It is strange--what a pertinacious wish I feel to stay!"

"It is strange how much I wish to stay!"


"You remember what he did to Fanny's--" began Caroline, and stopped abruptly short. "Sweetheart" was the word that ought to have followed, but she could not utter it. It seemed calculated to suggest ideas she had no intention to suggest--ideas delusive and disturbing. Moore was less scrupulous. "Fanny's sweetheart?" he said at once. "He gave him a shower-bath under the pump, did he not? He'd do as much for me, I dare say, with pleasure. I should like to provoke the old Turk--not, however, against you. But he would make a distinction between a cousin and a lover, would he not?"

"You remember what he did to Fanny's-" began Caroline, and stopped abruptly short of saying "sweetheart." She did not wish to suggest the idea.
Moore was less scrupulous. "Fanny's sweetheart?" he said. "He gave him a shower under the pump, did he not? He'd do as much for me, I dare say, with pleasure. But he would make a distinction between a cousin and a lover, would he not?"


"Oh, he would not think of you in that way, of course not; his quarrel with you is entirely political. Yet I should not like the breach to be widened, and he is so testy. Here he is at the garden gate. For your own sake and mine, Robert, go!"

"Oh, he would not think of you in that way, of course not; his quarrel with you is political. Yet I should not like the breach to be widened, and he is so testy. For your own sake and mine, Robert, go!"


The beseeching words were aided by a beseeching gesture and a more beseeching look. Moore covered her clasped hands an instant with his, answered her upward by a downward gaze, said "Good-night!" and went.

She gave him a beseeching look. Moore covered her clasped hands an instant with his, said "Good-night!" and went.


Caroline was in a moment at the kitchen door behind Fanny. The shadow of the shovel-hat at that very instant fell on a moonlit tomb. The rector emerged, erect as a cane, from his garden, and proceeded in slow march, his hands behind him, down the cemetery. Moore was almost caught. He had to "dodge" after all, to coast round the church, and finally to bend his tall form behind the Wynnes' ambitious monument. There he was forced to hide full ten minutes, kneeling with one knee on the turf, his hat off, his curls bare to the dew, his dark eye shining, and his lips parted with inward laughter at his position; for the rector meantime stood coolly star-gazing, and taking snuff within three feet of him.

Caroline was in a moment at the kitchen door behind Fanny. The shadow of the shovel-hat at that very instant fell on a moonlit tomb. The rector emerged, erect as a cane, from his garden, and proceeded his slow march through the cemetery. Moore was almost caught. He had to "dodge" after all, around the church, and kneel for full ten minutes behind a monument, his hat off, his dark eye shining, and his lips parted with inward laughter at his position; for the rector meantime stood coolly star-gazing within three feet of him.


It happened, however, that Mr. Helstone had no suspicion whatever on his mind; for being usually but vaguely informed of his niece's movements, not thinking it worth while to follow them closely, he was not aware that she had been out at all that day, and imagined her then occupied with book or work in her chamber--where, indeed, she was by this time, though not absorbed in the tranquil employment he ascribed to her, but standing at her window with fast-throbbing heart, peeping anxiously from behind the blind, watching for her uncle to re-enter and her cousin to escape. And at last she was gratified. She heard Mr. Helstone come in; she saw Robert stride the tombs and vault the wall; she then went down to prayers. When she returned to her chamber, it was to meet the memory of Robert. Slumber's visitation was long averted. Long she sat at her lattice, long gazed down on the old garden and older church, on the tombs laid out all gray and calm, and clear in moonlight. She followed the steps of the night, on its pathway of stars, far into the "wee sma' hours ayont the twal'." She was with Moore, in spirit, the whole time; she was at his side; she heard his voice; she gave her hand into his hand; it rested warm in his fingers. When the church clock struck, when any other sound stirred, when a little mouse familiar to her chamber--an intruder for which she would never permit Fanny to lay a trap--came rattling amongst the links of her locket-chain, her one ring, and another trinket or two on the toilet-table, to nibble a bit of biscuit laid ready for it, she looked up, recalled momentarily to the real. Then she said half aloud, as if deprecating the accusation of some unseen and unheard monitor, "I am not cherishing love dreams; I am only thinking because I cannot sleep. Of course, I know he will marry Shirley."

Mr. Helstone, however, had no suspicion on his mind. He was not aware that his niece had been out that day, and imagined her to be reading in her chamber - where, indeed, she was by this time, though not reading, but standing at her window with fast-throbbing heart, peeping anxiously from behind the blind. At last she heard Mr. Helstone come in; she saw Robert vault the churchyard wall; she then went down to prayers.
When she returned to her chamber, it was to meet the memory of Robert. Long she sat at her window, long gazed down on the old garden and church, on the tombs laid out grey and calm in moonlight. She was with Moore in spirit; she was at his side; she heard his voice; she gave her hand into his hand; it rested warm in his fingers. When the church clock struck, a little mouse familiar to her chamber - an intruder for which she would never permit Fanny to lay a trap - came rattling amongst the trinkets on the dressing-table, to nibble a bit of biscuit laid ready for it. Then Caroline looked up, recalled to the real world, and said half aloud, as if to some unseen accuser:
"I am not cherishing love dreams; I am only thinking because I cannot sleep. Of course, I know he will marry Shirley."


With returning silence, with the lull of the chime, and the retreat of her small untamed and unknown _protg_, she still resumed the dream, nestling to the vision's side--listening to, conversing with it. It paled at last. As dawn approached, the setting stars and breaking day dimmed the creation of fancy; the wakened song of birds hushed her whispers. The tale full of fire, quick with interest, borne away by the morning wind, became a vague murmur. The shape that, seen in a moonbeam, lived, had a pulse, had movement, wore health's glow and youth's freshness, turned cold and ghostly gray, confronted with the red of sunrise. It wasted. She was left solitary at last. She crept to her couch, chill and dejected.

She resumed the dream, nestling to the vision's side - listening to, conversing with it. It paled at last. As dawn approached, the setting stars and breaking day dimmed the creation of fancy; the wakened song of birds hushed her whispers. The tale became a vague murmur. The shape turned cold and ghostly grey. She was left solitary at last. She crept to her couch, chill and dejected.


The hour was now that of dusk. A clear air favoured the kindling of the stars.

It was now dusk; the stars were kindling.


"There will be just light enough to show me the way home," said Miss Keeldar, as she prepared to take leave of Caroline at the rectory garden door.

"There will be just light enough to show me the way home," said Miss Keeldar.


"You must not go alone, Shirley; Fanny shall accompany you."


"That she shall not. Of what need I be afraid in my own parish? I would walk from Fieldhead to the church any fine midsummer night, three hours later than this, for the mere pleasure of seeing the stars and the chance of meeting a fairy."

"That she shall not. Of what need I be afraid in my own parish? I would walk from Fieldhead to the church any fine midsummer night, for the mere pleasure of seeing the stars and the chance of meeting a fairy."


"But just wait till the crowd is cleared away."


"Agreed. There are the five Misses Armitage streaming by. Here comes Mrs. Sykes's phaeton, Mr. Wynne's close carriage, Mrs. Birtwhistle's car. I don't wish to go through the ceremony of bidding them all good-bye, so we will step into the garden and take shelter amongst the laburnums for an instant."

"Agreed. I don't wish to go through the ceremony of bidding them all good-bye, so we will step into the garden and take shelter."


The rectors, their curates, and their churchwardens now issued from the church porch. There was a great confabulation, shaking of hands, congratulation on speeches, recommendation to be careful of the night air, etc. By degrees the throng dispersed, the carriages drove off. Miss Keeldar was just emerging from her flowery refuge when Mr. Helstone entered the garden and met her.

The rectors, their curates, and their churchwardens now issued from the church porch. There was a great shaking of hands, congratulation on speeches, recommendation to be careful of the night air, etc. By degrees the throng dispersed; the carriages drove off. Miss Keeldar was just emerging from her flowery refuge when Mr. Helstone entered the garden.


"Oh, I want you!" he said. "I was afraid you were already gone.--Caroline, come here."

"Oh, I want you!" he said to Shirley. "I was afraid you were already gone. - Caroline, come here."


Caroline came, expecting, as Shirley did, a lecture on not having been visible at church. Other subjects, however, occupied the rector's mind.

Caroline came, expecting a lecture on not having been in church. Other subjects, however, occupied the rector's mind.


"I shall not sleep at home to-night," he continued. "I have just met with an old friend, and promised to accompany him. I shall return probably about noon to-morrow. Thomas, the clerk, is engaged, and I cannot get him to sleep in the house, as I usually do when I am absent for a night. Now----"

"I shall not sleep at home tonight," he continued. "I have just met with an old friend, and promised to accompany him. I shall return probably about noon tomorrow. Thomas, the clerk, is engaged, and cannot sleep in the house as usual when I am absent for a night. Now-"


"Now," interrupted Shirley, "you want me as a gentleman--the first gentleman in Briarfield, in short--to supply your place, be master of the rectory and guardian of your niece and maids while you are away?"

"Now," interrupted Shirley, "you want me, as the first gentleman in Briarfield, to supply your place, be master of the rectory and guardian of your niece and maids while you are away?"


"Exactly, captain. I thought the post would suit you. Will you favour Caroline so far as to be her guest for one night? Will you stay here instead of going back to Fieldhead?"

"Exactly, captain. I thought the post would suit you. Will you be Caroline's guest for one night, instead of going back to Fieldhead?"


"And what will Mrs. Pryor do? she expects me home."


"I will send her word. Come, make up your mind to stay. It grows late; the dew falls heavily. You and Caroline will enjoy each other's society, I doubt not."

"I will send her word. Come, make up your mind to stay. You and Caroline will enjoy each other's society."


"I promise you, then, to stay with Caroline," replied Shirley. "As you say, we shall enjoy each other's society. We will not be separated to-night. Now, rejoin your old friend, and fear nothing for us."

"I promise, then, to stay with Caroline," replied Shirley. "We will not be separated tonight."


"If there should chance to be any disturbance in the night, captain; if you should hear the picking of a lock, the cutting out of a pane of glass, a stealthy tread of steps about the house (and I need not fear to tell _you_, who bear a well-tempered, mettlesome heart under your girl's ribbon sash, that such little incidents are very possible in the present time), what would you do?"

"If there should chance to be any disturbance in the night, captain; if you should hear the picking of a lock, a stealthy tread of steps about the house (and I need not fear to tell you, who bear a mettlesome heart, that such incidents are very possible at present), what would you do?"


"Don't know; faint, perhaps--fall down, and have to be picked up again. But, doctor, if you assign me the post of honour, you must give me arms. What weapons are there in your stronghold?"

"Don't know; faint, perhaps - fall down, and have to be picked up again. But, doctor, you must give me arms. What weapons are there in your stronghold?"


"No; I could manage the carving-knife better."


"You will find a good one in the dining-room sideboard--a lady's knife, light to handle, and as sharp-pointed as a poniard."

"You will find a good one in the dining-room sideboard - light and sharp."


"It will suit Caroline. But you must give me a brace of pistols. I know you have pistols."


"I have two pairs. One pair I can place at your disposal. You will find them suspended over the mantelpiece of my study in cloth cases."

"You will find a pair hanging over the mantelpiece of my study."


"Yes, but not on the cock. Cock them before you go to bed. It is paying you a great compliment, captain, to lend you these. Were you one of the awkward squad you should not have them."

"Yes, but not on the cock. Cock them before you go to bed. It is paying you a great compliment, captain, to lend you these."


"I will take care. You need delay no longer, Mr. Helstone. You may go now.--He is gracious to me to lend me his pistols," she remarked, as the rector passed out at the garden gate. "But come, Lina," she continued, "let us go in and have some supper. I was too much vexed at tea with the vicinage of Mr. Sam Wynne to be able to eat, and now I am really hungry."

"I will take care. You need delay no longer, Mr. Helstone. - He is gracious to me to lend me his pistols," she remarked, as the rector departed. "But come, Lina, let us go in and have supper."


Entering the house, they repaired to the darkened dining-room, through the open windows of which apartment stole the evening air, bearing the perfume of flowers from the garden, the very distant sound of far-retreating steps from the road, and a soft, vague murmur whose origin Caroline explained by the remark, uttered as she stood listening at the casement, "Shirley, I hear the beck in the Hollow."

Entering the house, they went to the darkened dining-room. Through the open windows stole the evening air, bearing the perfume of flowers, and a soft, vague murmur.
Caroline said, "I hear the beck in the Hollow."


Then she rang the bell, asked for a candle and some bread and milk--Miss Keeldar's usual supper and her own. Fanny, when she brought in the tray, would have closed the windows and the shutters, but was requested to desist for the present. The twilight was too calm, its breath too balmy to be yet excluded. They took their meal in silence. Caroline rose once to remove to the window-sill a glass of flowers which stood on the sideboard, the exhalation from the blossoms being somewhat too powerful for the sultry room. In returning she half opened a drawer, and took from it something that glittered clear and keen in her hand.

She rang the bell, and asked for a candle, and bread and milk for supper. They ate their meal in silence. Caroline rose once, half opened a drawer, and took from it something that glittered clear and keen in her hand.


"You assigned this to me, then, Shirley, did you? It is bright, keen-edged, finely tapered; it is dangerous-looking. I never yet felt the impulse which could move me to direct this against a fellow-creature. It is difficult to fancy that circumstances could nerve my arm to strike home with this long knife."

"You assigned this to me, then, Shirley, did you? It is dangerous-looking. I never yet felt the impulse to wound a fellow-creature."


"I should hate to do it," replied Shirley, "but I think I could do it, if goaded by certain exigencies which I can imagine." And Miss Keeldar quietly sipped her glass of new milk, looking somewhat thoughtful and a little pale; though, indeed, when did she not look pale? She was never florid.

"I should hate to do it," replied Shirley, "but I think I could, if goaded sufficiently." And Miss Keeldar quietly sipped her glass of milk, looking somewhat thoughtful and a little pale; though, indeed, when did she not look pale?


The milk sipped and the bread eaten, Fanny was again summoned. She and Eliza were recommended to go to bed, which they were quite willing to do, being weary of the day's exertions, of much cutting of currant-buns, and filling of urns and teapots, and running backwards and forwards with trays. Ere long the maids' chamber door was heard to close. Caroline took a candle and went quietly all over the house, seeing that every window was fast and every door barred. She did not even evade the haunted back kitchen nor the vault-like cellars. These visited, she returned.

The milk sipped and the bread eaten, Fanny was again summoned. She and Eliza were recommended to go to bed, which they were quite willing to do, being weary of the day's exertions. Caroline took a candle and went quietly all over the house, seeing that every window was fast and every door barred.


"There is neither spirit nor flesh in the house at present," she said, "which should not be there. It is now near eleven o'clock, fully bedtime; yet I would rather sit up a little longer, if you do not object, Shirley. Here," she continued, "I have brought the brace of pistols from my uncle's study. You may examine them at your leisure."

"It is now near eleven o'clock," she said on her return, "yet I would rather sit up a little longer, if you do not object, Shirley. I have brought the pistols from my uncle's study."


She placed them on the table before her friend.


"Why would you rather sit up longer?" asked Miss Keeldar, taking up the firearms, examining them, and again laying them down.

"Why would you rather sit up longer?" asked Miss Keeldar, taking up the firearms, examining them, and laying them down.


"Because I have a strange, excited feeling in my heart."


"Is this state of sleeplessness and restlessness caused by something electrical in the air, I wonder?"

"Is this restlessness caused by something electrical in the air, I wonder?"


"No; the sky is clear, the stars numberless. It is a fine night."

"No; the sky is clear. It is a fine night."


"But very still. I hear the water fret over its stony bed in Hollow's Copse as distinctly as if it ran below the churchyard wall."


"I am glad it is so still a night. A moaning wind or rushing rain would vex me to fever just now."


"Because it would baffle my efforts to listen."


"Yes; it is the only quarter whence we can hear a sound just now."


They both sat near the window, and both leaned their arms on the sill, and both inclined their heads towards the open lattice. They saw each other's young faces by the starlight and that dim June twilight which does not wholly fade from the west till dawn begins to break in the east.

They both sat near the window, and leaned their arms on the sill by the open lattice. They saw each other's young faces by the starlight and that dim June twilight which does not wholly fade from the west till dawn begins to break in the east.


"Mr. Helstone thinks we have no idea which way he is gone," murmured Miss Keeldar, "nor on what errand, nor with what expectations, nor how prepared. But I guess much; do not you?"

"Mr. Helstone thinks we have no idea where he is gone," murmured Miss Keeldar, "nor on what errand. But I guess; do not you?"


"All those gentlemen--your cousin Moore included--think that you and I are now asleep in our beds, unconscious."

"All those gentlemen - your cousin Moore included - think that we are now asleep in our beds."


"Caring nothing about them--hoping and fearing nothing for them," added Caroline.

"Caring nothing about them," added Caroline.


Both kept silent for full half an hour. The night was silent too; only the church clock measured its course by quarters. Some words were interchanged about the chill of the air. They wrapped their scarves closer round them, resumed their bonnets, which they had removed, and again watched.

Both kept silent for full half an hour. The night was silent too; only the church clock measured its course by quarters. They wrapped their scarves closer round them in the chill air, and again watched.


Towards midnight the teasing, monotonous bark of the house-dog disturbed the quietude of their vigil. Caroline rose, and made her way noiselessly through the dark passages to the kitchen, intending to appease him with a piece of bread. She succeeded. On returning to the dining-room she found it all dark, Miss Keeldar having extinguished the candle. The outline of her shape was visible near the still open window, leaning out. Miss Helstone asked no questions; she stole to her side. The dog recommenced barking furiously. Suddenly he stopped, and seemed to listen. The occupants of the dining-room listened too, and not merely now to the flow of the mill-stream. There was a nearer, though a muffled, sound on the road below the churchyard--a measured, beating, approaching sound--a dull tramp of marching feet.

Towards midnight the bark of the house-dog disturbed their vigil. Caroline rose, and made her way noiselessly through the dark passages to the kitchen to appease him with a piece of bread.
On returning to the dining-room she found it dark, Miss Keeldar having extinguished the candle. The outline of her shape was visible near the open window, leaning out. Miss Helstone stole to her side. The dog recommenced barking furiously. Suddenly he stopped, and seemed to listen. The occupants of the dining-room listened too. There was a muffled sound on the road below the churchyard - a measured, beating tramp of marching feet.


It drew near. Those who listened by degrees comprehended its extent. It was not the tread of two, nor of a dozen, nor of a score of men; it was the tread of hundreds. They could see nothing; the high shrubs of the garden formed a leafy screen between them and the road. To hear, however, was not enough, and this they felt as the troop trod forwards, and seemed actually passing the rectory. They felt it more when a human voice--though that voice spoke but one word--broke the hush of the night.

It drew near. It was not the tread of two, nor of a dozen men; it was the tread of hundreds. They could see nothing; the high shrubs of the garden formed a leafy screen between them and the road. The troop marched forwards, and seemed actually passing the rectory when a voice broke the hush of the night.


A halt followed. The march was arrested. Then came a low conference, of which no word was distinguishable from the dining-room.

The march stopped. Then came a low conference, of which no word was distinguishable from the dining-room.


She turned, took her pistols from the table, silently passed out through the middle window of the dining-room, which was, in fact, a glass door, stole down the walk to the garden wall, and stood listening under the lilacs. Caroline would not have quitted the house had she been alone, but where Shirley went she would go. She glanced at the weapon on the sideboard, but left it behind her, and presently stood at her friend's side. They dared not look over the wall, for fear of being seen; they were obliged to crouch behind it. They heard these words,--

She took her pistols from the table, silently passed out through the full-length French window of the dining-room, stole down the walk to the garden wall, and stood listening under the lilacs. Where Shirley went, Caroline would go. She glanced at the knife, but left it behind her, and presently stood at her friend's side. Crouching behind the wall, they heard these words:


"It looks a rambling old building. Who lives in it besides the damned parson?"


"Only three women--his niece and two servants."

"Only three women - his niece and two servants."


"The lasses behind; the niece in a front room."


"Yonder is his chamber. He was burning a light, but I see none now."

"Yonder is his chamber. I see no light."


"If I were ordered to do his job--and he desarves it--I'd try yond' long window; it opens to the dining-room. I could grope my way upstairs, and I know his chamber."

"I'd try t' long window; it opens to the dining-room. I could grope my way upstairs, and I know his chamber."


"How would you manage about the women folk?"


"Let 'em alone except they shrieked, and then I'd soon quieten 'em. I could wish to find the old chap asleep. If he waked, he'd be dangerous."

"Let 'em alone except they shrieked, and then I'd soon quieten 'em. If the old chap waked, he'd be dangerous."


"Then you're a fool to stop us here. A shot would give the alarm. Moore would be on us before we could turn round. We should miss our main object."

"Then you're a fool to bring us here. A shot would give the alarm. Moore would be on us before we could turn round. We should miss our main object."


"You might go on, I tell you. I'd engage Helstone alone."

"You can go on. I'd engage Helstone alone."


A pause. One of the party dropped some weapon, which rang on the stone causeway. At this sound the rectory dog barked again furiously--fiercely.

A pause. One of the party dropped some weapon, which rang on the stone causeway. At this sound the rectory dog barked again, furiously.


"That spoils all!" said the voice. "He'll awake. A noise like that might rouse the dead. You did not say there was a dog. Damn you! Forward!"

"That spoils all!" said the voice. "He'll awake. You did not say there was a dog. Damn you! Forward!"


Forward they went--tramp, tramp--with mustering, manifold, slow-filing tread. They were gone.

Forward they went - tramp, tramp - until they were gone.


Shirley stood erect, looked over the wall, along the road.

Shirley stood up and looked over the wall, along the road.


She stood and mused. "Thank God!" was the next observation.


Caroline repeated the ejaculation--not in so steady a tone. She was trembling much. Her heart was beating fast and thick; her face was cold, her forehead damp.

Caroline repeated, "Thank God," not in so steady a tone. She was trembling. Her heart was beating fast; her face was cold, her forehead damp.


"Thank God for us!" she reiterated. "But what will happen elsewhere? They have passed us by that they may make sure of others."

"But what will happen elsewhere?" she asked. "They have passed us so that they may make sure of others."


"They have done well," returned Shirley, with composure. "The others will defend themselves. They can do it. They are prepared for them. With us it is otherwise. My finger was on the trigger of this pistol. I was quite ready to give that man, if he had entered, such a greeting as he little calculated on; but behind him followed three hundred. I had neither three hundred hands nor three hundred weapons. I could not have effectually protected either you, myself, or the two poor women asleep under that roof. Therefore I again earnestly thank God for insult and peril escaped."

"The others will defend themselves," returned Shirley. "They are prepared for them. My finger was on the trigger; but I could not have protected us against three hundred men. Therefore I again earnestly thank God for insult and peril escaped."


After a second pause she continued: "What is it my duty and wisdom to do next? Not to stay here inactive, I am glad to say, but, of course, to walk over to the Hollow."

After a second pause she continued: "What is it my duty and wisdom to do next? Not to stay here inactive, but to walk over to the Hollow.


"They have taken the highway; we should not encounter them. The road over the fields is as safe, silent, and solitary as a path through the air would be. Will you go?"

"They have taken the highway; we should not meet them. The road over the fields is as safe and solitary as a path through the air. Will you go?"


"Yes," was the answer, given mechanically, not because the speaker wished or was prepared to go, or, indeed, was otherwise than scared at the prospect of going, but because she felt she could not abandon Shirley.

"Yes," was the answer, given mechanically, not because Caroline wished to go, but because she felt she could not abandon Shirley.


"Then we must fasten up these windows, and leave all as secure as we can behind us. Do you know what we are going for, Cary?"

"Then we must fasten up these windows, and leave all secure behind us. Do you know why we are going, Cary?"


"Is that all? And are you so obedient to a mere caprice of mine? What a docile wife you would make to a stern husband! The moon's face is not whiter than yours at this moment, and the aspen at the gate does not tremble more than your busy fingers; and so, tractable and terror-struck, and dismayed and devoted, you would follow me into the thick of real danger! Cary, let me give your fidelity a motive. We are going for Moore's sake--to see if we can be of use to him, to make an effort to warn him of what is coming."

"Is that all? What a docile wife you would make! The moon's face is not whiter than yours at this moment; and so, terror-struck and devoted, you would follow me into the thick of danger! Cary, we are going for Moore's sake - to try to warn him of what is coming."


"To be sure! I am a blind, weak fool, and you are acute and sensible, Shirley. I will go with you; I will gladly go with you!"

"To be sure! I am a fool, Shirley. I will gladly go with you!"


"I do not doubt it. You would die blindly and meekly for me, but you would intelligently and gladly die for Moore. But, in truth, there is no question of death to-night; we run no risk at all."


Caroline rapidly closed shutter and lattice. "Do not fear that I shall not have breath to run as fast as you can possibly run, Shirley. Take my hand. Let us go straight across the fields."

Caroline rapidly closed shutter and window. "I can run as fast as you can, Shirley. Let us go straight across the fields."


"You are afraid of hedges, and the beck which we shall be forced to cross?"


They started; they ran. Many a wall checked but did not baffle them. Shirley was surefooted and agile; she could spring like a deer when she chose. Caroline, more timid and less dexterous, fell once or twice, and bruised herself; but she rose again directly, saying she was not hurt. A quickset hedge bounded the last field; they lost time in seeking a gap in it. The aperture, when found, was narrow, but they worked their way through. The long hair, the tender skin, the silks and the muslins suffered; but what was chiefly regretted was the impediment this difficulty had caused to speed. On the other side they met the beck, flowing deep in a rough bed. At this point a narrow plank formed the only bridge across it. Shirley had trodden the plank successfully and fearlessly many a time before; Caroline had never yet dared to risk the transit.

They started; they ran. Many a wall checked but did not baffle them. Shirley was surefooted and agile. Caroline fell once or twice, and bruised herself; but she rose again directly, saying she was not hurt. A quickset hedge surrounded the last field; they lost time in seeking a gap, and worked their way through. The long hair, the tender skin, the silks and the muslins suffered; but what was chiefly regretted was the loss of speed.
On the other side they met the beck, flowing deep, a narrow plank the only bridge across it. Shirley had trodden the plank fearlessly many a time; Caroline had never yet dared.


"I will carry you across," said Miss Keeldar. "You are light, and I am not weak. Let me try."

"I will carry you across," said Miss Keeldar. "You are light, and I am not weak."


"If I fall in, you may fish me out," was the answer, as a grateful squeeze compressed her hand. Caroline, without pausing, trod forward on the trembling plank as if it were a continuation of the firm turf. Shirley, who followed, did not cross it more resolutely or safely. In their present humour, on their present errand, a strong and foaming channel would have been a barrier to neither. At the moment they were above the control either of fire or water. All Stilbro' Moor, alight and aglow with bonfires, would not have stopped them, nor would Calder or Aire thundering in flood. Yet one sound made them pause. Scarce had they set foot on the solid opposite bank when a shot split the air from the north. One second elapsed. Further off burst a like note in the south. Within the space of three minutes similar signals boomed in the east and west.

"If I fall in, you may fish me out," was the answer. Caroline, without pausing, walked across the trembling plank as if it were firm ground. Shirley, who followed, did not cross it more resolutely. In their present mood, all Stilbro' Moor alight with bonfires would not have stopped them, nor would the river Aire thundering in flood.
Yet one sound made them pause. A shot split the air from the north. One second elapsed; another shot burst further off in the south. Within three minutes, similar signals boomed in the east and west.


"I thought we were dead at the first explosion," observed Shirley, drawing a long breath. "I felt myself hit in the temples, and I concluded your heart was pierced; but the reiterated voice was an explanation. Those are signals--it is their way--the attack must be near. We should have had wings. Our feet have not borne us swiftly enough."

"Those are signals," observed Shirley. "The attack must be near. We should have had wings. Our feet have not been swift enough."


A portion of the copse was now to clear. When they emerged from it the mill lay just below them. They could look down upon the buildings, the yard; they could see the road beyond. And the first glance in that direction told Shirley she was right in her conjecture. They were already too late to give warning. It had taken more time than they calculated on to overcome the various obstacles which embarrassed the short cut across the fields.

They now emerged from the copse; the mill lay just below them, with the road beyond. And the first glance told Shirley she was right. They were already too late to give warning.


The road, which should have been white, was dark with a moving mass. The rioters were assembled in front of the closed yard gates, and a single figure stood within, apparently addressing them. The mill itself was perfectly black and still. There was neither life, light, nor motion around it.


"Surely he is prepared. Surely that is not Moore meeting them alone?" whispered Shirley.

"Surely that is not Moore meeting them alone?" whispered Shirley.


"It is. We must go to him. I _will_ go to him."

"It is. We must go to him. I will go to him."


"Why did I come, then? I came only for him. I shall join him."


"Fortunately it is out of your power. There is no entrance to the yard."

"Fortunately you cannot. There is no entrance to the yard."


"There _is_ a small entrance at the back, besides the gates in front. It opens by a secret method which I know. I will try it."

"There is a small entrance at the back. I will try it."


Miss Keeldar clasped her round the waist with both arms and held her back. "Not one step shall you stir," she went on authoritatively. "At this moment Moore would be both shocked and embarrassed if he saw either you or me. Men never want women near them in time of real danger."

Miss Keeldar clasped her round the waist with both arms and held her. "Not one step shall you stir. Moore would be both shocked and embarrassed if he saw either you or me. Men never want women near them in time of real danger."


"I would not trouble--I would help him," was the reply.


"How?--by inspiring him with heroism? Pooh! these are not the days of chivalry. It is not a tilt at a tournament we are going to behold, but a struggle about money, and food, and life."

"How? by inspiring him with heroism? Pooh! it is not a tilt at a tournament, but a struggle about money and food, and life."


"It is natural that I should be at his side."


"As queen of his heart? His mill is his lady-love, Cary! Backed by his factory and his frames, he has all the encouragement he wants or can know. It is not for love or beauty, but for ledger and broadcloth, he is going to break a spear. Don't be sentimental; Robert is not so."

"As queen of his heart? His mill is his lady-love, Cary! It is not for love or beauty, but for ledger and broadcloth that he is going to fight. Don't be sentimental; Robert is not so."


"I _could_ help him; I _will_ seek him."


"Off then--I let you go--seek Moore. You'll not find him."

"Off you go then - seek Moore. You'll not find him."


She loosened her hold. Caroline sped like levelled shaft from bent bow; after her rang a jesting, gibing laugh. "Look well there is no mistake!" was the warning given.

She loosened her hold. Caroline sped away;


But there _was_ a mistake. Miss Helstone paused, hesitated, gazed. The figure had suddenly retreated from the gate, and was running back hastily to the mill.

but then she paused, gazing. The figure had retreated from the gate, and was running back to the mill.


"Make haste, Lina!" cried Shirley; "meet him before he enters."


Caroline slowly returned. "It is not Robert," she said. "It has neither his height, form, nor bearing."

She slowly returned. "It is not Robert," she said.


"I saw it was not Robert when I let you go. How could you imagine it? It is a shabby little figure of a private soldier; they had posted him as sentinel. He is safe in the mill now. I saw the door open and admit him. My mind grows easier. Robert is prepared. Our warning would have been superfluous; and now I am thankful we came too late to give it. It has saved us the trouble of a scene. How fine to have entered the counting-house _toute perdue_, and to have found oneself in presence of Messrs. Armitage and Ramsden smoking, Malone swaggering, your uncle sneering, Mr. Sykes sipping a cordial, and Moore himself in his cold man-of-business vein! I am glad we missed it all."

"I saw that when I let you go. It is a soldier, posted as sentinel. He is safe in the mill now. My mind grows easier. Robert is prepared. Our warning would have been superfluous; and now I am thankful we came too late to give it. It has saved us the trouble of a scene. How fine to have entered the counting-house, and to have found oneself in the presence of Malone swaggering, your uncle sneering, Mr. Sykes sipping a cordial, and Moore himself in his cold man-of-business vein! I am glad we missed it."


"I wonder if there are many in the mill, Shirley!"


"Plenty to defend it. The soldiers we have twice seen to-day were going there, no doubt, and the group we noticed surrounding your cousin in the fields will be with him."

"Plenty to defend it. The soldiers we have twice seen today were going there, no doubt.


"What are they doing now, Shirley? What is that noise?"


"Hatchets and crowbars against the yard gates. They are forcing them. Are you afraid?"

The crowd is trying to force the gates, using hatchets and crowbars. Are you afraid?"


"No; but my heart throbs fast. I have a difficulty in standing. I will sit down. Do you feel unmoved?"

"No; but my heart throbs fast. I have difficulty in standing. Do you feel unmoved?"


"Hardly that; but I am glad I came. We shall see what transpires with our own eyes. We are here on the spot, and none know it. Instead of amazing the curate, the clothier, and the corn-dealer with a romantic rush on the stage, we stand alone with the friendly night, its mute stars, and these whispering trees, whose report our friends will not come to gather."

"Hardly that; but I am glad I came. We are here on the spot, and none know it."


"Shirley, Shirley, the gates are down! That crash was like the felling of great trees. Now they are pouring through. They will break down the mill doors as they have broken the gate. What can Robert do against so many? Would to God I were a little nearer him--could hear him speak--could speak to him! With my will--my longing to serve him--I could not be a useless burden in his way; I could be turned to some account."

"Shirley, the gates are down! Now they are pouring through. They will break down the mill doors as they have broken the gate. What can Robert do against so many? Would to God I were nearer him - could speak to him! I long to serve him - surely I could be of some use."


"They come on!" cried Shirley. "How steadily they march in! There is discipline in their ranks. I will not say there is courage--hundreds against tens are no proof of that quality--but" (she dropped her voice) "there is suffering and desperation enough amongst them. These goads will urge them forwards."

"How steadily they march in!" cried Shirley. "There is discipline in their ranks. I will not say there is courage, but there is desperation enough to urge them forwards."


"Forwards against Robert; and they hate him. Shirley, is there much danger they will win the day?"

"Forwards against Robert; and they hate him."


"We shall see. Moore and Helstone are of 'earth's first blood'--no bunglers--no cravens----"


A crash--smash--shiver--stopped their whispers. A simultaneously hurled volley of stones had saluted the broad front of the mill, with all its windows; and now every pane of every lattice lay in shattered and pounded fragments. A yell followed this demonstration--a rioters' yell--a north-of-England, a Yorkshire, a West-Riding, a West-Riding-clothing-district-of-Yorkshire rioters' yell.

A crash stopped their whispers. A volley of stones had saluted the broad front of the mill, with all its windows; and now every pane lay in shattered fragments. A yell followed - a rioters' yell.