When Miss Ainley arrived, she was made kindly welcome by every one. Mrs. Pryor and Margaret Hall made room for her on the sofa between them; and when the three were seated, they formed a trio which the gay and thoughtless would have scorned, indeed, as quite worthless and unattractive--a middle-aged widow and two plain, spectacled old maids--yet which had its own quiet value, as many a suffering and friendless human being knew.

When Miss Ainley arrived, she was welcomed kindly by everyone. Mrs. Pryor and Margaret Hall made room for her on the sofa; they formed a trio which the gay and thoughtless would have scorned as quite worthless and unattractive - yet which had its own quiet value, as many a suffering and friendless human knew.


Shirley opened the business and showed the plan.

Chapter 14: SHIRLEY SEEKS TO BE SAVED BY WORKS


"I know the hand which drew up that," said Mr. Hall, glancing at Miss Ainley, and smiling benignantly. His approbation was won at once. Boultby heard and deliberated with bent brow and protruded under lip. His consent he considered too weighty to be given in a hurry. Helstone glanced sharply round with an alert, suspicious expression, as if he apprehended that female craft was at work, and that something in petticoats was somehow trying underhand to acquire too much influence, and make itself of too much importance. Shirley caught and comprehended the expression. "This scheme is nothing," said she carelessly. "It is only an outline--a mere suggestion. You, gentlemen, are requested to draw up rules of your own."

"I know the hand which drew that up," said Mr. Hall, glancing at Miss Ainley, and smiling. Boultby heard and deliberated with protruded under lip. His consent he considered too weighty to be given in a hurry. Helstone glanced sharply round with an alert, suspicious expression, as if he felt that something in petticoats was somehow trying underhand to acquire too much influence, and make itself important.
Shirley caught and comprehended the expression. "This scheme is nothing," said she carelessly. "It is only an outline - a mere suggestion. You, gentlemen, are requested to draw up your own rules."


And she directly fetched her writing-case, smiling queerly to herself as she bent over the table where it stood. She produced a sheet of paper, a new pen, drew an arm-chair to the table, and presenting her hand to old Helstone, begged permission to install him in it. For a minute he was a little stiff, and stood wrinkling his copper-coloured forehead strangely. At last he muttered, "Well, you are neither my wife nor my daughter, so I'll be led for once; but mind--I know I _am_ led. Your little female manuvres don't blind me."

And she fetched her writing-case, smiling queerly to herself. She produced paper and pen, drew an arm-chair to the table, and begged Helstone to sit there. For a minute he was a little stiff, wrinkling his forehead strangely. At last he muttered, "Well, you are neither my wife nor my daughter, so I'll be led for once; but mind - I know I am led. Your little female manuvres don't blind me."


"Oh!" said Shirley, dipping the pen in the ink, and putting it into his hand, "you must regard me as Captain Keeldar to-day. This is quite a gentleman's affair--yours and mine entirely, doctor" (so she had dubbed the rector). "The ladies there are only to be our aides-de-camp, and at their peril they speak, till we have settled the whole business."

"Oh!" said Shirley, putting the pen into his hand, "you must regard me as Captain Keeldar today. This is quite a gentleman's affair - yours and mine entirely. The ladies there are only our aides-de-camp."


He smiled a little grimly, and began to write. He soon interrupted himself to ask questions, and consult his brethren, disdainfully lifting his glance over the curly heads of the two girls and the demure caps of the elder ladies, to meet the winking glasses and gray pates of the priests. In the discussion which ensued, all three gentlemen, to their infinite credit, showed a thorough acquaintance with the poor of their parishes--an even minute knowledge of their separate wants. Each rector knew where clothing was needed, where food would be most acceptable, where money could be bestowed with a probability of it being judiciously laid out. Wherever their memories fell short, Miss Ainley or Miss Hall, if applied to, could help them out; but both ladies took care not to speak unless spoken to. Neither of them wanted to be foremost, but each sincerely desired to be useful; and useful the clergy consented to make them--with which boon they were content.

He smiled a little grimly, and began to write. He asked questions, and consulted his brethren, disdainfully lifting his glance over the curly heads of the two girls and the demure caps of the elder ladies. In the discussion all three gentlemen, to their credit, showed they knew the poor of their parishes, and their separate wants. Each rector knew where clothing was needed, where food would be most acceptable, where money could be safely bestowed. Wherever their memories fell short, Miss Ainley or Miss Hall could help them out; but both ladies took care not to speak unless spoken to.


Shirley stood behind the rectors, leaning over their shoulders now and then to glance at the rules drawn up and the list of cases making out, listening to all they said, and still at intervals smiling her queer smile--a smile not ill-natured, but significant--too significant to be generally thought amiable. Men rarely like such of their fellows as read their inward nature too clearly and truly. It is good for women, especially, to be endowed with a soft blindness; to have mild, dim eyes, that never penetrate below the surface of things--that take all for what it seems. Thousands, knowing this, keep their eyelids drooped on system; but the most downcast glance has its loophole, through which it can, on occasion, take its sentinel-survey of life. I remember once seeing a pair of blue eyes, that were usually thought sleepy, secretly on the alert, and I knew by their expression--an expression which chilled my blood, it was in that quarter so wondrously unexpected--that for years they had been accustomed to silent soul-reading. The world called the owner of these blue eyes _bonne petite femme_ (she was not an Englishwoman). I learned her nature afterwards--got it off by heart--studied it in its farthest, most hidden recesses. She was the finest, deepest, subtlest schemer in Europe.

Shirley stood behind the rectors, leaning over their shoulders now and then to glance at the rules drawn up and the list of cases, listening, and at intervals smiling her queer smile - a smile not ill-natured, but significant. Men rarely like people who read their inward nature too clearly. It is good for women, especially, to have mild, dim eyes, that never penetrate below the surface of things. Thousands, knowing this, keep their eyelids drooped; but the most downcast glance can, on occasion, take its survey of life.


When all was at length settled to Miss Keeldar's mind, and the clergy had entered so fully into the spirit of her plans as to head the subscription-list with their signatures for 50 each, she ordered supper to be served, having previously directed Mrs. Gill to exercise her utmost skill in the preparation of this repast. Mr. Hall was no _bon vivant_--he was naturally an abstemious man, indifferent to luxury; but Boultby and Helstone both liked good cookery. The _recherch_ supper consequently put them into excellent humour. They did justice to it, though in a gentlemanly way--not in the mode Mr. Donne would have done had he been present. A glass of fine wine was likewise tasted, with discerning though most decorous relish. Captain Keeldar was complimented on his taste; the compliment charmed him. It had been his aim to gratify and satisfy his priestly guests. He had succeeded, and was radiant with glee.

When all was settled to Miss Keeldar's liking, and the clergy had entered so fully into the spirit of her plans as to promise 50 each, as the first subscriptions to the fund, she ordered supper to be served. She had previously directed Mrs. Gill to exercise her utmost skill. Mr. Hall was an abstemious man, indifferent to luxury; but Boultby and Helstone both liked good cookery. The supper put them into excellent humour. A glass of fine wine was tried, and Captain Keeldar was complimented on his taste. He had succeeded in gratifying his priestly guests; and was radiant with glee.


The two girls met no living soul on their way back to the rectory. They let themselves in noiselessly; they stole upstairs unheard--the breaking morning gave them what light they needed. Shirley sought her couch immediately; and though the room was strange--for she had never slept at the rectory before--and though the recent scene was one unparalleled for excitement and terror by any it had hitherto been her lot to witness, yet scarce was her head laid on the pillow ere a deep, refreshing sleep closed her eyes and calmed her senses.

The two girls met nobody on their way back to the rectory. They let themselves in noiselessly, and stole upstairs by the early dawn light. Shirley sought her bed; and though the room was strange, and though the recent scene had been unparalleled for excitement and terror by any she had yet witnessed, yet scarce was her head laid on the pillow before deep sleep closed her eyes.


Perfect health was Shirley's enviable portion. Though warm-hearted and sympathetic, she was not nervous; powerful emotions could rouse and sway without exhausting her spirit. The tempest troubled and shook her while it lasted, but it left her elasticity unbent, and her freshness quite unblighted. As every day brought her stimulating emotion, so every night yielded her recreating rest. Caroline now watched her sleeping, and read the serenity of her mind in the beauty of her happy countenance.

Shirley had perfect health. Though warm-hearted and sympathetic, she was not nervous; powerful emotions could sway without exhausting her spirit. The tempest troubled her while it lasted, but it left her freshness quite unblighted. Caroline now watched her serenely sleeping.


For herself, being of a different temperament, she could not sleep. The commonplace excitement of the tea-drinking and school-gathering would alone have sufficed to make her restless all night; the effect of the terrible drama which had just been enacted before her eyes was not likely to quit her for days. It was vain even to try to retain a recumbent posture; she sat up by Shirley's side, counting the slow minutes, and watching the June sun mount the heavens.

For herself, she could not sleep. The commonplace excitement of the school-gathering would alone have sufficed to make her restless; the effect of the terrible drama she had seen was not likely to quit her for days. It was vain even to lie down; she sat up by Shirley's side, watching the sun mount the heavens.


Life wastes fast in such vigils as Caroline had of late but too often kept--vigils during which the mind, having no pleasant food to nourish it, no manna of hope, no hived-honey of joyous memories, tries to live on the meagre diet of wishes, and failing to derive thence either delight or support, and feeling itself ready to perish with craving want, turns to philosophy, to resolution, to resignation; calls on all these gods for aid, calls vainly--is unheard, unhelped, and languishes.

Life wastes fast in such vigils as Caroline had lately too often kept - vigils during which the mind, with no hope or joyous memories to feed on, tries to live on the meagre diet of wishes; and feeling itself ready to perish with craving, turns to philosophy, to resolution, to resignation; calls on all these for aid, calls vainly - is unheard, and unhelped.


Caroline was a Christian; therefore in trouble she framed many a prayer after the Christian creed, preferred it with deep earnestness, begged for patience, strength, relief. This world, however, we all know, is the scene of trial and probation; and, for any favourable result her petitions had yet wrought, it seemed to her that they were unheard and unaccepted. She believed, sometimes, that God had turned His face from her. At moments she was a Calvinist, and, sinking into the gulf of religious despair, she saw darkening over her the doom of reprobation.

Caroline was a Christian; therefore in trouble she prayed often, begging for patience, strength, relief. However, it seemed that her prayers were unheard and unaccepted. She believed, sometimes, that God had turned His face from her.


Most people have had a period or periods in their lives when they have felt thus forsaken--when, having long hoped against hope, and still seen the day of fruition deferred, their hearts have truly sickened within them. This is a terrible hour, but it is often that darkest point which precedes the rise of day--that turn of the year when the icy January wind carries over the waste at once the dirge of departing winter and the prophecy of coming spring. The perishing birds, however, cannot thus understand the blast before which they shiver; and as little can the suffering soul recognize, in the climax of its affliction, the dawn of its deliverance. Yet, let whoever grieves still cling fast to love and faith in God. God will never deceive, never finally desert him. "Whom He loveth, He chasteneth." These words are true, and should not be forgotten.

Most people have had a period in their lives when they have felt thus forsaken - when, having long hoped against hope, their hearts have truly sickened within them. This is a terrible hour, but it is often that darkest point which precedes the rise of day - that turn of the year when the icy January wind carries both the dirge of departing winter and the prophecy of coming spring. The perishing birds, however, cannot understand this as they shiver; and nor can the suffering soul recognize the dawn of its deliverance.


The household was astir at last; the servants were up; the shutters were opened below. Caroline, as she quitted the couch, which had been but a thorny one to her, felt that revival of spirits which the return of day, of action, gives to all but the wholly despairing or actually dying. She dressed herself, as usual, carefully, trying so to arrange her hair and attire that nothing of the forlornness she felt at heart should be visible externally. She looked as fresh as Shirley when both were dressed, only that Miss Keeldar's eyes were lively, and Miss Helstone's languid.

The household was astir at last; the servants were up; the shutters were opened below. Caroline, as she rose, felt that revival of spirits which the return of day gives to all but the wholly despairing or actually dying. She dressed carefully, so that none of the forlornness she felt should be visible externally. She looked as fresh as Shirley when both were dressed; only Miss Keeldar's eyes were lively, and Miss Helstone's languid.


"To-day I shall have much to say to Moore," were Shirley's first words; and you could see in her face that life was full of interest, expectation, and occupation for her. "He will have to undergo cross-examination," she added. "I dare say he thinks he has outwitted me cleverly. And this is the way men deal with women--still concealing danger from them--thinking, I suppose, to spare them pain. They imagined we little knew where they were to-night. We _know_ they little conjectured where we were. Men, I believe, fancy women's minds something like those of children. Now, that is a mistake."

"Today I shall have much to say to Moore," were Shirley's first words; and you could see that life was full of interest and expectation for her. "He will have to undergo cross-examination," she added. "I dare say he thinks he has outwitted me. This is the way men deal with women - concealing danger from them - thinking, I suppose, to spare them pain. Men, I believe, fancy women's minds something like those of children. Now, that is a mistake."


This was said as she stood at the glass, training her naturally waved hair into curls, by twining it round her fingers. She took up the theme again five minutes after, as Caroline fastened her dress and clasped her girdle.

This was said as she stood at the mirror, training her hair into curls by twining it round her fingers. As Caroline fastened her dress, she continued:


"If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed; but the cleverest, the acutest men are often under an illusion about women. They do not read them in a true light; they misapprehend them, both for good and evil. Their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half angel; their bad woman almost always a fiend. Then to hear them fall into ecstasies with each other's creations--worshipping the heroine of such a poem, novel, drama--thinking it fine, divine! Fine and divine it may be, but often quite artificial--false as the rose in my best bonnet there. If I spoke all I think on this point, if I gave my real opinion of some first-rate female characters in first-rate works, where should I be? Dead under a cairn of avenging stones in half an hour."

"If men could see us as we really are, they would be amazed; but the cleverest men are often under an illusion about women. They misapprehend them, both for good and evil. Their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half angel; their bad woman almost always a fiend. Then to hear them fall into ecstasies with each other's creations - worshipping the heroine of such a poem or novel - thinking it fine, divine! Fine and divine it may be, but often quite artificial - false as the rose in my bonnet."


"Shirley, you chatter so, I can't fasten you. Be still. And, after all, authors' heroines are almost as good as authoresses' heroes."


"Not at all. Women read men more truly than men read women. I'll prove that in a magazine paper some day when I've time; only it will never be inserted. It will be 'declined with thanks,' and left for me at the publisher's."

"Not at all. Women read men more truly than men read women. I'll prove that in a magazine article some day when I've time; only it will never be published. It will be 'declined with thanks'."


"To be sure. You could not write cleverly enough. You don't know enough. You are not learned, Shirley."

"To be sure. You don't know enough. You are not learned, Shirley."


"God knows I can't contradict you, Cary; I'm as ignorant as a stone. There's one comfort, however: you are not much better."

"I can't contradict you, Cary; I'm as ignorant as a stone. There's one comfort, however: you are not much better."


"I wonder how Mrs. Pryor and Hortense Moore have passed the night," said Caroline, as she made the coffee. "Selfish being that I am, I never thought of either of them till just now. They will have heard all the tumult, Fieldhead and the cottage are so near; and Hortense is timid in such matters--so, no doubt, is Mrs. Pryor."

"I wonder how Mrs. Pryor and Hortense Moore have passed the night," said Caroline, as she made the coffee. "Selfish being that I am, I never thought of either of them till just now. They will have heard all the tumult; and Hortense is timid."


"Take my word for it, Lina, Moore will have contrived to get his sister out of the way. She went home with Miss Mann. He will have quartered her there for the night. As to Mrs. Pryor, I own I am uneasy about her; but in another half-hour we will be with her."

"Take my word for it, Lina, Moore will have contrived to get his sister out of the way. He will have quartered her with Miss Mann for the night. As to Mrs. Pryor, I confess I am uneasy about her; but in another half-hour we will be with her."


By this time the news of what had happened at the Hollow was spread all over the neighbourhood. Fanny, who had been to Fieldhead to fetch the milk, returned in panting haste with tidings that there had been a battle in the night at Mr. Moore's mill, and that some said twenty men were killed. Eliza, during Fanny's absence, had been apprised by the butcher's boy that the mill was burnt to the ground. Both women rushed into the parlour to announce these terrible facts to the ladies, terminating their clear and accurate narrative by the assertion that they were sure master must have been in it all. He and Thomas, the clerk, they were confident, must have gone last night to join Mr. Moore and the soldiers. Mr. Malone, too, had not been heard of at his lodgings since yesterday afternoon; and Joe Scott's wife and family were in the greatest distress, wondering what had become of their head.

By this time the news of what had happened at the Hollow was spread all over the neighbourhood. Fanny, who had been to Fieldhead to fetch the milk, returned in panting haste with news that there had been a battle in the night at Mr. Moore's mill, and that some said twenty men were killed. Eliza had been informed by the butcher's boy that the mill was burnt to the ground. Both women rushed into the parlour to announce these terrible facts to the ladies, saying that they were sure master must have been in it all; and Joe Scott's wife and family were in the greatest distress, wondering what had become of their head.


Scarcely was this information imparted when a knock at the kitchen door announced the Fieldhead errand-boy, arrived in hot haste, bearing a billet from Mrs. Pryor. It was hurriedly written, and urged Miss Keeldar to return directly, as the neighbourhood and the house seemed likely to be all in confusion, and orders would have to be given which the mistress of the hall alone could regulate. In a postscript it was entreated that Miss Helstone might not be left alone at the rectory. She had better, it was suggested, accompany Miss Keeldar.

A knock at the kitchen door announced the Fieldhead errand-boy, with a note from Mrs. Pryor. It was hurriedly written, and urged Miss Keeldar to return directly, as the neighbourhood was all in confusion, and orders would have to be given by the mistress of the hall. In a postscript it was entreated that Miss Helstone might not be left alone at the rectory, but had better accompany Miss Keeldar.


"There are not two opinions on that head," said Shirley, as she tied on her own bonnet, and then ran to fetch Caroline's.

"I agree," said Shirley, as she tied on her bonnet, and ran to fetch Caroline's.


"But what will Fanny and Eliza do? And if my uncle returns?"


"Your uncle will not return yet; he has other fish to fry. He will be galloping backwards and forwards from Briarfield to Stilbro' all day, rousing the magistrates in the court-house and the officers at the barracks; and Fanny and Eliza can have in Joe Scott's and the clerk's wives to bear them company. Besides, of course, there is no real danger to be apprehended now. Weeks will elapse before the rioters can again rally, or plan any other attempt; and I am much mistaken if Moore and Mr. Helstone will not take advantage of last night's outbreak to quell them altogether. They will frighten the authorities of Stilbro' into energetic measures. I only hope they will not be too severe--not pursue the discomfited too relentlessly."

"Your uncle will not return yet; he will be galloping backwards and forwards from Briarfield to Stilbro' all day, rousing the magistrates in the court-house and the officers at the barracks; and Fanny and Eliza can have Joe Scott's and the clerk's wives in to keep them company. There is no real danger now. Weeks will elapse before the rioters can again rally; and I expect Moore and Mr. Helstone will take advantage of last night's outbreak to quell them altogether. They will frighten the authorities of Stilbro' into energetic measures. I only hope they will not be too severe."


"Robert will not be cruel. We saw that last night," said Caroline.


"But he will be hard," retorted Shirley; "and so will your uncle."


As they hurried along the meadow and plantation path to Fieldhead, they saw the distant highway already alive with an unwonted flow of equestrians and pedestrians, tending in the direction of the usually solitary Hollow. On reaching the hall, they found the backyard gates open, and the court and kitchen seemed crowded with excited milk-fetchers--men, women, and children--whom Mrs. Gill, the housekeeper, appeared vainly persuading to take their milk-cans and depart. (It _is_, or _was_, by-the-bye, the custom in the north of England for the cottagers on a country squire's estate to receive their supplies of milk and butter from the dairy of the manor house, on whose pastures a herd of milch kine was usually fed for the convenience of the neighbourhood. Miss Keeldar owned such a herd--all deep-dewlapped, Craven cows, reared on the sweet herbage and clear waters of bonny Airedale; and very proud she was of their sleek aspect and high condition.) Seeing now the state of matters, and that it was desirable to effect a clearance of the premises, Shirley stepped in amongst the gossiping groups. She bade them good-morning with a certain frank, tranquil ease--the natural characteristic of her manner when she addressed numbers, especially if those numbers belonged to the working-class; she was cooler amongst her equals, and rather proud to those above her. She then asked them if they had all got their milk measured out; and understanding that they had, she further observed that she "wondered what they were waiting for, then."

As they hurried along the meadow path to Fieldhead, they saw the distant highway already alive with horsemen and pedestrians, heading towards the Hollow. On reaching the hall, they found the backyard gates open, and the court and kitchen crowded with excited milk-fetchers - waiting to receive their supplies from the dairy, as was the custom - whom Mrs. Gill, the housekeeper, was vainly trying to persuade to take their milk-cans and depart.
Seeing the state of matters, Shirley stepped in amongst the gossiping groups. She bade them good-morning with a frank, tranquil ease, and asked if they had all got their milk measured out; and understanding that they had, she observed that she "wondered what they were waiting for, then."


"We're just talking a bit over this battle there has been at your mill, mistress," replied a man.

"We're just talking a bit over this battle at your mill, mistress," replied a man.


"Talking a bit! Just like you!" said Shirley. "It is a queer thing all the world is so fond of _talking_ over events. You _talk_ if anybody dies suddenly; you _talk_ if a fire breaks out; you _talk_ if a mill-owner fails; you _talk_ if he's murdered. What good does your talking do?"

"Talking a bit!" said Shirley. "It is a queer thing all the world is so fond of talking over events. What good does your talking do?


There is nothing the lower orders like better than a little downright good-humoured rating. Flattery they scorn very much; honest abuse they enjoy. They call it speaking plainly, and take a sincere delight in being the objects thereof. The homely harshness of Miss Keeldar's salutation won her the ear of the whole throng in a second.


"We're no war nor some 'at is aboon us, are we?" asked a man, smiling.


"Nor a whit better. You that should be models of industry are just as gossip-loving as the idle. Fine, rich people that have nothing to do may be partly excused for trifling their time away; you who have to earn your bread with the sweat of your brow are quite inexcusable."

You working people should be models of industry, but you are just as gossip-loving as the idle. Fine, rich people that have nothing to do may be excused for trifling their time away; but not you."
"


"That's queer, mistress. Suld we never have a holiday because we work hard?"

Should we never have a holiday because we work hard?" asked a man, smiling.


"_Never_," was the prompt answer; "unless," added the "mistress," with a smile that half belied the severity of her speech--"unless you knew how to make a better use of it than to get together over rum and tea if you are women, or over beer and pipes if you are men, and _talk_ scandal at your neighbours' expense. Come, friends," she added, changing at once from bluntness to courtesy, "oblige me by taking your cans and going home. I expect several persons to call to-day, and it will be inconvenient to have the avenues to the house crowded."

"Never," was the prompt answer; "unless you make a better use of it than to talk scandal at your neighbours' expense. Come, friends," she added, changing at once from bluntness to courtesy, "oblige me by taking your cans and going home. I expect several persons to call today, and it will be inconvenient to have the avenues to the house crowded."


Yorkshire people are as yielding to persuasion as they are stubborn against compulsion. The yard was clear in five minutes.


"Thank you, and good-bye to you, friends," said Shirley, as she closed the gates on a quiet court.

"Thank you, and good-bye, friends," said Shirley, as she closed the gates.


Now, let me hear the most refined of cockneys presume to find fault with Yorkshire manners. Taken as they ought to be, the majority of the lads and lasses of the West Riding are gentlemen and ladies, every inch of them. It is only against the weak affectation and futile pomposity of a would-be aristocrat they turn mutinous.


Entering by the back way, the young ladies passed through the kitchen (or _house_, as the inner kitchen is called) to the hall. Mrs. Pryor came running down the oak staircase to meet them. She was all unnerved; her naturally sanguine complexion was pale; her usually placid, though timid, blue eye was wandering, unsettled, alarmed. She did not, however, break out into any exclamations, or hurried narrative of what had happened. Her predominant feeling had been in the course of the night, and was now this morning, a sense of dissatisfaction with herself that she could not feel firmer, cooler, more equal to the demands of the occasion.

Entering by the back way, the young ladies passed through the kitchen to the hall. Mrs. Pryor came running down the staircase to meet them. She was unnerved and pale, and looked alarmed. She felt, more than anything, dissatisfied with herself because she was not more equal to the demands of the occasion.


"You are aware," she began with a trembling voice, and yet the most conscientious anxiety to avoid exaggeration in what she was about to say, "that a body of rioters has attacked Mr. Moore's mill to-night. We heard the firing and confusion very plainly here; we none of us slept. It was a sad night. The house has been in great bustle all the morning with people coming and going. The servants have applied to me for orders and directions, which I really did not feel warranted in giving. Mr. Moore has, I believe, sent up for refreshments for the soldiers and others engaged in the defence, for some conveniences also for the wounded. I could not undertake the responsibility of giving orders or taking measures. I fear delay may have been injurious in some instances; but this is not my house. You were absent, my dear Miss Keeldar. What could I do?"

"You are aware," she began with a trembling voice, and yet anxious to avoid exaggeration, "that rioters have attacked Mr. Moore's mill. We heard the firing and confusion very plainly here; we none of us slept. It was a sad night. The house has been in great bustle all the morning. The servants have applied to me for directions, which I really did not feel warranted in giving. Mr. Moore has, I believe, sent up for refreshments for the soldiers and aid for the wounded. I could not undertake the responsibility of giving orders. I fear delay may have been harmful; but this is not my house. You were absent, my dear Miss Keeldar. What could I do?"


"Were no refreshments sent?" asked Shirley, while her countenance, hitherto so clear, propitious, and quiet, even while she was rating the milk-fetchers, suddenly turned dark and warm.

"Were no refreshments sent?" asked Shirley, while her countenance suddenly turned dark and warm.


"And nothing for the wounded--no linen, no wine, no bedding?"

"And nothing for the wounded - no linen, no wine, no bedding?"


"I think not. I cannot tell what Mrs. Gill did; but it seemed impossible to me, at the moment, to venture to dispose of your property by sending supplies to soldiers. Provisions for a company of soldiers sounds formidable. How many there are I did not ask; but I could not think of allowing them to pillage the house, as it were. I intended to do what was right, yet I did not see the case quite clearly, I own."

"I think not. I cannot tell what Mrs. Gill did; but it seemed impossible to me to venture to dispose of your property by sending supplies to soldiers. Provisions for a company of soldiers sounds formidable. How many there are I did not ask; I intended to do what was right, yet I did not see the case quite clearly, I admit."


"It lies in a nutshell, notwithstanding. These soldiers have risked their lives in defence of my property: I suppose they have a right to my gratitude. The wounded are our fellow-creatures: I suppose we should aid them.--Mrs. Gill!"

"These soldiers have risked their lives in defence of my property: they have a right to my gratitude. The wounded are our fellow-creatures: we should aid them. - Mrs. Gill!"


She turned, and called in a voice more clear than soft. It rang through the thick oak of the hall and kitchen doors more effectually than a bell's summons. Mrs. Gill, who was deep in bread-making, came with hands and apron in culinary case, not having dared to stop to rub the dough from the one or to shake the flour from the other. Her mistress had never called a servant in that voice save once before, and that was when she had seen from the window Tartar in full tug with two carriers' dogs, each of them a match for him in size, if not in courage, and their masters standing by, encouraging their animals, while hers was unbefriended. Then indeed she had summoned John as if the Day of Judgment were at hand. Nor had she waited for the said John's coming, but had walked out into the lane bonnetless, and after informing the carriers that she held them far less of men than the three brutes whirling and worrying in the dust before them, had put her hands round the thick neck of the largest of the curs, and given her whole strength to the essay of choking it from Tartar's torn and bleeding eye, just above and below which organ the vengeful fangs were inserted. Five or six men were presently on the spot to help her, but she never thanked one of them. "They might have come before if their will had been good," she said. She had not a word for anybody during the rest of the day, but sat near the hall fire till evening watching and tending Tartar, who lay all gory, stiff, and swelled on a mat at her feet. She wept furtively over him sometimes, and murmured the softest words of pity and endearment, in tones whose music the old, scarred, canine warrior acknowledged by licking her hand or her sandal alternately with his own red wounds. As to John, his lady turned a cold shoulder on him for a week afterwards.

She called in a clear, penetrating voice. Mrs. Gill, who was deep in bread-making in the kitchen, came at once, not daring even to rub the dough from her hands or shake the flour from her apron. Her mistress had never called a servant in that voice save once before, when Tartar had been fighting with two large carriers' dogs, encouraged by their masters. Then Miss Keeldar had summoned John as if the Day of Judgment were at hand. Without waiting for him, she had walked out into the lane, put her hands round the thick neck of the largest cur, and used all her strength to pull it from Tartar's torn and bleeding head. She had not said a word to anybody during the rest of the day, but sat till evening tending Tartar. She wept furtively over him sometimes, and murmured the softest words of pity and endearment, which the old, scarred, canine warrior acknowledged by licking her hand. As to John, his lady turned a cold shoulder on him for a week afterwards.


Mrs. Gill, remembering this little episode, came "all of a tremble," as she said herself. In a firm, brief voice Miss Keeldar proceeded to put questions and give orders. That at such a time Fieldhead should have evinced the inhospitality of a miser's hovel stung her haughty spirit to the quick; and the revolt of its pride was seen in the heaving of her heart, stirred stormily under the lace and silk which veiled it.

Mrs. Gill, remembering this little episode, came promptly. That at such a time Fieldhead should have been inhospitable stung Shirley's haughty spirit to the quick.


"How long is it since that message came from the mill?" she demanded.


"Not an hour yet, ma'am," answered the housekeeper soothingly.


"Not an hour! You might almost as well have said not a day. They will have applied elsewhere by this time. Send a man instantly down to tell them that everything this house contains is at Mr. Moore's, Mr. Helstone's, and the soldiers' service. Do that first."

"Not an hour! You might as well have said not a day. They will have applied elsewhere by this time. Send a man instantly down to tell them that everything this house contains is at Mr. Moore's, Mr. Helstone's, and the soldiers' service. Do that first."


While the order was being executed, Shirley moved away from her friends, and stood at the hall-window, silent, unapproachable. When Mrs. Gill came back, she turned. The purple flush which painful excitement kindles on a pale cheek glowed on hers; the spark which displeasure lights in a dark eye fired her glance.

While the order was being executed, Shirley moved away and stood at the hall-window, silent, unapproachable. When Mrs. Gill came back, she turned, with a flushed cheek and a spark of displeasure firing her glance.


"Let the contents of the larder and the wine-cellar be brought up, put into the hay-carts, and driven down to the Hollow. If there does not happen to be much bread or much meat in the house, go to the butcher and baker, and desire them to send what they have. But I will see for myself."

"Let the contents of the larder and the wine-cellar be brought up, put into the hay-carts, and driven down to the Hollow. If we have not much bread or meat in the house, go to the butcher and baker, and desire them to send what they have. But I will see for myself."


"All will be right soon; she will get over it in an hour," whispered Caroline to Mrs. Pryor. "Go upstairs, dear madam," she added affectionately, "and try to be as calm and easy as you can. The truth is, Shirley will blame herself more than you before the day is over."

"She will get over it in an hour," whispered Caroline to Mrs. Pryor. "Go upstairs, dear madam," she added affectionately, "and try to be as calm as you can. The truth is, Shirley will blame herself more than you before the day is over."


By dint of a few more gentle assurances and persuasions, Miss Helstone contrived to soothe the agitated lady. Having accompanied her to her apartment, and promised to rejoin her there when things were settled, Caroline left her to see, as she said, "if she could be useful." She presently found that she could be very useful; for the retinue of servants at Fieldhead was by no means numerous, and just now their mistress found plenty of occupation for all the hands at her command, and for her own also. The delicate good-nature and dexterous activity which Caroline brought to the aid of the housekeeper and maids--all somewhat scared by their lady's unwonted mood--did a world of good at once; it helped the assistants and appeased the directress. A chance glance and smile from Caroline moved Shirley to an answering smile directly. The former was carrying a heavy basket up the cellar stairs.

With a few more gentle assurances, Miss Helstone managed to soothe the agitated lady. Having taken her to her apartment, Caroline left her to see if she could be useful.
She found that she could be very useful; for Fieldhead had not many servants, and just now their mistress found plenty of occupation for all the hands at her command, and for her own also. The good-natured help which Caroline gave the housekeeper and maids - all somewhat scared by their lady's mood - did a world of good; and it appeased Shirley herself. She ran over to Caroline, who was carrying a heavy basket up the cellar stairs.


"This is a shame!" cried Shirley, running to her. "It will strain your arm."


She took it from her, and herself bore it out into the yard. The cloud of temper was dispelled when she came back; the flash in her eye was melted; the shade on her forehead vanished. She resumed her usual cheerful and cordial manner to those about her, tempering her revived spirits with a little of the softness of shame at her previous unjust anger.

," she cried; took it from her, and bore it out into the yard. The cloud of temper was dispelled; the flash in her eye was melted. She resumed her usual cheerful and cordial manner to those about her.


She was still superintending the lading of the cart, when a gentleman entered the yard and approached her ere she was aware of his presence.

Shirley was still superintending the loading of the cart, when a gentleman entered the yard.


"I hope I see Miss Keeldar well this morning?" he said, examining with rather significant scrutiny her still flushed face.

"I hope I see Miss Keeldar well this morning?" he said, examining her flushed face.


She gave him a look, and then again bent to her employment without reply. A pleasant enough smile played on her lips, but she hid it. The gentleman repeated his salutation, stooping, that it might reach her ear with more facility.

She gave him a look, and then again bent to her employment without reply, hiding a smile. The gentleman repeated his greeting.


"Well enough, if she be good enough," was the answer; "and so is Mr. Moore too, I dare say. To speak truth, I am not anxious about him; some slight mischance would be only his just due. His conduct has been--we will say _strange_ just now, till we have time to characterize it by a more exact epithet. Meantime, may I ask what brings him here?"

"Well enough," was the answer; "and so is Mr. Moore too, I dare say." For the gentleman was he. "To speak truth, I am not anxious about him; some slight mischance would be only deserved. His conduct has been - let us say strange. May I ask what brings him here?"


"Mr. Helstone and I have just received your message that everything at Fieldhead was at our service. We judged, by the unlimited wording of the gracious intimation, that you would be giving yourself too much trouble. I perceive our conjecture was correct. We are not a regiment, remember--only about half a dozen soldiers and as many civilians. Allow me to retrench something from these too abundant supplies."

"Mr. Helstone and I have just received your message that everything at Fieldhead was at our service. We judged that you would be giving yourself too much trouble; and I see we were correct. We are not a regiment, remember - only about half a dozen soldiers and as many civilians."


Miss Keeldar blushed, while she laughed at her own over-eager generosity and most disproportionate calculations. Moore laughed too, very quietly though; and as quietly he ordered basket after basket to be taken from the cart, and remanded vessel after vessel to the cellar.

Miss Keeldar blushed, while she laughed at her own over-eager generosity. Moore laughed too, though quietly; and ordered baskets to be removed from the cart, and vessels returned to the cellar.


"The rector must hear of this," he said; "he will make a good story of it. What an excellent army contractor Miss Keeldar would have been!" Again he laughed, adding, "It is precisely as I conjectured."


"You ought to be thankful," said Shirley, "and not mock me. What could I do? How could I gauge your appetites or number your band? For aught I knew, there might have been fifty of you at least to victual. You told me nothing; and then an application to provision soldiers naturally suggests large ideas."

"You ought to be thankful," said Shirley, "and not mock me. How could I gauge your appetites or number your band? For aught I knew, there might have been fifty of you. You told me nothing; and an application to provision soldiers naturally suggests large numbers."


"It appears so," remarked Moore, levelling another of his keen, quiet glances at the discomfited Shirley.--"Now," he continued, addressing the carter, "I think you may take what remains to the Hollow. Your load will be somewhat lighter than the one Miss Keeldar destined you to carry."

"It appears so," remarked Moore, levelling another of his keen, quiet glances at the discomfited Shirley. - "Now," he continued to the carter, "Your load is somewhat lighter. Take it to the Hollow."


As the vehicle rumbled out of the yard, Shirley, rallying her spirits, demanded what had become of the wounded.

As the vehicle rumbled out of the yard, Shirley demanded what had become of the wounded.


"There was not a single man hurt on our side," was the answer.


"You were hurt yourself, on the temples," interposed a quick, low voice--that of Caroline, who, having withdrawn within the shade of the door, and behind the large person of Mrs. Gill, had till now escaped Moore's notice. When she spoke, his eye searched the obscurity of her retreat.

"You were hurt yourself, on the head," interposed a quick, low voice - that of Caroline, in the doorway, who had till now escaped Moore's notice.


"As you might scratch your finger with a needle in sewing."


He took his hat off, and did as he was bid, disclosing only a narrow slip of court-plaster. Caroline indicated, by a slight movement of the head, that she was satisfied, and disappeared within the clear obscure of the interior.

He took his hat off, disclosing a narrow slip of plaster. Caroline nodded slightly to show that she was satisfied, and disappeared inside.


"How did she know I was hurt?" asked Moore.


"By rumour, no doubt. But it is too good in her to trouble herself about you. For my part, it was of your victims I was thinking when I inquired after the wounded. What damage have your opponents sustained?"

"By rumour, no doubt. But it is too good of her to trouble herself about you. For my part, it was your victims I was thinking of. What damage have your opponents sustained?"


"One of the rioters, or victims as you call them, was killed, and six were hurt."


"What you will perfectly approve. Medical aid was procured immediately; and as soon as we can get a couple of covered wagons and some clean straw, they will be removed to Stilbro'."

Medical aid was fetched immediately; and as soon as we can get a couple of covered wagons and some clean straw, they will be removed to Stilbro'."


"Straw! You must have beds and bedding. I will send my wagon directly, properly furnished; and Mr. Yorke, I am sure, will send his."

"Straw! You must have beds and bedding. I will send my wagon directly; and Mr. Yorke, I am sure, will send his."


"You guess correctly; he has volunteered already. And Mrs. Yorke--who, like you, seems disposed to regard the rioters as martyrs, and me, and especially Mr. Helstone, as murderers--is at this moment, I believe, most assiduously engaged in fitting it up with feather-beds, pillows, bolsters, blankets, etc. The _victims_ lack no attentions, I promise you. Mr. Hall, your favourite parson, has been with them ever since six o'clock, exhorting them, praying with them, and even waiting on them like any nurse; and Caroline's good friend, Miss Ainley, that _very_ plain old maid, sent in a stock of lint and linen, something in the proportion of another lady's allowance of beef and wine."

"He has volunteered already. And Mrs. Yorke - who, like you, seems to regard the rioters as martyrs, and me and Mr. Helstone as murderers - is at this moment, I believe, fitting it up with feather-beds, pillows and blankets. The victims lack no attentions, I promise you. Mr. Hall, your favourite parson, has been with them since six o'clock, waiting on them like any nurse; and Caroline's good friend, Miss Ainley, sent in a vast stock of lint and linen."


"Well cared for. I had her securely domiciled with Miss Mann. This very morning the two set out for Wormwood Wells [a noted watering-place], and will stay there some weeks."

"Well cared for. She is with Miss Mann. This morning the two set out for the resort of Wormwood Wells, and will stay there some weeks."


"So Mr. Helstone domiciled me at the rectory! Mighty clever you gentlemen think you are! I make you heartily welcome to the idea, and hope its savour, as you chew the cud of reflection upon it, gives you pleasure. Acute and astute, why are you not also omniscient? How is it that events transpire, under your very noses, of which you have no suspicion? It should be so, otherwise the exquisite gratification of outmanoeuvring you would be unknown. Ah, friend, you may search my countenance, but you cannot read it."

"Mighty clever you gentlemen think you are! Why are you not also omniscient? How is it that events occur, under your very noses, of which you have no suspicion? Ah, friend, you may search my countenance, but you cannot read it.


Moore, indeed, looked as if he could not.


"You think me a dangerous specimen of my sex. Don't you now?"

You think me a dangerous specimen of my sex. Don't you?"


"And knowing her, I assert that she is neither eccentric nor difficult of control. Is she?"

She is neither eccentric nor difficult of control.


"However, there is nothing masculine about _her_?"


"Why lay such emphasis on _her_? Do you consider her a contrast, in that respect, to yourself?"


"You do, no doubt; but that does not signify. Caroline is neither masculine, nor of what they call the spirited order of women."

She is not what they call a spirited woman."


"I have seen her flash out," said Moore.


"So have I, but not with manly fire. It was a short, vivid, trembling glow, that shot up, shone, vanished----"

"So have I, but not with manly fire. It was a short, vivid, trembling glow, that shot up, shone, vanished-"


"And left her scared at her own daring. You describe others besides Caroline."


"The point I wish to establish is, that Miss Helstone, though gentle, tractable, and candid enough, is still perfectly capable of defying even Mr. Moore's penetration."

"The point I wish to make is, that Miss Helstone, though gentle and tractable, is still perfectly capable of defying even Mr. Moore's penetration."


"What have you and she been doing?" asked Moore suddenly.


"If you are hungry, Mrs. Gill will give you something to eat here. Step into the oak parlour, and ring the bell. You will be served as if at an inn; or, if you like better, go back to the Hollow."

Mrs. Gill will give you something to eat. Step into the oak parlour, and ring the bell."


"The alternative is not open to me; I _must_ go back. Good-morning. The first leisure I have I will see you again."

"No, I must go back. Good-morning. The first leisure I have, I will see you again."


Yet Caroline refused tamely to succumb. She had native strength in her girl's heart, and she used it. Men and women never struggle so hard as when they struggle alone, without witness, counsellor, or confidant, unencouraged, unadvised, and unpitied.

Yet Caroline refused tamely to succumb. She had strength in her girl's heart; and men and women never struggle so hard as when they struggle alone, unadvised and unpitied.


Miss Helstone was in this position. Her sufferings were her only spur, and being very real and sharp, they roused her spirit keenly. Bent on victory over a mortal pain, she did her best to quell it. Never had she been seen so busy, so studious, and, above all, so active. She took walks in all weathers, long walks in solitary directions. Day by day she came back in the evening, pale and wearied-looking, yet seemingly not fatigued; for still, as soon as she had thrown off her bonnet and shawl, she would, instead of resting, begin to pace her apartment. Sometimes she would not sit down till she was literally faint. She said she did this to tire herself well, that she might sleep soundly at night. But if that was her aim it was unattained; for at night, when others slumbered, she was tossing on her pillow, or sitting at the foot of her couch in the darkness, forgetful, apparently, of the necessity of seeking repose. Often, unhappy girl! she was crying--crying in a sort of intolerable despair, which, when it rushed over her, smote down her strength, and reduced her to childlike helplessness.

Caroline's sufferings were her only spur, and being very real and sharp, they roused her spirit keenly. Bent on victory over a mortal pain, she did her best to quell it. Never had she been so busy, so studious, and, above all, so active. She took long walks in all weathers. Day by day she came back in the evening, pale and weary-looking, yet seemingly not fatigued; for as soon as she had thrown off her bonnet and shawl, she would, instead of resting, begin to pace her apartment. Sometimes she would not sit down till she was literally faint.
She said she did this to tire herself well, so that she might sleep soundly at night. But if that was her aim it was unattained; for at night, when others slumbered, she was tossing on her pillow, or sitting at the foot of her bed in the darkness. Often, unhappy girl! she was crying in a sort of intolerable despair, which smote down her strength, and reduced her to childlike helplessness.


When thus prostrate, temptations besieged her. Weak suggestions whispered in her weary heart to write to Robert, and say that she was unhappy because she was forbidden to see him and Hortense, and that she feared he would withdraw his friendship (not love) from her, and forget her entirely, and begging him to remember her, and sometimes to write to her. One or two such letters she actually indited, but she never sent them: shame and good sense forbade.

When thus prostrate, temptations besieged her. Weak suggestions whispered in her weary heart to write to Robert, and say that she was unhappy because she was forbidden to see him and Hortense, and beg him to remember her. One or two such letters she actually wrote, but she never sent them: shame and good sense stopped her.


At last the life she led reached the point when it seemed she could bear it no longer, that she must seek and find a change somehow, or her heart and head would fail under the pressure which strained them. She longed to leave Briarfield, to go to some very distant place. She longed for something else--the deep, secret, anxious yearning to discover and know her mother strengthened daily; but with the desire was coupled a doubt, a dread--if she knew her, could she love her? There was cause for hesitation, for apprehension on this point. Never in her life had she heard that mother praised; whoever mentioned her mentioned her coolly. Her uncle seemed to regard his sister-in-law with a sort of tacit antipathy; an old servant, who had lived with Mrs. James Helstone for a short time after her marriage, whenever she referred to her former mistress, spoke with chilling reserve--sometimes she called her "queer," sometimes she said she did not understand her. These expressions were ice to the daughter's heart; they suggested the conclusion that it was perhaps better never to know her parent than to know her and not like her.

At last she reached the point when it seemed she could bear her life no longer, that she must find a change somehow, or her heart and head would fail under the pressure. She longed to leave Briarfield, to go to some very distant place.
She longed for something else too: the deep, secret, anxious yearning to find and know her mother strengthened daily; but with the desire came doubt - if she knew her mother, would she love her? She had never heard that mother praised. Her uncle seemed to regard her with antipathy; an old servant, who had lived with Mrs. James Helstone for a short time after her marriage, spoke of her with chilling reserve, and said she did not understand her. These expressions were ice to the daughter's heart.


But one project could she frame whose execution seemed likely to bring her a hope of relief: it was to take a situation, to be a governess; she could do nothing else. A little incident brought her to the point, when she found courage to break her design to her uncle.

But one plan seemed likely to bring her hope of relief. It was to take a situation as a governess; she could do nothing else. Eventually she found courage to speak of it to her uncle.


Her long and late walks lay always, as has been said, on lonely roads; but in whatever direction she had rambled--whether along the drear skirts of Stilbro' Moor or over the sunny stretch of Nunnely Common--her homeward path was still so contrived as to lead her near the Hollow. She rarely descended the den, but she visited its brink at twilight almost as regularly as the stars rose over the hillcrests. Her resting-place was at a certain stile under a certain old thorn. Thence she could look down on the cottage, the mill, the dewy garden-ground, the still, deep dam; thence was visible the well-known counting-house window, from whose panes at a fixed hour shot, suddenly bright, the ray of the well-known lamp. Her errand was to watch for this ray, her reward to catch it, sometimes sparkling bright in clear air, sometimes shimmering dim through mist, and anon flashing broken between slant lines of rain--for she came in all weathers.

Her long walks lay on lonely roads; but in whatever direction she had rambled, her homeward path always led her near the Hollow. She regularly visited its brink at twilight, and rested at a certain stile. From there she could look down on the cottage, the mill, the dewy garden: from there was visible the counting-house window, from whose panes at a fixed hour shone the ray of the lamp. Her errand was to watch for this ray, her reward to catch it.


There were nights when it failed to appear. She knew then that Robert was from home, and went away doubly sad; whereas its kindling rendered her elate, as though she saw in it the promise of some indefinite hope. If, while she gazed, a shadow bent between the light and lattice, her heart leaped. That eclipse was Robert; she had seen him. She would return home comforted, carrying in her mind a clearer vision of his aspect, a distincter recollection of his voice, his smile, his bearing; and blent with these impressions was often a sweet persuasion that, if she could get near him, his heart might welcome her presence yet, that at this moment he might be willing to extend his hand and draw her to him, and shelter her at his side as he used to do. That night, though she might weep as usual, she would fancy her tears less scalding; the pillow they watered seemed a little softer; the temples pressed to that pillow ached less.

There were nights when it failed to appear. She knew then that Robert was from home, and went away doubly sad; whereas its kindling elated her, like the promise of some indefinite hope. If, while she gazed, a shadow appeared before the light, her heart leaped. That was Robert; she had seen him. She would return home comforted, and persuaded that, if she could get near him, he might welcome her yet, he might extend his hand and draw her to him, as he used to do. That night, though she might weep, she would fancy her tears less scalding; her head ached less.


The shortest path from the Hollow to the rectory wound near a certain mansion, the same under whose lone walls Malone passed on that night-journey mentioned in an early chapter of this work--the old and tenantless dwelling yclept Fieldhead. Tenantless by the proprietor it had been for ten years, but it was no ruin. Mr. Yorke had seen it kept in good repair, and an old gardener and his wife had lived in it, cultivated the grounds, and maintained the house in habitable condition.

The shortest path from the Hollow to the rectory passed a certain mansion: the old and tenantless dwelling called Fieldhead. Tenantless it had been for ten years, but it was no ruin. Mr. Yorke had kept it in good repair, and an old gardener and his wife had lived in it, cultivated the grounds, and maintained the house.


If Fieldhead had few other merits as a building, it might at least be termed picturesque. Its regular architecture, and the gray and mossy colouring communicated by time, gave it a just claim to this epithet. The old latticed windows, the stone porch, the walls, the roof, the chimney-stacks, were rich in crayon touches and sepia lights and shades. The trees behind were fine, bold, and spreading; the cedar on the lawn in front was grand; and the granite urns on the garden wall, the fretted arch of the gateway, were, for an artist, as the very desire of the eye.

Fieldhead was picturesque, grey and mossy: the old latticed windows, the stone porch, the walls, the chimney-stacks, were rich in sepia lights and shades. The trees behind were fine and spreading; the cedar on the front lawn was grand; and the granite urns over the arch of the gateway were pleasing to the eye.


One mild May evening Caroline, passing near about moonrise, and feeling, though weary, unwilling yet to go home, where there was only the bed of thorns and the night of grief to anticipate, sat down on the mossy ground near the gate, and gazed through towards cedar and mansion. It was a still night--calm, dewy, cloudless; the gables, turned to the west, reflected the clear amber of the horizon they faced; the oaks behind were black; the cedar was blacker. Under its dense, raven boughs a glimpse of sky opened gravely blue. It was full of the moon, which looked solemnly and mildly down on Caroline from beneath that sombre canopy.

One mild May evening Caroline, passing near about moonrise, and unwilling yet to go home, sat down on the mossy ground near the gate of Fieldhead, and gazed through it towards the cedar and the mansion. It was a still, cloudless night; the gables, facing west, reflected the clear amber of the horizon; the cedar was black. Under its dense, raven boughs a glimpse of sky opened gravely blue. It was full of the moon, which looked solemnly down on Caroline.


She felt this night and prospect mournfully lovely. She wished she could be happy; she wished she could know inward peace; she wondered Providence had no pity on her, and would not help or console her. Recollections of happy trysts of lovers, commemorated in old ballads, returned on her mind; she thought such tryst in such scene would be blissful. Where now was Robert? she asked. Not at the Hollow; she had watched for his lamp long, and had not seen it. She questioned within herself whether she and Moore were ever destined to meet and speak again. Suddenly the door within the stone porch of the hall opened, and two men came out--one elderly and white-headed, the other young, dark-haired, and tall. They passed across the lawn, out through a portal in the garden wall. Caroline saw them cross the road, pass the stile, descend the fields; she saw them disappear. Robert Moore had passed before her with his friend Mr. Yorke. Neither had seen her.

She felt the view was mournfully lovely. She wished she could be happy and have peace. Where now was Robert? she asked. Not at the Hollow; she had watched for his lamp, and had not seen it.
Suddenly the door within the stone porch of the hall opened, and two men came out - one elderly and white-headed, the other young, dark-haired, and tall. They walked across the lawn and through a gate in the garden wall. Caroline saw them pass the stile, descend the fields and disappear. Robert Moore had passed before her with his friend Mr. Yorke. Neither had seen her.


The apparition had been transient--scarce seen ere gone; but its electric passage left her veins kindled, her soul insurgent. It found her despairing, it left her desperate--two different states.

The apparition was fleeting; but at its electric passage her veins kindled, her soul surged. It left her desperate.


"Oh, had he but been alone! had he but seen me!" was her cry. "He would have said something. He would have given me his hand. He _does_, he _must_, love me a little. He would have shown some token of affection. In his eye, on his lips, I should have read comfort; but the chance is lost. The wind, the cloud's shadow, does not pass more silently, more emptily than he. I have been mocked, and Heaven is cruel!"

"Oh, had he only been alone! had he only seen me!" was her cry. "He would have said something. He would have given me his hand. He does, he must, love me a little. Oh, Heaven is cruel!"


Thus, in the utter sickness of longing and disappointment, she went home.


The next morning at breakfast, where she appeared white-cheeked and miserable-looking as one who had seen a ghost, she inquired of Mr. Helstone, "Have you any objection, uncle, to my inquiring for a situation in a family?"

The next morning at breakfast, where she appeared white-faced and miserable-looking, she asked Mr. Helstone:
"Have you any objection, uncle, to my inquiring for a situation in a family?"


Her uncle, ignorant as the table supporting his coffee-cup of all his niece had undergone and was undergoing, scarcely believed his ears.

Her uncle, ignorant of all his niece was undergoing, scarcely believed his ears.


"What whim now?" he asked. "Are you bewitched? What can you mean?"

"What whim now? Are you bewitched? What can you mean?"


"I am not well, and need a change," she said.


He examined her. He discovered she had _experienced_ a change, at any rate. Without his being aware of it, the rose had dwindled and faded to a mere snowdrop; bloom had vanished, flesh wasted; she sat before him drooping, colourless, and thin. But for the soft expression of her brown eyes, the delicate lines of her features, and the flowing abundance of her hair, she would no longer have possessed a claim to the epithet pretty.

He examined her. He saw that the rose had faded to a snowdrop; her bloom had vanished, her flesh wasted; she sat before him drooping, colourless, and thin. But for the soft expression of her brown eyes, the delicate lines of her features, and the flowing abundance of her hair, she would no longer have any claim to be called pretty.


"What on earth is the matter with you?" he asked. "What is wrong? How are you ailing?"

"What on earth is the matter with you?" he asked. "How are you ailing?"


No answer; only the brown eyes filled, the faintly-tinted lips trembled.

No answer; only the brown eyes filled, the pale lips trembled.


"Look out for a situation, indeed! For what situation are you fit? What have you been doing with yourself? You are not well."


"These women are incomprehensible. They have the strangest knack of startling you with unpleasant surprises. To-day you see them bouncing, buxom, red as cherries, and round as apples; to-morrow they exhibit themselves effete as dead weeds, blanched and broken down. And the reason of it all? That's the puzzle. She has her meals, her liberty, a good house to live in, and good clothes to wear, as usual. A while since that sufficed to keep her handsome and cheery, and there she sits now a poor, little, pale, puling chit enough. Provoking! Then comes the question, What is to be done? I suppose I must send for advice. Will you have a doctor, child?"

"These women are incomprehensible. They are full of unpleasant surprises. Today you see them bouncing, red as cherries, and round as apples; tomorrow they look as feeble as dead weeds. And why? That's the puzzle. She has her meals, her liberty, a good house to live in, and good clothes to wear. Yet there she sits a poor, little, pale, puling chit. Provoking! I suppose I must send for advice. Will you have a doctor, child?"


"No, uncle, I don't want one. A doctor could do me no good. I merely want change of air and scene."

"No, uncle. A doctor could do me no good. I merely want change of air and scene."


"Well, if that be the caprice, it shall be gratified. You shall go to a watering-place. I don't mind the expense. Fanny shall accompany you."

"Well, that you can have. You shall go to a watering-place. I don't mind the expense. Fanny shall accompany you."


"But, uncle, some day I must do something for myself; I have no fortune. I had better begin now."


"While I live, you shall not turn out as a governess, Caroline. I will not have it said that my niece is a governess."

"While I live, you shall not be a governess, Caroline. I will not have it said that my niece is a governess."


"But the later in life one makes a change of that sort, uncle, the more difficult and painful it is. I should wish to get accustomed to the yoke before any habits of ease and independence are formed."

"But the later in life one makes a change of that sort, uncle, the more difficult and painful it is. I should wish to get accustomed to the work."


"I beg you will not harass me, Caroline. I mean to provide for you. I have always meant to provide for you. I will purchase an annuity. Bless me! I am but fifty-five; my health and constitution are excellent. There is plenty of time to save and take measures. Don't make yourself anxious respecting the future. Is that what frets you?"

"I beg you will not harass me, Caroline. I mean to provide for you. Bless me! I am only fifty-five; my health is excellent. There is plenty of time to take measures. Don't make yourself anxious about the future. Is that what frets you?"


He laughed. "There speaks the woman!" cried he, "the very woman! A change! a change! Always fantastical and whimsical! Well, it's in her sex."

He laughed. "There speaks the very woman!" cried he. "A change! Always fantastical and whimsical! Well, it's in her sex."


"But it is not fantasy and whim, uncle."


"Necessity, I think. I feel weaker than formerly. I believe I should have more to do."

necessity, I think. I feel weaker than formerly. I believe I should have more to do."


"Admirable! She feels weak, and _therefore_ she should be set to hard labour--'clair comme le jour,' as Moore--confound Moore! You shall go to Cliff Bridge; and there are two guineas to buy a new frock. Come, Cary, never fear. We'll find balm in Gilead."

"Admirable! She feels weak, and therefore she should be set to hard labour. There are two guineas to buy a new frock. Come, Cary, never fear."


"Uncle, I wish you were less generous and more----"

"Uncle, I wish you were less generous and more-"


Sympathizing was the word on Caroline's lips, but it was not uttered. She checked herself in time. Her uncle would indeed have laughed if that namby-pamby word had escaped her. Finding her silent, he said, "The fact is, you don't know precisely what you want."

Sympathizing was the word on Caroline's lips, but she checked herself. Her uncle would have laughed at that namby-pamby word.
Finding her silent, he said, "The fact is, you don't know precisely what you want."


"Pooh! mere nonsense! I'll not hear of governessing. Don't mention it again. It is rather too feminine a fancy. I have finished breakfast. Ring the bell. Put all crotchets out of your head, and run away and amuse yourself."

"Pooh! mere nonsense! Don't mention it again. I have finished breakfast. Ring the bell, and then run away and amuse yourself."


"What with? My doll?" asked Caroline to herself as she quitted the room.


A week or two passed; her bodily and mental health neither grew worse nor better. She was now precisely in that state when, if her constitution had contained the seeds of consumption, decline, or slow fever, those diseases would have been rapidly developed, and would soon have carried her quietly from the world. People never die of love or grief alone, though some die of inherent maladies which the tortures of those passions prematurely force into destructive action. The sound by nature undergo these tortures, and are racked, shaken, shattered; their beauty and bloom perish, but life remains untouched. They are brought to a certain point of dilapidation; they are reduced to pallor, debility, and emaciation. People think, as they see them gliding languidly about, that they will soon withdraw to sick-beds, perish there, and cease from among the healthy and happy. This does not happen. They live on; and though they cannot regain youth and gaiety, they may regain strength and serenity. The blossom which the March wind nips, but fails to sweep away, may survive to hang a withered apple on the tree late into autumn: having braved the last frosts of spring, it may also brave the first of winter.

A week or two passed; her bodily and mental health neither grew worse nor better. She was now precisely in that state when, if her constitution had contained the seeds of consumption or slow fever, those diseases would have rapidly developed, and would soon have carried her quietly from the world. People never die of love or grief alone. If they have no other malady, they may become pale and thin, but they live on; and though they cannot regain youth and gaiety, they may regain strength and serenity.


Every one noticed the change in Miss Helstone's appearance, and most people said she was going to die. She never thought so herself. She felt in no dying case; she had neither pain nor sickness. Her appetite was diminished; she knew the reason. It was because she wept so much at night. Her strength was lessened; she could account for it. Sleep was coy and hard to be won; dreams were distressing and baleful. In the far future she still seemed to anticipate a time when this passage of misery should be got over, and when she should once more be calm, though perhaps never again happy.

Everyone noticed the change in Miss Helstone's appearance, and most people said she was going to die. She never thought so herself. Her appetite was diminished; she knew it was because she wept so much at night. Her strength was lessened; she could account for it. Sleep was hard, and her dreams were distressing. But she felt that in the far future this time of misery should be got over, and she should once more be calm, though perhaps never again happy.


Meanwhile her uncle urged her to visit, to comply with the frequent invitations of their acquaintance. This she evaded doing. She could not be cheerful in company; she felt she was observed there with more curiosity than sympathy. Old ladies were always offering her their advice, recommending this or that nostrum; young ladies looked at her in a way she understood, and from which she shrank. Their eyes said they knew she had been "disappointed," as custom phrases it; by whom, they were not certain.

Meanwhile her uncle urged her to visit their acquaintance. This she evaded doing. She could not be cheerful in company; she felt she was observed with more curiosity than sympathy. Old ladies were always offering her their advice, recommending remedies; young ladies looked at her in a way from which she shrank. Their eyes said they knew she had been "disappointed"; by whom, they were not certain.


Commonplace young ladies can be quite as hard as commonplace young gentlemen--quite as worldly and selfish. Those who suffer should always avoid them. Grief and calamity they despise; they seem to regard them as the judgments of God on the lowly. With them, to "love" is merely to contrive a scheme for achieving a good match; to be "disappointed" is to have their scheme seen through and frustrated. They think the feelings and projects of others on the subject of love similar to their own, and judge them accordingly.

Commonplace young ladies can be quite as worldly and hard as commonplace young gentlemen. Grief and calamity they despise; they regard them as the judgments of God on the lowly. With them, to "love" is merely to contrive a scheme for achieving a good match; to be "disappointed" is to have their scheme frustrated.


All this Caroline knew, partly by instinct, partly by observation. She regulated her conduct by her knowledge, keeping her pale face and wasted figure as much out of sight as she could. Living thus in complete seclusion, she ceased to receive intelligence of the little transactions of the neighbourhood.

All this Caroline knew, and she kept her pale face and wasted figure as much out of sight as she could. Living thus in seclusion, she ceased to hear news of the little events of the neighbourhood.


One morning her uncle came into the parlour, where she sat endeavouring to find some pleasure in painting a little group of wild flowers, gathered under a hedge at the top of the Hollow fields, and said to her in his abrupt manner, "Come, child, you are always stooping over palette, or book, or sampler; leave that tinting work. By-the-bye, do you put your pencil to your lips when you paint?"

One morning her uncle came into the parlour, where she sat trying to find some pleasure in painting wild flowers, and said to her in his abrupt manner, "Come, child, leave that work.


"Then it is that which is poisoning you. The paints are deleterious, child. There is white lead and red lead, and verdigris, and gamboge, and twenty other poisons in those colour cakes. Lock them up! lock them up! Get your bonnet on. I want you to make a call with me."


This question was asked in a tone of surprise. She was not accustomed to make calls with her uncle. She never rode or walked out with him on any occasion.

She was surprised; she was not accustomed to make calls with her uncle.


"Quick! quick! I am always busy, you know. I have no time to lose."


She hurriedly gathered up her materials, asking, meantime, where they were going.


"Fieldhead! What! to see old James Booth, the gardener? Is he ill?"


"We are going to see Miss Shirley Keeldar."


"Miss Keeldar! Is she coming to Yorkshire? Is she at Fieldhead?"


"She is. She has been there a week. I met her at a party last night--that party to which you would not go. I was pleased with her. I choose that you shall make her acquaintance. It will do you good."

She has been at Fieldhead a week. I met her at a party last night - that party to which you would not go. I was pleased with her. I choose that you shall make her acquaintance. It will do you good."


"She is now twenty-one and come of age, I suppose?"


"She is come of age, and will reside for a time on her property. I lectured her on the subject; I showed her her duty. She is not intractable. She is rather a fine girl; she will teach you what it is to have a sprightly spirit. Nothing lackadaisical about _her_."

"Yes, and will reside for a time on her property. I lectured her on the subject; I showed her her duty. She is not intractable. She is rather a fine girl; nothing lackadaisical about her."


"I don't think she will want to see me, or to have me introduced to her. What good can I do her? How can I amuse her?"

"I don't think she will want to see me. What good can I do her?"


"Don't know. You hardly imagine she would show her pride to me, I suppose? A chit like that would scarcely presume to give herself airs with the rector of her parish, however rich she might be."


"No. But how did she behave to other people?"


"Didn't observe. She holds her head high, and probably can be saucy enough where she dare. She wouldn't be a woman otherwise. There! Away now for your bonnet at once!"

She holds her head high, and probably can be saucy enough. She wouldn't be a woman otherwise. Away now for your bonnet at once!"


Not naturally very confident, a failure of physical strength and a depression of spirits had not tended to increase Caroline's presence of mind and ease of manner, or to give her additional courage to face strangers, and she quailed, in spite of self-remonstrance, as she and her uncle walked up the broad, paved approach leading from the gateway of Fieldhead to its porch. She followed Mr. Helstone reluctantly through that porch into the sombre old vestibule beyond.

Caroline was not naturally very confident, and her depression of spirits had not increased her courage to face strangers. She quailed as she and her uncle walked up the broad approach to Fieldhead. She followed Mr. Helstone reluctantly into the sombre old hallway.


Very sombre it was--long, vast, and dark; one latticed window lit it but dimly. The wide old chimney contained now no fire, for the present warm weather needed it not; it was filled instead with willow-boughs. The gallery on high, opposite the entrance, was seen but in outline, so shadowy became this hall towards its ceiling. Carved stags' heads, with real antlers, looked down grotesquely from the walls. This was neither a grand nor a comfortable house; within as without it was antique, rambling, and incommodious. A property of a thousand a year belonged to it, which property had descended, for lack of male heirs, on a female. There were mercantile families in the district boasting twice the income, but the Keeldars, by virtue of their antiquity, and their distinction of lords of the manor, took the precedence of all.

Very sombre it was - long, vast, and dark; one window lit it dimly. The wide old chimney contained no fire; it was filled instead with willow-boughs. The high gallery, opposite the entrance, was in shadow. Carved stags' heads, with real antlers, looked down grotesquely from the walls. This was neither a grand nor a comfortable house; it was antique, rambling, and inconvenient. A property of a thousand a year belonged to it, which had descended, for lack of male heirs, on a female. There were richer families in the district, but the Keeldars were the oldest family, and as lords of the manor, took precedence.


Mr. and Miss Helstone were ushered into a parlour. Of course, as was to be expected in such a Gothic old barrack, this parlour was lined with oak: fine, dark, glossy panels compassed the walls gloomily and grandly. Very handsome, reader, these shining brown panels are, very mellow in colouring and tasteful in effect, but--if you know what a "spring clean" is--very execrable and inhuman. Whoever, having the bowels of humanity, has seen servants scrubbing at these polished wooden walls with beeswaxed cloths on a warm May day must allow that they are "intolerable and not to be endured;" and I cannot but secretly applaud the benevolent barbarian who had painted another and larger apartment of Fieldhead--the drawing-room, to wit, formerly also an oak-room--of a delicate pinky white, thereby earning for himself the character of a Hun, but mightily enhancing the cheerfulness of that portion of his abode, and saving future housemaids a world of toil.

Mr. and Miss Helstone were ushered into a gloomy, oak-lined parlour, furnished in old style.


The brown-panelled parlour was furnished all in old style, and with real old furniture. On each side of the high mantelpiece stood two antique chairs of oak, solid as silvan thrones, and in one of these sat a lady. But if this were Miss Keeldar, she must have come of age at least some twenty years ago. She was of matronly form, and though she wore no cap, and possessed hair of quite an undimmed auburn, shading small and naturally young-looking features, she had no youthful aspect, nor apparently the wish to assume it. You could have wished her attire of a newer fashion. In a well-cut, well-made gown hers would have been no uncomely presence. It puzzled you to guess why a garment of handsome materials should be arranged in such scanty folds, and devised after such an obsolete mode. You felt disposed to set down the wearer as somewhat eccentric at once.

On each side of the high mantelpiece stood two antique chairs of oak, solid as thrones, and in one of these sat a lady. But if this were Miss Keeldar, she must have come of age at least twenty years ago. She was matronly, and her attire was plain and old-fashioned to the point of eccentricity.


This lady received the visitors with a mixture of ceremony and diffidence quite English. No middle-aged matron who was not an Englishwoman _could_ evince precisely the same manner--a manner so uncertain of herself, of her own merits, of her power to please, and yet so anxious to be proper, and, if possible, rather agreeable than otherwise. In the present instance, however, more embarrassment was shown than is usual even with diffident Englishwomen. Miss Helstone felt this, sympathized with the stranger, and knowing by experience what was good for the timid, took a seat quietly near her, and began to talk to her with a gentle ease, communicated for the moment by the presence of one less self-possessed than herself.

This lady received the visitors with a mixture of ceremony and diffidence. She seemed anxious to be proper, yet uncertain and embarrassed. Miss Helstone felt this, sympathized with the stranger, and knowing by experience what was good for the timid, took a seat quietly and began to talk to her with a gentle ease, made confident for the moment by the presence of one less self-possessed than herself.


She and this lady would, if alone, have at once got on extremely well together. The lady had the clearest voice imaginable--infinitely softer and more tuneful than could have been reasonably expected from forty years--and a form decidedly inclined to _embonpoint_. This voice Caroline liked; it atoned for the formal, if correct, accent and language. The lady would soon have discovered she liked it and her, and in ten minutes they would have been friends. But Mr. Helstone stood on the rug looking at them both, looking especially at the strange lady with his sarcastic, keen eye, that clearly expressed impatience of her chilly ceremony, and annoyance at her want of _aplomb_. His hard gaze and rasping voice discomfited the lady more and more. She tried, however, to get up little speeches about the weather, the aspect of the country, etc.; but the impracticable Mr. Helstone presently found himself somewhat deaf. Whatever she said he affected not to hear distinctly, and she was obliged to go over each elaborately-constructed nothing twice. The effort soon became too much for her. She was just rising in a perplexed flutter, nervously murmuring that she knew not what detained Miss Keeldar, that she would go and look for her, when Miss Keeldar saved her the trouble by appearing. It was to be presumed at least that she who now came in through a glass door from the garden owned that name.

She and this lady would, if alone, have got on extremely well together. The lady had a soft and tuneful voice, which Caroline liked; it atoned for the formal manner. In ten minutes they would have been friends. But Mr. Helstone stood on the rug looking at the strange lady with his keen, sarcastic eye, impatient at her lack of aplomb. His hard gaze discomfited the lady. She tried to make little speeches about the weather, etc.; but Mr. Helstone found himself somewhat deaf. Whatever she said he pretended not to hear distinctly, and she was obliged to go over each elaborately-constructed nothing twice.
The effort soon became too much for her. She was just rising in a perplexed flutter, nervously murmuring that she would go and look for Miss Keeldar, when Miss Keeldar saved her the trouble by appearing. It was to be presumed at least that this was she who now came in from the garden.


There is real grace in ease of manner, and so old Helstone felt when an erect, slight girl walked up to him, retaining with her left hand her little silk apron full of flowers, and, giving him her right hand, said pleasantly, "I knew you would come to see me, though you _do_ think Mr. Yorke has made me a Jacobin. Good-morning."

There is real grace in ease of manner, and so old Helstone felt when an erect, slight girl walked up to him, holding with her left hand her little silk apron full of flowers; and, giving him her right hand, said pleasantly, "I knew you would come to see me, though you do think Mr. Yorke has made me a Jacobin. Good-morning."


"But we'll not have you a Jacobin," returned he. "No, Miss Shirley; they shall not steal the flower of my parish from me. Now that you are amongst us, you shall be my pupil in politics and religion; I'll teach you sound doctrine on both points."

"But we'll not have you a Jacobin," returned he. "No, Miss Shirley; now that you are amongst us, I'll teach you sound doctrine."


"Mrs. Pryor has anticipated you," she replied, turning to the elder lady. "Mrs. Pryor, you know, was my governess, and is still my friend; and of all the high and rigid Tories she is queen; of all the stanch churchwomen she is chief. I have been well drilled both in theology and history, I assure you, Mr. Helstone."

"Mrs. Pryor has anticipated you," she replied, turning to the elder lady. "Mrs. Pryor, you know, was my governess, and is still my friend. She has drilled me well in both theology and history, I assure you, Mr. Helstone."


The rector immediately bowed very low to Mrs. Pryor, and expressed himself obliged to her.

The rector immediately bowed very low to Mrs. Pryor.


The ex-governess disclaimed skill either in political or religious controversy, explained that she thought such matters little adapted for female minds, but avowed herself in general terms the advocate of order and loyalty, and, of course, truly attached to the Establishment. She added she was ever averse to change under any circumstances, and something scarcely audible about the extreme danger of being too ready to take up new ideas closed her sentence.

The ex-governess disclaimed skill either in political or religious controversy, explained that she thought such matters little adapted for female minds, but assured him she was truly attached to the Establishment. She added that she was averse to change, and said something scarcely audible about the danger of new ideas.


"Miss Keeldar thinks as you think, I hope, madam."


"Difference of age and difference of temperament occasion difference of sentiment," was the reply. "It can scarcely be expected that the eager and young should hold the opinions of the cool and middle-aged."


"Oh! oh! we are independent; we think for ourselves!" cried Mr. Helstone. "We are a little Jacobin, for anything I know--a little freethinker, in good earnest. Let us have a confession of faith on the spot."

"Oh! oh! we are independent; we think for ourselves!" cried Mr. Helstone. "We are a little Jacobin, for anything I know - a little freethinker. Let us have a confession of faith on the spot."


And he took the heiress's two hands--causing her to let fall her whole cargo of flowers--and seated her by him on the sofa.

And he took the heiress's two hands - causing her to let fall her cargo of flowers - and seated her by him on the sofa.


"Now for St. Athanasius's. That's the test!"


"Let me gather up my flowers. Here is Tartar coming; he will tread upon them."


Tartar was a rather large, strong, and fierce-looking dog, very ugly, being of a breed between mastiff and bulldog, who at this moment entered through the glass door, and posting directly to the rug, snuffed the fresh flowers scattered there. He seemed to scorn them as food; but probably thinking their velvety petals might be convenient as litter, he was turning round preparatory to depositing his tawny bulk upon them, when Miss Helstone and Miss Keeldar simultaneously stooped to the rescue.

Tartar was a rather large, strong, ugly and fierce-looking dog, of a breed between mastiff and bulldog, who at this moment entered through the glass door, and snuffed the fresh flowers scattered on the rug. As he was turning round preparatory to lying down upon them, Miss Helstone and Miss Keeldar simultaneously stooped to the rescue.


"Thank you," said the heiress, as she again held out her little apron for Caroline to heap the blossoms into it. "Is this your daughter, Mr. Helstone?" she asked.

"Thank you," said the heiress. "Is this your daughter, Mr. Helstone?"


Miss Keeldar shook hands with her, and then looked at her. Caroline also looked at her hostess.

Miss Keeldar shook hands with her, and they looked at each other.


Shirley Keeldar (she had no Christian name but Shirley: her parents, who had wished to have a son, finding that, after eight years of marriage, Providence had granted them only a daughter, bestowed on her the same masculine family cognomen they would have bestowed on a boy, if with a boy they had been blessed)--Shirley Keeldar was no ugly heiress. She was agreeable to the eye. Her height and shape were not unlike Miss Helstone's; perhaps in stature she might have the advantage by an inch or two. She was gracefully made, and her face, too, possessed a charm as well described by the word grace as any other. It was pale naturally, but intelligent, and of varied expression. She was not a blonde, like Caroline. Clear and dark were the characteristics of her aspect as to colour. Her face and brow were clear, her eyes of the darkest gray (no green lights in them--transparent, pure, neutral gray), and her hair of the darkest brown. Her features were distinguished--by which I do not mean that they were high, bony, and Roman, being indeed rather small and slightly marked than otherwise, but only that they were, to use a few French words, "fins, gracieux, spirituels"--mobile they were and speaking; but their changes were not to be understood nor their language interpreted all at once. She examined Caroline seriously, inclining her head a little to one side, with a thoughtful air.

Shirley Keeldar (she had no Christian name but Shirley: her parents, who had wished to have a son, bestowed on her the family name they would have bestowed on a boy) - Shirley Keeldar was no ugly heiress. She was agreeable to the eye. She was perhaps an inch or two taller than Miss Helstone, and gracefully made. Her face, too, possessed a graceful charm. It was intelligent and expressive. Her eyes were of the darkest grey, and her hair of the darkest brown. Her features were distinguished - by which I do not mean that they were high, bony, and Roman, being indeed rather small and slight; but only that they were spirited and mobile. She examined Caroline seriously, her head a little on one side, with a thoughtful air.


"You see she is only a feeble chick," observed Mr. Helstone.


"She looks young--younger than I.--How old are you?" she inquired in a manner that would have been patronizing if it had not been extremely solemn and simple.

"She looks younger than I. How old are you?" she inquired in a manner that would have been patronizing if it had not been solemn and simple.


She said no more. She had now placed her flowers on the table, and was busied in arranging them.

She said no more, but busied herself in arranging her flowers.


"And St. Athanasius's Creed?" urged the rector. "You believe it all, don't you?"


"I can't remember it quite all. I will give you a nosegay, Mr. Helstone, when I have given your niece one."


She had selected a little bouquet of one brilliant and two or three delicate flowers, relieved by a spray of dark verdure. She tied it with silk from her work-box, and placed it on Caroline's lap; and then she put her hands behind her, and stood bending slightly towards her guest, still regarding her, in the attitude and with something of the aspect of a grave but gallant little cavalier. This temporary expression of face was aided by the style in which she wore her hair, parted on one temple, and brushed in a glossy sweep above the forehead, whence it fell in curls that looked natural, so free were their wavy undulations.

She selected a little bouquet of delicate flowers, relieved by a spray of dark greenery. Tying it with silk from her work-box, she placed it on Caroline's lap; and then she put her hands behind her, and stood bending slightly towards her guest, in the attitude of a grave but gallant little cavalier. This effect was aided by the style in which she wore her hair, parted on one temple, and brushed in a glossy sweep above the forehead, whence it fell freely in natural-looking curls.


"Are you tired with your walk?" she inquired.


"No--not in the least. It is but a short distance--but a mile."


"You look pale.--Is she always so pale?" she asked, turning to the rector.

"You look pale. Is she always so pale?" she asked, turning to the rector.


"She used to be as rosy as the reddest of your flowers."


"Why is she altered? What has made her pale? Has she been ill?"


"She ought to have one. You ought to give her one. You should send her to the sea-coast."

"She ought to have one. You ought to give her one. You should send her to the coast."


"I will, ere summer is over. Meantime, I intend her to make acquaintance with you, if you have no objection."

"I will, before summer is over. Meantime, I intend her to make acquaintance with you, if you have no objection."


"I am sure Miss Keeldar will have no objection," here observed Mrs. Pryor. "I think I may take it upon me to say that Miss Helstone's frequent presence at Fieldhead will be esteemed a favour."

"I am sure Miss Keeldar will have no objection," here observed Mrs. Pryor. "I think I may say that Miss Helstone's frequent presence at Fieldhead will be esteemed a favour."


"You speak my sentiments precisely, ma'am," said Shirley, "and I thank you for anticipating me.--Let me tell you," she continued, turning again to Caroline, "that you also ought to thank my governess. It is not every one she would welcome as she has welcomed you. You are distinguished more than you think. This morning, as soon as you are gone, I shall ask Mrs. Pryor's opinion of you. I am apt to rely on her judgment of character, for hitherto I have found it wondrous accurate. Already I foresee a favourable answer to my inquiries.--Do I not guess rightly, Mrs. Pryor?"

"You speak my sentiments precisely, ma'am," said Shirley, "and I thank you. Let me tell you," she continued, turning again to Caroline, "that my governess does not welcome everyone as she has welcomed you. You are distinguished more than you think. As soon as you are gone, I shall ask Mrs. Pryor's opinion of you, for I have found her judgment of character wondrous accurate. Already I foresee a favourable answer. Do I not guess rightly, Mrs. Pryor?"


"My dear, you said but now you would ask my opinion when Miss Helstone was gone. I am scarcely likely to give it in her presence."

"My dear, you said you would ask my opinion when Miss Helstone was gone, not in her presence."


"No; and perhaps it will be long enough before I obtain it.--I am sometimes sadly tantalized, Mr. Helstone, by Mrs. Pryor's extreme caution. Her judgments ought to be correct when they come, for they are often as tardy of delivery as a Lord Chancellor's. On some people's characters I cannot get her to pronounce a sentence, entreat as I may."

"No; and perhaps it will be long before I obtain it. - I am sometimes sadly tantalized, Mr. Helstone, by Mrs. Pryor's extreme caution. On some people's characters I cannot get her to pronounce a sentence, entreat as I may."


"Yes," said her pupil, "I know what that smile means. You are thinking of my gentleman-tenant.--Do you know Mr. Moore of the Hollow?" she asked Mr. Helstone.

"Yes," said her pupil, "I know what that smile means. You are thinking of Mr. Moore of the Hollow. Do you know him?" she asked Mr. Helstone.