Lady Macleod was very eager to know all about the coming marriage. "I can tell you now, my dear, though I couldn't do it before, that I knew he'd persist for ever. He told me so himself in confidence."

The old lady was very eager to know all about the coming marriage.
"I knew he'd persist for ever, my dear. He told me so himself in confidence."


"He has persisted, aunt; that is certain."


"And I hope you'll reward him. A beautiful woman without discretion is like a pearl in a swine's snout; but a good wife is a crown of glory to her husband. Remember that, my dear, and choose your part for his sake."

"And I hope you'll reward him. A beautiful woman without discretion is like a pearl in a swine's snout; but a good wife is a crown of glory to her husband. Remember that, my dear."


"I won't be that unfortunate pearl, if I can help it, aunt."


"We can all help it, if we set about it in the right way. And Alice, you must be careful to find out all his likes and his dislikes. Dear me! I remember how hard I found it, but then I don't think I was so clever as you are."

"And Alice, you must be careful to find out all his likes and dislikes. Dear me! I remember how hard I found it, but then I don't think I was so clever as you are."


"Sometimes I think nobody has ever been so stupid as I have."


"Not stupid, my dear; if I must say the word, it is self-willed. But, dear, all that is forgiven now. Is it not?"

"Not stupid, my dear; self-willed, perhaps. But all that is forgiven now. Is it not?"


"There is a forgiveness which it is rather hard to get," said Alice.


There was something said then as to the necessity of looking for pardon beyond this world, which I need not here repeat. To all her old friend's little sermons Alice was infinitely more attentive than had been her wont, so that Lady Macleod was comforted and took heart of grace, and at last brought forth from under her pillow a letter from the Countess of Midlothian, which she had received a day or two since, and which bore upon Alice's case. "I was not quite sure whether I'd show it you," said Lady Macleod, "because you wouldn't answer her when she wrote to you. But when I'm gone, as I shall be soon, she will be the nearest relative you have on your mother's side, and from her great position, you know, Alice--" But here Alice became impatient for the letter. Her aunt handed it to her, and she read as follows:--

Her aunt said something about looking for pardon beyond this world, which I need not here repeat. Alice was much more attentive than usual to her old friend's little sermons, so that Lady Macleod took heart, and at last brought forth a letter from the Countess of Midlothian, which she had received a day or two since.
"I was not quite sure whether I'd show it you," said Lady Macleod, "because you wouldn't answer her when she wrote to you. But when I'm gone, she will be your nearest relative on your mother's side, you know, Alice."
The letter was as follows:


I am sorry to hear of the symptoms you speak about. I strongly advise you to depend chiefly on beef-tea. They should be very careful to send it up quite free from grease, and it should not be too strong of the meat. There should be no vegetables in it. Not soup, you know, but beef-tea. If any thing acts upon your strength, that will. I need not tell one who has lived as you have done where to look for that other strength which alone can support you at such a time as this. I would go to you if I thought that my presence would be any comfort to you, but I know how sensitive you are, and the shock might be too much for you.

I am sorry to hear of your symptoms. I strongly advise you to depend chiefly on beef-tea. They should be very careful to send it up quite free from grease, and there should be no vegetables in it. I would go to you if I thought that my presence would be any comfort to you, but I know how sensitive you are, and the shock might be too much for you.


If you see Alice Vavasor on her return to England, as you probably will, pray tell her from me that I give her my warmest congratulations, and that I am heartily glad that matters are arranged. I think she treated my attempts to heal the wound in a manner that they did not deserve; but all that shall be forgiven, as shall also her original bad behaviour to poor Mr. Grey.

If you see Alice Vavasor on her return to England, pray tell her from me that I give her my warmest congratulations, and that I am heartily glad that matters are arranged. I think she treated my attempts to heal the wound in a manner that they did not deserve; but all that shall be forgiven, as shall also her original bad behaviour to poor Mr. Grey.


Alice was becoming weary of so much forgiveness, and told herself, as she was reading the letter, that that of Lady Midlothian was at any rate unnecessary. "I trust that we may yet meet and be friends," continued Lady Midlothian. "I am extremely gratified at finding that she has been thought so much of by Mr. Palliser. I'm told that Mr. Palliser and Mr. Grey have become great friends, and if this is so, Alice must be happy to feel that she has had it in her power to confer so great a benefit on her future husband as he will receive from this introduction." "I ain't a bit happy, and I have conferred no benefit on Mr. Grey," exclaimed Alice, who was unable to repress the anger occasioned by the last paragraph.

I trust that we may yet meet and be friends. I am extremely gratified at finding that she has been thought so much of by Mr. Palliser. I'm told that Mr. Palliser and Mr. Grey have become great friends, and if this is so, Alice must be happy to feel that she has had it in her power to confer so great a benefit on her future husband as he will receive from this introduction.
"I ain't a bit happy, and I have conferred no benefit on Mr. Grey," exclaimed Alice, unable to repress her anger at the last paragraph.


"Mr. Palliser has every bit as much cause to be gratified for that as Mr. Grey, and perhaps more."

"Mr. Palliser has every bit as much cause to be gratified as Mr. Grey, and perhaps more."


Poor Lady Macleod could not argue the matter in her present state. She merely sighed, and moved her shrivelled old hand up and down upon the counterpane. Alice finished the letter without further remarks. It merely went on to say how happy the writer would be to know something of her cousin as Mrs. Grey, as also to know something of Mr. Grey, and then gave a general invitation to both Mr. and Mrs. Grey, asking them to come to Castle Reekie whenever they might be able. The Marchioness, with whom Lady Midlothian was staying, had expressly desired her to give this message. Alice, however, could not but observe that Lady Midlothian's invitation applied only to another person's house.

Poor Lady Macleod could not argue. She merely sighed, and moved her shrivelled old hand up and down upon the counterpane.
Alice finished the letter without further remarks. It merely went on to say how happy the writer would be to see her cousin as Mrs. Grey, and gave a general invitation to Mr. and Mrs. Grey to come to Castle Reekie whenever they might be able.


"Indeed she does," said Lady Macleod, "and then you know you'll probably have children; and think what a thing it will be for them to know the Midlothian family. You shouldn't rob them of their natural advantages."


Alice remained a week with her aunt, and went from thence direct to Westmoreland. Some order as to bridal preparations we must presume she gave on that single day which she passed in London. Much advice she had received on this head from Lady Glencora, and no inconsiderable amount of assistance was to be rendered to her at Matching during the fortnight she would remain there before her marriage. Something also, let us hope, she might do at Cheltenham. Something no doubt she did do. Something also might probably be achieved among the wilds in Westmoreland, but that something would necessarily be of a nature not requiring fashionable tradespeople. While at Cheltenham, she determined that she would not again return to London before her marriage. This resolve was caused by a very urgent letter from Mr. Grey, and by another, almost equally urgent, from Lady Glencora. If the marriage did not take place in September she would not be present at it. The gods of the world,--of Lady Glencora's world,--had met together and come to a great decision. Lady Glencora was to be removed in October to Gatherum Castle, and remain there till the following spring, so that the heir might, in truth, be born in the purple. "It is such a bore," said Lady Glencora, "and I know it will be a girl. But the Duke isn't to be there, except for the Christmas week." An invitation for the ceremony at Matching had been sent from Mr. Palliser to Mr. Vavasor, and another from Lady Glencora to Kate, "whom I long to know," said her ladyship, "and with whom I should like to pick a crow, if I dared, as I'm sure she did all the mischief."

Alice remained a week with her aunt, and went from there direct to Westmorland. On her single day in London, we must presume she gave some order about bridal preparations; and she had a very urgent letter from Glencora. If the marriage did not take place in September she would not be present at it. It had been decided that Lady Glencora was to be moved in October to Gatherum Castle, and remain there till the following spring, so that the heir would be born there.
"It is such a bore," said Lady Glencora, "and I know it will be a girl. But the Duke isn't to be there, except for the Christmas week."
An invitation for the wedding ceremony at Matching had been sent from Mr. Palliser to Mr. Vavasor, and another from Lady Glencora to Kate, "whom I long to know," said her ladyship, "and with whom I should like to pick an argument, if I dared, as I'm sure she did all the mischief."


One morning, early in May, a full week before Alice's visit to the bankers' at Charing Cross, a servant in grand livery, six feet high, got out of a cab at the door in Queen Anne Street, and sent up a note for Miss Vavasor, declaring that he would wait in the cab for her answer. He had come from Lady Glencora, and had been specially ordered to go in a cab and come back in a cab, and make himself as like a Mercury, with wings to his feet, as may be possible to a London footman. Mr. Palliser had arranged his plans with his wife that morning,--or, I should more correctly say, had given her his orders, and she, in consequence, had sent away her Mercury in hot pressing haste to Queen Anne Street. "Do come;--instantly if you can," the note said. "I have so much to tell you, and so much to ask of you. If you can't come, when shall I find you, and where?" Alice sent back a note, saying that she would be in Park Lane as soon as she could put on her bonnet and walk down; and then the Mercury went home in his cab.

One morning in May, before Alice's visit to the bank, a servant in grand livery got out of a cab in Queen Anne Street, and sent up a note for Miss Vavasor, declaring that he would wait for her answer. He had come from Lady Glencora, for Mr. Palliser had arranged his plans with his wife that morning.
"Do come - instantly if you can," the note said. "I have so much to tell you, and so much to ask of you." Alice sent back a note, saying that she would be in Park Lane as soon as she could put on her bonnet and walk down.


Alice found her friend in the small breakfast-room up-stairs, sitting close by the window. They had not as yet met since the evening of Lady Monk's party, nor had Lady Glencora seen Alice in the mourning which she now wore for her grandfather. "Oh, dear, what a change it makes in you," she said. "I never thought of your being in black."

Alice found her friend in the small breakfast-room upstairs, sitting by the window. They had not met since the evening of Lady Monk's party, nor had Lady Glencora seen Alice in the mourning which she now wore for her grandfather.
"Oh, dear," she said. "I never thought of your being in black."


"I don't know what it is you want, but shan't I do in mourning as well as I would in colours?"

"I don't know what you want, but shan't I do in mourning as well as I would in colours?"


"You'll do in anything, dear. But I have so much to tell you, and I don't know how to begin. And I've so much to ask of you, and I'm so afraid you won't do it."

"You'll do in anything, dear. But I have so much to tell you.


"You generally find me very complaisant."


"No I don't, dear. It is very seldom you will do anything for me. But I must tell you everything first. Do take your bonnet off, for I shall be hours in doing it."


"Yes; and in getting your consent to what I want you to do. But I think I'll tell you that first. I'm to be taken abroad immediately."


"Ah, you may well ask that. If you could know what questions I have asked myself on that head! I sometimes say things to myself as though they were the most proper and reasonable things in the world, and then within an hour or two I hate myself for having thought of them."

"Ah, you may well ask. If you could know what questions I have asked myself on that head!


"But why don't you answer me? Who is going abroad with you?"


"Yes; you. When I have named so very respectable a chaperon for my youth, of course you will understand that my husband is to take us."

"Yes; you. So of course you will understand that my husband is to take us."


"But Mr. Palliser can't leave London at this time of the year?"

"But Mr. Palliser can't leave London at this time of the year!"


"That's just it. He is to leave London at this time of the year. Don't look in that way, for it's all settled. Whether you go with me or not, I've got to go. To-day is Tuesday. We are to be off next Tuesday night, if you can make yourself ready. We shall breakfast in Paris on Wednesday morning, and then it will be to us all just as if we were in a new world. Mr. Palliser will walk up and down the new court of the Louvre, and you will be on his left arm, and I shall be on his right,--just like English people,--and it will be the most proper thing that ever was seen in life. Then we shall go on to Basle"--Alice shuddered as Basle was mentioned, thinking of the balcony over the river--"and so to Lucerne--. But no; that was the first plan, and Mr. Palliser altered it. He spent a whole day up here with maps and Bradshaw's and Murray's guide-books, and he scolded me so because I didn't care whether we went first to Baden or to some other place. How could I care? I told him I would go anywhere he chose to take me. Then he told me I was heartless;--and I acknowledged that I was heartless. 'I am heartless,' I said. 'Tell me something I don't know.'"

"That's just it. He is to leave London. Don't look like that, for it's all settled. Whether you come or not, I've got to go in one week from now, on Tuesday evening, if you can make yourself ready. We shall breakfast in Paris on Wednesday morning, and we shall be in a new world. Mr. Palliser will walk up and down the Louvre, with you on his left arm, and I on his right, and it will be the most proper thing that ever was seen. Then we shall go on to Basle" - Alice shuddered, thinking of the balcony over the river - "and so to Lucerne. But no; that was the first plan, and Mr. Palliser altered it. He spent a whole day with maps and guide-books, and scolded me because I didn't care whether we went first to Baden or somewhere else. How could I care? I told him I would go anywhere he chose to take me. Then he told me I was heartless; and I agreed. 'I am heartless,' I said. 'Tell me something I don't know.'"


"I didn't choose to contradict my husband. Besides, it's true. Then he threw the Bradshaw away, and all the maps flew about. So I picked them up again, and said we'd go to Switzerland first. I knew that would settle it, and of course he decided on stopping at Baden. If he had said Jericho, it would have been the same thing to me. Wouldn't you like to go to Jericho?"

"I didn't choose to contradict my husband. Besides, it's true. Then he threw the guide-book away, and all the maps flew about. So I picked them up again, and said we'd go to Switzerland first. If he had said Jericho, it would have been all the same to me. Wouldn't you like to go to Jericho?"


"I should have no special objection to Jericho."


"I've said nothing about that yet. But you have not told me half your story. Why is Mr. Palliser going abroad in the middle of Parliament in this way?"

"I've not agreed yet. But you have not told me half your story. Why is Mr. Palliser going abroad in the middle of Parliament?"


"Ah; now I must go back to the beginning. And indeed, Alice, I hardly know how to tell you; not that I mind you knowing it, only there are some things that won't get themselves told. You can hardly guess what it is that he is giving up. You must swear that you won't repeat what I'm going to tell you now?"

"Ah; now I must go back to the beginning. And indeed, Alice, I scarcely know how to tell you. You can hardly guess what he is giving up. You must swear that you won't repeat what I'm going to say?"


"I'm not a person apt to tell secrets, but I shan't swear anything."


"What a woman you are for discretion! it is you that ought to be Chancellor of the Exchequer; you are so wise. Only you haven't brought your own pigs to the best market, after all."


"I do mind them, very much. But the secret is this. They have asked Mr. Palliser to be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and he has--refused. Think of that!"

"Well, they have asked Mr. Palliser to be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and he has - refused. Think of that!"


"Because of me,--of me, and my folly, and wickedness, and abominations. Because he has been fool enough to plague himself with a wife--he who of all men ought to have kept himself free from such troubles. Oh, he has been so good! It is almost impossible to make any one understand it. If you could know how he has longed for this office;--how he has worked for it day and night, wearing his eyes out with figures when everybody else has been asleep, shutting himself up with such creatures as Mr. Bott when other men have been shooting and hunting and flirting and spending their money. He has been a slave to it for years,--all his life I believe,--in order that he might sit in the Cabinet, and be a minister and a Chancellor of the Exchequer. He has hoped and feared, and has been, I believe, sometimes half-mad with expectation. This has been his excitement,--what racing and gambling are to other men. At last, the place was there, ready for him, and they offered it to him. They begged him to take it, almost on their knees. The Duke of St. Bungay was here all one morning about it; but Mr. Palliser sent him away, and refused the place. It's all over now, and the other man, whom they all hate so much, is to remain in."

"Because of me, and my folly, and wickedness. Because he has been fool enough to plague himself with a wife. Oh, he has been so good! If you knew how he has longed for the position - how he has worked for it day and night, wearing his eyes out when everybody else has been asleep, shutting himself up with such creatures as Mr. Bott. He has been a slave to it for years, in order that he might sit in the Cabinet, and be Chancellor of the Exchequer. This has been his excitement - what racing and gambling are to other men. At last, the place was open, and they offered it to him. They begged him to take it. The Duke of St. Bungay was here one morning about it; but Mr. Palliser refused. It's all over now, and the other man is to remain in."


"I keep on telling you--because of me. He found that I wanted looking after, and that Mrs. Marsham and Mr. Bott between them couldn't do it."

"I keep telling you - because of me. He found that I wanted looking after, and that Mrs. Marsham and Mr. Bott between them couldn't do it."


"Oh, Cora! how can you talk in that way?"


"If you knew all, you might well ask how I could. You remember about Lady Monk's ball, that you would not go to,--as you ought to have done. If you had gone, Mr. Palliser would have been Chancellor of the Exchequer at this minute; he would, indeed. Only think of that! But though you did not go, other people did who ought to have remained at home. I went for one,--and you know who was there for another."

"If you had gone to Lady Monk's ball, Mr. Palliser would now be Chancellor of the Exchequer! But though you did not go, other people did who ought to have remained at home. I, for one - and you know who for another."


"What difference could that make to you?" said Alice, angrily.


"It might have made a great deal of difference. And, for the matter of that, so it did. Mr. Palliser was there too, but, of course, he went away immediately. I can't tell you all the trouble there had been about Mrs. Marsham,--whether I was to take her with me or not. However, I wouldn't take her, and didn't take her. The carriage went for her first, and there she was when we got there; and Mr. Bott was there too. I wonder whether I shall ever make you understand it all."

"It might have made a great deal of difference. Mr. Palliser was there too, but, of course, he went away immediately. Mrs. Marsham and Mr. Bott


"There are some things I don't want to understand."


"There they both were watching me,--looking at me the whole evening; and, of course, I resolved that I would not be put down by them."

were watching me the whole evening; and, of course, I resolved that I would not be put down by them.


"I think, if I had been you, I would not have allowed their presence to make any difference to me."


"That is very easily said, my dear, but by no means so easily done. You can't make yourself unconscious of eyes that are always looking at you. I dared them, at any rate, to do their worst, for I stood up to dance with Burgo Fitzgerald."

So I stood up to dance with Burgo Fitzgerald."


"Why shouldn't I? At any rate I did; and I waltzed with him for half an hour. Alice, I never will waltz again;--never. I have done with dancing now. I don't think, even in my maddest days, I ever kept it up so long as I did then. And I knew that everybody was looking at me. It was not only Mrs. Marsham and Mr. Bott, but everybody there. I felt myself to be desperate,--mad, like a wild woman. There I was, going round and round and round with the only man for whom I ever cared two straws. It seemed as though everything had been a dream since the old days. Ah! how well I remember the first time I danced with him,--at his aunt's house in Cavendish Square. They had only just brought me out in London then, and I thought that he was a god."

"Why shouldn't I? I waltzed with him for half an hour. Alice, I never will waltz again; I have done with dancing now. I knew that everybody was looking at me. I felt desperate, mad, like a wild woman. There I was, going round and round and round with the only man for whom I ever cared two straws. Ah! how well I remember the first time I danced with him. I thought he was a god."


"Cora! I cannot bear to hear you talk like that."


"I know well enough that he is no god now; some people say that he is a devil, but he was like Apollo to me then. Did you ever see anyone so beautiful as he is?"

"I know well enough now that he is no god, but he was like Apollo to me then. Did you ever see anyone so beautiful as he is?"


"I wish you could have seen him; but you will some day. I don't know whether you care for men being handsome." Alice thought of John Grey, who was the handsomest man that she knew, but she made no answer. "I do; or, rather, I used to do," continued Lady Glencora. "I don't think I care much about anything now; but I don't see why handsome men should not be run after as much as handsome women."

"I wish you could have seen him; but you will some day."
Alice thought of John Grey, who was the handsomest man that she knew, but she made no answer.


"But you wouldn't have a girl run after any man, would you; whether handsome or ugly?"


"But they do, you know. When I saw him the other night he was just as handsome as ever;--the same look, half wild and half tame, like an animal you cannot catch, but which you think would love you so if you could catch him. In a little while it was just like the old time, and I had made up my mind to care nothing for the people looking at me."

"When I saw him the other night," Lady Glencora went on, "he was just as handsome as ever - the same look, half wild and half tame, like an animal you cannot catch, but which you think would love you so if you could catch him. It was just like the old time, and I decided to care nothing for the people looking at me.


"No, I don't. Yes, I do; that is. It wasn't right to care about dancing with him, but it was right to disregard all the people gaping round. What was it to them? Why should they care who I danced with?"


"That is nonsense, dear, and you must know that it is so. If you were to see a woman misbehaving herself in public, would not you look on and make your comments? Could you help doing so if you were to try?"

"That is nonsense, dear. If you were to see a woman misbehaving herself in public, would you not look on and make your comments?"


"You are very severe, Alice. Misbehaving in public!"


"Yes, Cora. I am only taking your own story. According to that, you were misbehaving in public."


Lady Glencora got up from her chair near the window, on which she had been crouching close to Alice's knees, and walked away towards the fireplace. "What am I to say to you, or how am I to talk to you?" said Alice. "You would not have me tell you a lie?"

Lady Glencora got up from her chair and walked away towards the fireplace.
"How am I to talk to you, then?" said Alice. "You would not have me tell you a lie?"


"Of all things in the world, I hate a prude the most," said Lady Glencora.


"Cora, look here. If you consider it prudery on my part to disapprove of your waltzing with Mr. Fitzgerald in the manner you have described,--or, indeed, in any other manner,--you and I must differ so totally about the meaning of words and the nature of things that we had better part."

"Cora, look here. If you consider it prudery to disapprove of your waltzing with Mr. Fitzgerald in the way you have described, we must differ so totally about the nature of things that we had better part."


"Alice, you are the unkindest creature that ever lived. You are as cold as stone. I sometimes think that you can have no heart."

"Alice, you are as cold as stone. I sometimes think that you can have no heart."


"I don't mind your saying that. Whether I have a heart or not I will leave you to find out for yourself; but I won't be called a prude by you. You know you were wrong to dance with that man. What has come of it? What have you told me yourself this morning? In order to preserve you from misery and destruction, Mr. Palliser has given up all his dearest hopes. He has had to sacrifice himself that he might save you. That, I take it, is about the truth of it,--and yet you tell me that you have done no wrong."

"I don't mind your saying that; but I won't be called a prude. You know you were wrong to dance with that man. What has come of it? In order to preserve you from misery and destruction, Mr. Palliser has given up all his dearest hopes. He has had to sacrifice himself to save you. That, I take it, is about the truth of it - and yet you tell me that you have done no wrong."


"I never said so." Now she had come back to her chair by the window, and was again sitting in that crouching form. "I never said that I was not wrong. Of course I was wrong. I have been so wrong throughout that I have never been right yet. Let me tell it on to the end, and then you can go away if you like, and tell me that I am too wicked for your friendship."

"I never said so." Now she had come back to her chair again. "Of course I was wrong. I have been so wrong throughout that I have never been right yet. Let me tell it on to the end, and then you can go away if you like, and tell me that I am too wicked for your friendship."


"Have I ever said anything like that, Cora?"


"But you will, I dare say, when I have done. Well; what do you think my senior duenna did,--the female one, I mean? She took my own carriage, and posted off after Mr. Palliser as hard as ever she could, leaving the male duenna on the watch. I was dancing as hard as I could, but I knew what was going on all the time as well as though I had heard them talking. Of course Mr. Palliser came after me. I don't know what else he could do, unless, indeed, he had left me to my fate. He came there, and behaved so well,--so much like a perfect gentleman. Of course I went home, and I was prepared to tell him everything, if he spoke a word to me,--that I intended to leave him, and that cart-ropes should not hold me!"

"But you will, I dare say, when I have done. Well; what do you think my senior duenna did? She set off after Mr. Palliser as hard as she could. Of course Mr. Palliser came after me. He came there, and behaved so well - so much like a perfect gentleman. Of course I went home, and I was prepared to tell him everything, if he spoke a word to me - that I intended to leave him!"


"Yes, and go with that other man whose name you won't let me mention. I had a letter from him in my pocket asking me to go. He asked me a dozen times that night. I cannot think how it was that I did not consent."

"Yes, and go with that other man. I had a letter from him in my pocket asking me to go. He asked me a dozen times that night. I cannot think how it was that I did not consent."


"That you did not consent to your own ruin and disgrace?"


"That I did not consent to go off with him,--anywhere. Of course it would have been my own destruction. I'm not such a fool as not to know that. Do you suppose I have never thought of it;--what it would be to be a man's mistress instead of his wife. If I had not I should be a thing to be hated and despised. When once I had done it I should hate and despise myself. I should feel myself to be loathsome, and, as it were, a beast among women. But why did they not let me marry him, instead of driving me to this? And though I might have destroyed myself, I should have saved the man who is still my husband. Do you know, I told him all that,--told him that if I had gone away with Burgo Fitzgerald he would have another wife, and would have children, and would--?"

"Of course it would have been my destruction. I know that. Do you suppose I have never thought of it? When once I had done it I should hate and despise myself. I should feel myself to be loathsome. But why did they not let me marry him, instead of driving me to this? And though I might have destroyed myself, I should have saved my husband. Do you know, I told him all that - told him that if I had gone away with Burgo Fitzgerald he would have another wife, and would have children?"


"You told your husband that you had thought of leaving him?"


"Yes; I told him everything. I told him that I dearly loved that poor fellow, for whom, as I believe, nobody else on earth cares a single straw."


"I cannot tell you what he said, only that we are all to go to Baden together, and then to Italy. But he did not seem a bit angry; he very seldom is angry, unless at some trumpery thing, as when he threw the book away. And when I told him that he might have another wife and a child, he put his arm round me and whispered to me that he did not care so much about it as I had imagined. I felt more like loving him at that moment than I had ever done before."

"I cannot tell you what he said, only that we are all to go to Baden together, and then to Italy. But he did not seem a bit angry; he very seldom is angry. And when I told him that he might have another wife and a child, he put his arm round me and told me that he did not care so much about it as I had imagined. I felt more like loving him at that moment than I had ever done before."


"He's fit to be a cabinet minister, which, I'm quite sure, he'd like much better. And now you know everything; but no,--there is one thing you don't know yet. When I tell you that, you'll want to make him an archangel or a prime minister. 'We'll go abroad,' he said,--and remember, this was his own proposition, made long before I was able to speak a word;--'We'll go abroad, and you shall get your cousin Alice to go with us.' That touched me more than anything. Only think if he had proposed Mrs. Marsham!"

"'We'll go abroad,' he said, and before I could say a word, he added, "and you shall get your cousin Alice to go with us.' That touched me more than anything. Only think if he had proposed Mrs. Marsham!"


"You're wrong there, Alice. There has been no question of liking or of disliking. He thought you would be a kind of Mrs. Marsham, and when you were not, but went out flirting among the ruins with Jeffrey Palliser, instead--"

"You're wrong there, Alice. When you went out flirting among the ruins with Jeffrey Palliser-"


"I never went out flirting with Jeffrey Palliser."

"I never flirted with Jeffrey Palliser."


"He did with you, which is all the same thing. And when Plantagenet knew of that,--for, of course, Mr. Bott told him--"

"He flirted with you, which is the same thing. And when Plantagenet knew about that - for, of course, Mr. Bott told him


"Those men do. The worst is, they see more than everything. But, at any rate, Mr. Palliser has got over all that now. Come, Alice; the fact of the offer having come from himself should disarm you of any such objection as that. As he has held out his hand to you, you have no alternative but to take it."

- but he has got over that now. Come, Alice; as he has held out his hand to you, you should take it."


"And for my sake you will go with us? He understands himself that I am not fit to be his companion, and to have no companion but him. Now there is a spirit of wisdom about you that will do for him, and a spirit of folly that will suit me. I can manage to put myself on a par with a girl who has played such a wild game with her lovers as you have done."

"And for my sake you will go with us? There is a spirit of wisdom about you that will suit him, and a spirit of folly that will suit me. I can manage to put myself on a par with a girl who has played such a wild game with her lovers as you have done."


Alice would give no promise then. Her first objection was that she had undertaken to go down to Westmoreland and comfort Kate in the affliction of her broken arm. "And I must go," said Alice, remembering how necessary it was that she should plead her own cause with George Vavasor's sister. But she acknowledged that she had not intended to stay long in Westmoreland, probably not more than a week, and it was at last decided that the Pallisers should postpone their journey for four or five days, and that Alice should go with them immediately upon her return from Vavasor Hall.

Alice would give no promise then. She said she had promised to go to Westmorland and comfort Kate in the affliction of her broken arm. But she acknowledged that she had not intended to stay more than a week in Westmorland, and it was at last decided that the Pallisers should postpone their journey for four or five days, and that Alice should go with them immediately upon her return from Vavasor Hall.


"I have no objection;" said her father, speaking with that voice of resignation which men use when they are resolved to consider themselves injured whatever may be done. "I can get along in lodgings. I suppose we had better leave the house, as you have given away so much of your own fortune?" Alice did not think it worth her while to point out to him, in answer to this, that her contribution to their joint housekeeping should still remain the same as ever. Such, however, she knew would be the fact, and she knew also that she would find her father in the old house when she returned from her travels. To her, in her own great troubles, the absence from London would be as serviceable as it could be to Lady Glencora. Indeed, she had already begun to feel the impossibility of staying quietly at home. She could lecture her cousin, whose faults were open, easy to be defined, and almost loud in their nature; but she was not on that account the less aware of her own. She knew that she too had cause to be ashamed of herself. She was half afraid to show her face among her friends, and wept grievously over her own follies. Those cruel words of her father rang in her ears constantly:--"Things of that sort are so often over with you." The reproach, though cruel, was true, and what reproach more galling could be uttered to an unmarried girl such as was Alice Vavasor? She had felt from the first moment in which the proposition was made to her, that it would be well that she should for a while leave her home, and especially that drawing-room in Queen Anne Street, which told her so many tales that she would fain forget, if it were possible.

"I have no objection;" said her father, speaking with that resigned voice which men use when they are resolved to consider themselves injured. "I can get along in lodgings. I suppose we had better leave the house, as you have given away so much of your own fortune?" Alice did not think it worth her while to point out to him that her contribution to their housekeeping would remain the same as ever. She knew that she would find her father in the old house when she returned from her travels.
The absence from London would be as useful to her as to Lady Glencora. She had already begun to feel the impossibility of staying quietly at home. She was half afraid to show her face among her friends, and wept grievously over her own follies. Those cruel words of her father rang in her ears constantly: "Things of that sort are so often over with you." The reproach, though cruel, was true, and what more galling reproach could be uttered? It would be well that she should leave her home for a while.


Mr. Palliser would not allow his wife to remain in London for the ten or twelve days which must yet elapse before they started, nor could he send her into the country alone. He took her down to Matching Priory, having obtained leave to be absent from the House for the remainder of the Session, and remained with her there till within two days of their departure. That week down at Matching, as she afterwards told Alice, was very terrible. He never spoke a word to rebuke her. He never hinted that there had been aught in her conduct of which he had cause to complain. He treated her with a respect that was perfect, and indeed with more outward signs of affection than had ever been customary with him. "But," as Lady Glencora afterwards expressed it, "he was always looking after me. I believe he thought that Burgo Fitzgerald had hidden himself among the ruins," she said once to Alice. "He never suspected me, I am sure of that; but he thought that he ought to look after me." And Lady Glencora in this had very nearly hit the truth. Mr. Palliser had resolved, from that hour in which he had walked out among the elms in Kensington Gardens, that he would neither suspect his wife, nor treat her as though he suspected her. The blame had been his, perhaps, more than it had been hers. So much he had acknowledged to himself, thinking of the confession she had made to him before their marriage. But it was manifestly his imperative duty,--his duty of duties,--to save her from that pitfall into which, as she herself had told him, she had been so ready to fall. For her sake and for his this must be done. It was a duty so imperative, that in its performance he had found himself forced to abandon his ambition. To have his wife taken from him would be terrible, but the having it said all over the world that such a misfortune had come upon him would be almost more terrible even than that.

Mr. Palliser would not allow his wife to remain in London for the ten or twelve days before they started, so he took her down to Matching Priory, having obtained leave to be absent from the House for the remainder of the Session. That week down at Matching, as she afterwards told Alice, was very terrible. He never spoke a word to rebuke her. He treated her with perfect respect, and indeed with more signs of affection than usual.
"But," as Lady Glencora said afterwards, "he was always looking after me. I believe he thought that Burgo Fitzgerald had hidden himself among the ruins."
In this she very nearly hit the truth. Mr. Palliser had resolved that he would neither suspect his wife, nor treat her as though he suspected her. But it was his imperative duty to save her from that pitfall into which she had been so ready to fall.


So he went with his wife hither and thither, down at Matching, allowing himself to be driven about behind Dandy and Flirt. He himself proposed these little excursions. They were tedious to him, but doubly tedious to his wife, who now found it more difficult than ever to talk to him. She struggled to talk, and he struggled to talk, but the very struggles themselves made the thing impossible. He sat with her in the mornings, and he sat with her in the evenings; he breakfasted with her, lunched with her, and dined with her. He went to bed early, having no figures which now claimed his attention. And so the week at last wore itself away. "I saw him yawning sometimes," Lady Glencora said afterwards, "as though he would fall in pieces."

So he went with his wife hither and thither, allowing himself to be driven about behind Dandy and Flirt. He himself proposed these little excursions. They were tedious to him, but doubly tedious to his wife, who now found it more difficult than ever to talk to him. They both struggled. He sat with her in the mornings, and he sat with her in the evenings; he breakfasted with her, lunched with her, and dined with her. He went to bed early, having no figures which now claimed his attention. And so the week at last wore itself away.


Alice reached the Matching Road Station about three o'clock in the afternoon without adventure, and immediately on the stopping of the train became aware that all trouble was off her own hands. A servant in livery came to the open window, and touching his hat to her, inquired if she were Miss Vavasor. Then her dressing-bag and shawls and cloaks were taken from her, and she was conveyed through the station by the station-master on one side of her, the footman on the other, and by the railway porter behind. She instantly perceived that she had become possessed of great privileges by belonging even for a time to Matching Priory, and that she was essentially growing upwards towards the light.

Alice reached the Matching Road Station at about three o'clock in the afternoon. A servant in livery came to the train window, and touching his hat, inquired if she were Miss Vavasor. Then her dressing-bag and shawls and cloaks were taken from her, and she was conveyed through the station by the station-master on one side, the footman on the other, and the railway porter behind. She instantly perceived that she had acquired great privileges by belonging even for a time to Matching Priory.


Outside, on the broad drive before the little station, she saw an omnibus that was going to the small town of Matching, intended for people who had not grown upwards as had been her lot; and she saw also a light stylish-looking cart which she would have called a Whitechapel had she been properly instructed in such matters, and a little low open carriage with two beautiful small horses, in which was sitting a lady enveloped in furs. Of course this was Lady Glencora. Another servant was standing on the ground, holding the horses of the carriage and the cart.

Outside the little station, she saw an omnibus that was going to the small town of Matching, intended for people who were not growing upwards to the light; and she saw also a stylish-looking cart, and a little low open carriage with two beautiful small horses, in which was sitting a lady enveloped in furs. Of course this was Lady Glencora. Another servant was holding the horses.


"Dear Alice, I'm so glad you've come," said a voice from the furs. "Look here, dear; your maid can go in the dog-cart with your things,"--it wasn't a dog-cart, but Lady Glencora knew no better;--"she'll be quite comfortable there; and do you get in here. Are you very cold?"

"Dear Alice, I'm so glad you've come," said a voice from the furs. "Your maid can go in the dog-cart with your things, and you get in here. Are you very cold?"


"But it is awfully cold. You've been in the stuffy carriage, but you'll find it cold enough out here, I can tell you."

"But it is awfully cold out here, I can tell you."


"Oh! Lady Glencora, I am so sorry that I've brought you out on such a morning," said Alice, getting in and taking the place assigned her next to the charioteer.

"Oh! Lady Glencora, I am so sorry that I've brought you out on such a morning," said Alice, getting in.


"What nonsense! Sorry! Why I've looked forward to meeting you all alone, ever since I knew you were coming. If it had snowed all the morning I should have come just the same. I drive out almost every day when I'm down here,--that is, when the house is not too crowded, or I can make an excuse. Wrap these things over you; there are plenty of them. You shall drive if you like." Alice, however, declined the driving, expressing her gratitude in what prettiest words she could find.

"What nonsense! Why, I've looked forward to meeting you all alone, ever since I knew you were coming. If it had snowed all morning I should have come just the same. Wrap these things over you. You shall drive if you like." Alice, however, declined with pretty thanks.


"I like driving better than anything, I think. Mr. Palliser doesn't like ladies to hunt, and of course it wouldn't do as he does not hunt himself. I do ride, but he never gets on horseback. I almost fancy I should like to drive four-in-hand,--only I know I should be afraid."

"I like driving better than anything, I think," said Lady Glencora. "Mr. Palliser doesn't like ladies to hunt, and he does not hunt himself. I do ride, but he never gets on horseback. I almost fancy I should like to drive four-in-hand, only I know I should be afraid."


"It would look very terrible," said Alice.


"Yes; wouldn't it? The look would be the worst of it; as it is all the world over. Sometimes I wish there were no such things as looks. I don't mean anything improper, you know; only one does get so hampered, right and left, for fear of Mrs. Grundy. I endeavour to go straight, and get along pretty well on the whole, I suppose. Baker, you must put Dandy in the bar; he pulls so, going home, that I can't hold him in the check." She stopped the horses, and Baker, a very completely-got-up groom of some forty years of age, who sat behind, got down and put the impetuous Dandy "in the bar," thereby changing the rein, so that the curb was brought to bear on him. "They're called Dandy and Flirt," continued Lady Glencora, speaking to Alice. "Ain't they a beautiful match? The Duke gave them to me and named them himself. Did you ever see the Duke?"

"Yes; wouldn't it? I get along pretty well on the whole, I suppose. Baker, you must put Dandy in the bar; he pulls so that I can't hold him." She stopped the horses, and Baker, a very completely-got-up groom, put the impetuous Dandy in the bar to curb him.
"They're called Dandy and Flirt," continued Lady Glencora to Alice. "Ain't they a beautiful match? The Duke gave them to me and named them himself. Did you ever see the Duke of Omnium?


[Illustration: "Baker, you must put Dandy in the bar."]


"He won't be here before Christmas, but you shall be introduced some day in London. He's an excellent creature and I'm a great pet of his; though, after all, I never speak half a dozen words to him when I see him. He's one of those people who never talk. I'm one of those who like talking, as you'll find out. I think it runs in families; and the Pallisers are non-talkers. That doesn't mean that they are not speakers, for Mr. Palliser has plenty to say in the House, and they declare that he's one of the few public men who've got lungs enough to make a financial statement without breaking down."

He won't be here before Christmas, but you shall be introduced some day in London. He's an excellent creature and I'm a great pet of his; though I hardly speak half a dozen words when I see him. He's one of those people who never talk. I'm one of those who like talking, as you'll find out. I think it runs in families; and the Pallisers are non-talkers. That doesn't mean that they are not speakers, for Mr. Palliser has plenty to say in the House."


Alice was aware that she had as yet hardly spoken herself, and began to bethink herself that she didn't know what to say. Had Lady Glencora paused on the subject of Dandy and Flirt, she might have managed to be enthusiastic about the horses, but she could not discuss freely the general silence of the Palliser family, nor the excellent lungs, as regarded public purposes, of the one who was the husband of her present friend. So she asked how far it was to Matching Priory.

Alice was aware that she had as yet hardly spoken herself, and did not know what to say. So she asked how far it was to Matching Priory.


"You're not tired of me already, I hope," said Lady Glencora.


"I didn't mean that," said Alice. "I delight in the drive. But somehow one expects Matching Station to be near Matching."

"I didn't mean that," said Alice. "I'm enjoying the drive. But somehow one expects Matching Station to be near Matching."


"Ah, yes; that's a great cheat. It's not Matching Station at all but Matching Road Station, and it's eight miles. It is a great bore, for though the omnibus brings our parcels, we have to be constantly sending over, and it's very expensive, I can assure you. I want Mr. Palliser to have a branch, but he says he would have to take all the shares himself, and that would cost more, I suppose."

"Ah, yes; that's a great cheat. It's eight miles, so we have to be constantly sending over, and it's very expensive, I can assure you. I want Mr. Palliser to have a branch line of the railway, but he says he would have to take all the shares himself, and that would cost more, I suppose."


"Oh, a little bit of a place. I'll go round by it if you like, and in at the further gate."

"A little one. I'll go round by it if you like."


"Ah, but I should like. It was a borough once, and belonged to the Duke; but they put it out at the Reform Bill. They made some kind of bargain;--he was to keep either Silverbridge or Matching, but not both. Mr. Palliser sits for Silverbridge, you know. The Duke chose Silverbridge,--or rather his father did, as he was then going to build his great place in Barsetshire;--that's near Silverbridge. But the Matching people haven't forgiven him yet. He was sitting for Matching himself when the Reform Bill passed. Then his father died, and he hasn't lived there much since. It's a great deal nicer place than Gatherum Castle, only not half so grand. I hate grandeur; don't you?"

"Ah, but I should like. It was a borough once, and belonged to the Duke; but they put it out at the Reform Bill. They made some kind of bargain; he could keep either Silverbridge or Matching constituency, but not both. Mr. Palliser sits for Silverbridge, you know. The Duke chose Silverbridge, or rather his father did, as he was going to build his great place there, in Barsetshire. Then his father died, and the Duke hasn't lived here much since. It's a great deal nicer place than Gatherum Castle, only not half so grand. I hate grandeur; don't you?"


"I never tried much of it, as you have."


"Come now; that's not fair. There's no one in the world less grand than I am."


"I mean that I've not had grand people about me."


"Having cut all your cousins,--and Lady Midlothian in particular, like a naughty girl as you are. I was so angry with you when you accused me of selling you about that. You ought to have known that I was the last person in the world to have done such a thing."

"Having cut all your cousins, and Lady Midlothian in particular, like the naughty girl you are. I was so angry with you when you accused me of selling you about that. You ought to have known that I was the last person in the world to have done such a thing."


"I did not think you meant to sell me, but I thought--"


"Yes, you did, Alice. I know what you thought; you thought that Lady Midlothian was making a tool of me that I might bring you under her thumb, so that she might bully you into Mr. Grey's arms. That's what you thought. I don't know that I was at all entitled to your good opinion, but I was not entitled to that special bad opinion."

"Yes, you did, Alice. You thought that Lady Midlothian was making a tool of me so that I might bring you under her thumb."


"I had no bad opinion;--but it was so necessary that I should guard myself."

"But it was so necessary that I should guard myself," pleaded Alice.


"You shall be guarded. I'll take you under my shield. Mr. Grey shan't be named to you, except that I shall expect you to tell me all about it; and you must tell me all about that dangerous cousin, too, of whom they were saying such terrible things down in Scotland. I had heard of him before." These last words Lady Glencora spoke in a lower voice and in an altered tone,--slowly, as though she were thinking of something that pained her. It was from Burgo Fitzgerald that she had heard of George Vavasor.

"You shall be guarded. I'll take you under my shield. Mr. Grey shan't be named to you, except that I shall expect you to tell me all about it; and you must tell me all about that dangerous cousin, too, of whom they were saying such terrible things down in Scotland. I had heard of him before." These last words Lady Glencora spoke in a lower voice and in an altered tone, as though she were thinking of something that pained her. She had heard of George from Burgo Fitzgerald.


Alice did not know what to say. She found it impossible to discuss all the most secret and deepest of her feelings out in that open carriage, perhaps in the hearing of the servant behind, on this her first meeting with her cousin,--of whom, in fact, she knew very little. She had not intended to discuss these things at all, and certainly not in such a manner as this. So she remained silent. "This is the beginning of the park," said Lady Glencora, pointing to a grand old ruin of an oak tree, which stood on the wide margin of the road, outside the rounded corner of the park palings, propped up with a skeleton of supporting sticks all round it. "And that is Matching oak, under which Coeur de Lion or Edward the Third, I forget which, was met by Sir Guy de Palisere as he came from the war, or from hunting, or something of that kind. It was the king, you know, who had been fighting or whatever it was, and Sir Guy entertained him when he was very tired. Jeffrey Palliser, who is my husband's cousin, says that old Sir Guy luckily pulled out his brandy-flask. But the king immediately gave him all the lands of Matching,--only there was a priory then and a lot of monks, and I don't quite understand how that was. But I know one of the younger brothers always used to be abbot and sit in the House of Lords. And the king gave him Littlebury at the same time, which is about seven miles away from here. As Jeffrey Palliser says, it was a great deal of money for a pull at his flask. Jeffrey Palliser is here now, and I hope you'll like him. If I have no child, and Mr. Palliser were not to marry again, Jeffrey would be the heir." And here again her voice was low and slow, and altogether changed in its tone.

Alice did not know what to say. She found it impossible to discuss all her most secret and deepest feelings out in that open carriage, perhaps in the hearing of the servant behind, on this first meeting with her cousin - of whom she actually knew very little. She had not intended to discuss these things at all.
"This is the beginning of the park," said Lady Glencora, pointing to a grand old oak tree, by the corner of the park palings. "And that is Matching oak, under which Cur de Lion or Edward the Third, I forget which, was met by Sir Guy de Palisere as he came from the war, or from hunting, or something. Jeffrey Palliser, who is my husband's cousin, says that old Sir Guy luckily pulled out his brandy-flask for the king, and the king immediately gave him all the lands of Matching - only there was a priory then and a lot of monks. And the king gave him Littlebury at the same time, which is about seven miles away from here. As Jeffrey Palliser says, it was a great deal of money for a pull at his flask. Jeffrey Palliser is here now, and I hope you'll like him. If I have no child, and Mr. Palliser were not to marry again, Jeffrey would be the heir." And here again her voice was low and slow, and altogether changed in its tone.


"I suppose that's the way most of the old families got their estates."


"Either so, or by robbery. Many of them were terrible thieves, my dear, and I dare say Sir Guy was no better than he should be. But since that they have always called some of the Pallisers Plantagenet. My husband's name is Plantagenet. The Duke is called George Plantagenet, and the king was his godfather. The queen is my godmother, I believe, but I don't know that I'm much the better for it. There's no use in godfathers and godmothers;--do you think there is?"

"Yes, or else by robbery. Many of them were terrible thieves, and I dare say Sir Guy was no better than he should be. But since that they have always called some of the Pallisers Plantagenet. My husband's name is Plantagenet. The Duke is called George Plantagenet, and the king was his godfather. But there's no use in godfathers and godmothers, is there?"


"If I had a child,-- Oh, Alice, it's a dreadful thing not to have a child when so much depends on it!"

"If I had a child - oh, Alice, it's a dreadful thing not to have a child when so much depends on it!"


"But you're such a short time married yet."


"Ah, well; I can see it in his eyes when he asks me questions; but I don't think he'd say an unkind word, not if his own position depended on it. Ah, well; this is Matching. That other gate we passed, where Dandy wanted to turn in,--that's where we usually go up, but I've brought you round to show you the town. That's the inn,--whoever can possibly come to stay there I don't know; I never saw anybody go in or out. That's the baker who bakes our bread,--we baked it at the house at first, but nobody could eat it; and I know that that man there mends Mr. Palliser's shoes. He's very particular about his shoes. We shall see the church as we go in at the other gate. It is in the park, and is very pretty,--but not half so pretty as the priory ruins close to the house. The ruins are our great lion. I do so love to wander about them at moonlight. I often think of you when I do; I don't know why.--But I do know why, and I'll tell you some day. Come, Miss Flirt!"

"I can see it in his eyes; but I don't think he'd say an unkind word, not if his own position depended on it. Ah, well; this is the town. That's the inn. That's our baker; and I know that man there mends Mr. Palliser's shoes. He's very particular about his shoes. We shall see the church as we go in at the other gate. It is in the park, and is very pretty, but not half so pretty as the priory ruins near the house. I do so love to wander about our ruins at moonlight. I often think of you when I do; I don't know why. No, I do know why, and I'll tell you some day."


As they drove up through the park, Lady Glencora pointed out first the church and then the ruins, through the midst of which the road ran, and then they were at once before the front door. The corner of the modern house came within two hundred yards of the gateway of the old priory. It was a large building, very pretty, with two long fronts; but it was no more than a house. It was not a palace, nor a castle, nor was it hardly to be called a mansion. It was built with gabled roofs, four of which formed the side from which the windows of the drawing-rooms opened out upon a lawn which separated the house from the old ruins, and which indeed surrounded the ruins, and went inside them, forming the present flooring of the old chapel, and the old refectory, and the old cloisters. Much of the cloisters indeed was standing, and there the stone pavement remained; but the square of the cloisters was all turfed, and in the middle of it stood a large modern stone vase, out of the broad basin of which hung flowering creepers and green tendrils.

As they drove up through the park, Lady Glencora pointed out the church and the ruins, through the midst of which the road ran, and then they were at the front door. The modern house came within two hundred yards of the gateway of the old priory. It was a large house, very pretty, with two long fronts and gabled roofs; but it was not a palace, nor even a mansion. The windows of the drawing-rooms opened out upon a lawn which separated the house from the old ruins, and which indeed surrounded the ruins, and went inside them, forming the floor of the old chapel, refectory, and cloisters. In the middle of the cloisters stood a large modern stone vase, out of whose broad basin hung flowering creepers and green tendrils.


As Lady Glencora drove up to the door, a gentleman, who had heard the sound of the wheels, came forth to meet them. "There's Mr. Palliser," said she; "that shows that you are an honoured guest, for you may be sure that he is hard at work and would not have come out for anybody else. Plantagenet, here is Miss Vavasor, perished. Alice, my husband." Then Mr. Palliser put forth his hand and helped her out of the carriage.

As Lady Glencora drove up to the door, a gentleman came forth to meet them.
"There's Mr. Palliser," said she; "that shows that you are an honoured guest, for he is hard at work and would not have come out for anybody else. Plantagenet, here is Miss Vavasor. Alice, my husband." Mr. Palliser helped her out of the carriage.


"I hope you've not found it very cold," said he. "The winter has come upon us quite suddenly."


He said nothing more to her than this, till he met her again before dinner. He was a tall thin man, apparently not more than thirty years of age, looking in all respects like a gentleman, but with nothing in his appearance that was remarkable. It was a face that you might see and forget, and see again and forget again; and yet when you looked at it and pulled it to pieces, you found that it was a fairly good face, showing intellect in the forehead, and much character in the mouth. The eyes too, though not to be called bright, had always something to say for themselves, looking as though they had a real meaning. But the outline of the face was almost insignificant, being too thin; and he wore no beard to give it character. But, indeed, Mr. Palliser was a man who had never thought of assisting his position in the world by his outward appearance. Not to be looked at, but to be read about in the newspapers, was his ambition. Men said that he was to be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and no one thought of suggesting that the insignificance of his face would stand in his way.

He said nothing more to her than this, till he met her again before dinner. He was a tall thin man, about thirty years of age, looking like a gentleman, but with nothing in his appearance that was remarkable. It was a face that you might see and forget, and see again and forget again; and yet it was a fairly good face, showing intellect in the forehead, and much character in the mouth. The eyes too, though not bright, had always something to say for themselves, looking as though they had a real meaning. But his face was perhaps too thin; and he wore no beard to give it character.
Indeed, Mr. Palliser was a man who wished not to be looked at, but to be read about in the newspapers. Men said that he was to be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and no one thought of suggesting that his face would stand in his way.


"Are the people all out?" his wife asked him.


"The men have not come in from shooting;--at least I think not;--and some of the ladies are driving, I suppose. But I haven't seen anybody since you went."

"The men have not come in from shooting; and some of the ladies are driving, I suppose. But I haven't seen anybody since you went."


"Of course you haven't. He never has time, Alice, to see any one. But we'll go up-stairs, dear. I told them to let us have tea in my dressing-room, as I thought you'd like that better than going into the drawing-room before you had taken off your things. You must be famished, I know. Then you can come down, or if you want to avoid two dressings you can sit over the fire up-stairs till dinner-time." So saying she skipped up-stairs and Alice followed her. "Here's my dressing-room, and here's your room all but opposite. You look out into the park. It's pretty, isn't it? But come into my dressing-room, and see the ruins out of the window."

"Of course you haven't. He never has time, Alice, to see any one. But we'll go upstairs, dear. I told them to let us have tea in my dressing-room, as I thought you'd like that better than going into the drawing-room. You must be famished, I know. Then you can come down, or you can sit over the fire upstairs till dinner-time." So saying she skipped upstairs and Alice followed her. "Here's my dressing-room, and here's your room opposite. You look out into the park. It's pretty, isn't it? But come into my dressing-room, and see the ruins out of the window."


Alice followed Lady Glencora across the passage into what she called her dressing-room, and there found herself surrounded by an infinitude of feminine luxuries. The prettiest of tables were there;--the easiest of chairs;--the most costly of cabinets;--the quaintest of old china ornaments. It was bright with the gayest colours,--made pleasant to the eye with the binding of many books, having nymphs painted on the ceiling and little Cupids on the doors. "Isn't it pretty?" she said, turning quickly on Alice. "I call it my dressing-room because in that way I can keep people out of it, but I have my brushes and soap in a little closet there, and my clothes,--my clothes are everywhere I suppose, only there are none of them here. Isn't it pretty?"

Alice followed Lady Glencora across the passage into what she called her dressing-room, and there found herself surrounded by an infinitude of feminine luxuries. The prettiest of tables - the easiest of chairs - the most costly of cabinets. It was bright with colour, with books, and with nymphs painted on the ceiling and little Cupids on the doors.
"I call it my dressing-room because in that way I can keep people out of it," said Lady Glencora, "but it isn't really. Isn't it pretty?"


"The Duke did it all. He understands such things thoroughly. Now to Mr. Palliser a dressing-room is a dressing-room, and a bedroom a bedroom. He cares for nothing being pretty; not even his wife, or he wouldn't have married me."

"The Duke did it all. He understands such things thoroughly. Now to Mr. Palliser a dressing-room is a dressing-room. He cares for nothing being pretty; not even his wife, or he wouldn't have married me."


"You wouldn't say that if you meant it."


"Well, I don't know. Sometimes when I look at myself, when I simply am myself, with no making up or grimacing, you know, I think I'm the ugliest young woman the sun ever shone on. And in ten years' time I shall be the ugliest old woman. Only think,--my hair is beginning to get grey, and I'm not twenty-one yet. Look at it;" and she lifted up the wavy locks just above her ear. "But there's one comfort; he doesn't care about beauty. How old are you?"

"Well, I don't know. Sometimes when I look at myself, when I simply am myself, I think I'm the ugliest young woman the sun ever shone on. And in ten years' time I shall be the ugliest old woman. Only think - my hair is beginning to get grey, and I'm not twenty-one yet. Look at it;" and she lifted up the wavy locks just above her ear. "But there's one comfort; he doesn't care about beauty. How old are you?"


"Nonsense;--then I oughtn't to have asked you. I am so sorry."

"I oughtn't to have asked you. I am so sorry."


"That's nonsense at any rate. Why should you think I should be ashamed of my age?"

"That's nonsense. Why should I be ashamed of my age?"


"I don't know why, only somehow, people are; and I didn't think you were so old. Five-and-twenty seems so old to me. It would be nothing if you were married; only, you see, you won't get married."

"I don't know, only somehow, people are; and I didn't think you were so old. Five-and-twenty seems old to me. It would be nothing if you were married; only, you see, you won't get married."


"Of course you will. You'll have to give way. You'll find that they'll get the better of you. Your father will storm at you, and Lady Macleod will preach at you, and Lady Midlothian will jump upon you."

"Of course you will. You'll have to give way. They'll get the better of you. Your father will storm at you, and Lady Macleod will preach at you, and Lady Midlothian will jump upon you."


"I'm not a bit afraid of Lady Midlothian."


"I know what it is, my dear, to be jumped upon. We talked with such horror of the French people giving their daughters in marriage, just as they might sell a house or a field, but we do exactly the same thing ourselves. When they all come upon you in earnest how are you to stand against them? How can any girl do it?"

"I know what it is, my dear, to be jumped upon. When they all come upon you in earnest how are you to stand against them? How can any girl do it?"


"To be sure you're older,--and you are not so heavily weighted. But never mind; I didn't mean to talk about that;--not yet at any rate. Well, now, my dear, I must go down. The Duchess of St. Bungay is here, and Mr. Palliser will be angry if I don't do pretty to her. The Duke is to be the new President of the Council, or rather, I believe he is President now. I try to remember it all, but it is so hard when one doesn't really care two pence how it goes. Not but what I'm very anxious that Mr. Palliser should be Chancellor of the Exchequer. And now, will you remain here, or will you come down with me, or will you go to your own room, and I'll call for you when I go down to dinner? We dine at eight."

"To be sure you're older - and not so heavily weighted. But I didn't mean to talk about that; not yet at any rate. Well, now, my dear, I must go down. The Duchess of St. Bungay is here, and Mr. Palliser will be angry if I don't behave prettily to her. The Duke is to be the new President of the Council, or rather, I believe he is President now. I try to remember it all, but it is so hard when one doesn't really care two pence. Although I'm very anxious that Mr. Palliser should be Chancellor of the Exchequer. And now, will you stay here, or come down with me, or will you go to your own room until dinner? We dine at eight."


Alice decided that she would stay in her own room till dinner time, and was taken there by Lady Glencora. She found her maid unpacking her clothes, and for a while employed herself in assisting at the work; but that was soon done, and then she was left alone. "I shall feel so strange, ma'am, among all those people down-stairs," said the girl. "They all seem to look at me as though they didn't know who I was."

Alice decided that she would stay in her own room till dinner time, and was taken there by Lady Glencora. She found her maid unpacking her clothes, and helped her; but that was soon done.
"I shall feel so strange, ma'am, among all those people downstairs," said the girl. "They all look at me as though they didn't know who I was."


"I suppose I shall; but you see, they're all like knowing each other, miss."

"I suppose I shall; but you see, they all know each other, miss."


Alice, when she sat down alone, felt herself to be very much in the same condition as her maid. What would the Duchess of St. Bungay or Mr. Jeffrey Palliser,--who himself might live to be a duke if things went well for him,--care for her? As to Mr. Palliser, the master of the house, it was already evident to her that he would not put himself out of his way for her. Had she not done wrong to come there? If it were possible for her to fly away, back to the dullness of Queen Anne Street, or even to the preachings of Lady Macleod, would she not do so immediately? What business had she,--she asked herself,--to come to such a house as that? Lady Glencora was very kind to her, but frightened her even by her kindness. Moreover, she was aware that Lady Glencora could not devote herself especially to any such guest as she was. Lady Glencora must of course look after her duchesses, and do pretty, as she called it, to her husband's important political alliances.

Alice, when she sat down alone, felt herself to be very much in the same condition as her maid. What would the Duchess of St. Bungay or Mr. Jeffrey Palliser care for her? As to Mr. Palliser, the master of the house, it was already evident that he would not put himself out of his way for her. Had she done wrong to come? Lady Glencora was very kind to her, but she was aware that Lady Glencora could not devote herself especially to her. Lady Glencora must look after her duchesses.


And then she began to think about Lady Glencora herself. What a strange, weird nature she was,--with her round blue eyes and wavy hair, looking sometimes like a child and sometimes almost like an old woman! And how she talked! What things she said, and what terrible forebodings she uttered of stranger things that she meant to say! Why had she at their first meeting made that allusion to the mode of her own betrothal,--and then, checking herself for speaking of it so soon, almost declare that she meant to speak more of it hereafter? "She should never mention it to any one," said Alice to herself. "If her lot in life has not satisfied her, there is so much the more reason why she should not mention it." Then Alice protested to herself that no father, no aunt, no Lady Midlothian should persuade her into a marriage of which she feared the consequences. But Lady Glencora had made for herself excuses which were not altogether untrue. She had been very young, and had been terribly weighted with her wealth.

And then she began to think about Lady Glencora herself. What a strange, weird nature, with her round blue eyes and wavy hair, looking sometimes like a child and sometimes almost like an old woman! And how she talked! What things she said! Why had she made that allusion to her own betrothal - and then, checking herself, almost declare that she meant to say more of it later?
"She should never mention it to anyone," said Alice to herself. She vowed that no father, no aunt, no Lady Midlothian should persuade her into a marriage of which she feared the consequences. But then Lady Glencora had been very young, and had been terribly weighted with her wealth.


And it seemed to Alice that her cousin had told her everything in that hour and a half that they had been together. She had given a whole history of her husband and of herself. She had said how indifferent he was to her pleasures, and how vainly she strove to interest herself in his pursuits. And then, as yet, she was childless and without prospect of a child, when, as she herself had said,--"so much depended on it." It was very strange to Alice that all this should have been already told to her. And why should Lady Glencora think of Alice when she walked out among the priory ruins by moonlight?

It seemed to Alice that her cousin had told her everything in that hour and a half that they had been together. She had given a whole history of her husband and of herself. She had said how indifferent he was to her pleasures, and how vainly she strove to interest herself in his pursuits. And she was still childless when, as she herself had said, "so much depended on it." It was very strange to Alice that all this should have been already told to her. And why should Lady Glencora think of Alice when she walked among the priory ruins by moonlight?


The two hours seemed to her very long,--as though she were passing her time in absolute seclusion at Matching. Of course she did not dare to go down-stairs. But at last her maid came to dress her.

The two hours seemed very long; but at last her maid came to dress her for dinner.


"How do you get on below, Jane?" her mistress asked her.

"How do you get on below, Jane?" Alice asked her.


"Why, miss, they are uncommon civil, and I don't think after all it will be so bad. We had our teas very comfortable in the housekeeper's room. There are five or six of us altogether, all ladies'-maids, miss; and there's nothing on earth to do all the day long, only sit and do a little needlework over the fire."

"Why, miss, they are uncommon civil, and I don't think after all it will be so bad. We had our teas very comfortable in the housekeeper's room."


A few minutes before eight Lady Glencora knocked at Alice's door, and took her arm to lead her to the drawing-room. Alice saw that she was magnificently dressed, with an enormous expanse of robe, and that her locks had been so managed that no one could suspect the presence of a grey hair. Indeed, with all her magnificence, she looked almost a child. "Let me see," she said, as they went down-stairs together. "I'll tell Jeffrey to take you in to dinner. He's about the easiest young man we have here. He rather turns up his nose at everything, but that doesn't make him the less agreeable; does it, dear?--unless he turns up his nose at you, you know."

A few minutes before eight Lady Glencora knocked at Alice's door, to lead her to the drawing-room. Alice saw that she was magnificently dressed, with an enormous expanse of robe, and with her locks arranged so that no one could suspect the presence of a grey hair. For all her magnificence, she looked almost a child.
"I'll tell Jeffrey to take you in to dinner," she told Alice. "He's about the easiest young man we have here. He rather turns up his nose at everything, but that doesn't make him less agreeable - unless he turns up his nose at you, you know."


"No; he won't do that. That would be uncourteous,--and he's the most courteous man in the world. There's nobody here, you see," she said as they entered the room, "and I didn't suppose there would be. It's always proper to be first in one's own house. I do so try to be proper,--and it is such trouble. Talking of people earning their bread, Alice;--I'm sure I earn mine. Oh dear!--what fun it would be to be sitting somewhere in Asia, eating a chicken with one's fingers, and lighting a big fire outside one's tent to keep off the lions and tigers. Fancy your being on one side of the fire and the lions and tigers on the other, grinning at you through the flames!" Then Lady Glencora strove to look like a lion, and grinned at herself in the glass.

"No, he won't. He's the most courteous man in the world. Good, there's nobody here," she said as they entered the room. "It's always proper to be first in one's own house. I do so try to be proper - and it is such trouble. Oh dear! what fun it would be to be sitting somewhere in Asia, eating a chicken with one's fingers, and lighting a big fire outside one's tent to keep off the lions and tigers!" Then Lady Glencora strove to look like a lion, and grinned at herself in the glass.


"That sort of grin wouldn't frighten me," said Alice.


"I dare say not. I have been reading about it in that woman's travels. Oh, here they are, and I mustn't make any more faces. Duchess, do come to the fire. I hope you've got warm again. This is my cousin, Miss Vavasor."

"I have been reading about it in that woman's travels. Oh, here they are; I mustn't make any more faces. Duchess, do come to the fire. This is my cousin, Miss Vavasor."


The Duchess made a stiff little bow of condescension, and then declared that she was charmingly warm. "I don't know how you manage in your house, but the staircases are so comfortable. Now at Longroyston we've taken all the trouble in the world,--put down hot-water pipes all over the house, and everything else that could be thought of, and yet, you can't move about the place without meeting with draughts at every corner of the passages." The Duchess spoke with an enormous emphasis on every other word, sometimes putting so great a stress on some special syllable, as almost to bring her voice to a whistle. This she had done with the word "pipes" to a great degree,--so that Alice never afterwards forgot the hot-water pipes of Longroyston. "I was telling Lady Glencora, Miss Palliser, that I never knew a house so warm as this,--or, I'm sorry to say,"--and here the emphasis was very strong on the word sorry,--"so cold as Longroyston." And the tone in which Longroyston was uttered would almost have drawn tears from a critical audience in the pit of a playhouse. The Duchess was a woman of about forty, very handsome, but with no meaning in her beauty, carrying a good fixed colour in her face, which did not look like paint, but which probably had received some little assistance from art. She was a well-built, sizeable woman, with good proportions and fine health,--but a fool. She had addressed herself to one Miss Palliser; but two Miss Pallisers, cousins of Plantagenet Palliser, had entered the room at the same time, of whom I may say, whatever other traits of character they may have possessed, that at any rate they were not fools.

The Duchess made a stiff little bow, and declared that she was charmingly warm. "I don't know how you manage it, but the staircases are so comfortable. Now at Longroyston we've taken all the trouble in the world - put down hot-water pipes all over the house, yet there are draughts at every corner of the passages." The Duchess spoke with an enormous emphasis on every other word, sometimes putting so great a stress on some special syllable, as almost to bring her voice to a whistle - especially when she said pipes. She was a woman of about forty, very handsome - but a fool. Two Miss Pallisers, cousins of Plantagenet Palliser, had entered the room at the same time, and they were certainly not fools.


"It's always easy to warm a small house like this," said Miss Palliser, whose Christian names, unfortunately for her, were Iphigenia Theodata, and who by her cousin and sister was called Iphy--"and I suppose equally difficult to warm a large one such as Longroyston." The other Miss Palliser had been christened Euphemia.

"It's always easy to warm a small house like this," said Miss Palliser, whose Christian name, unfortunately, was Iphigenia Theodata, and whom her cousin and sister called Iphy; "and I suppose it's difficult to warm a large one such as Longroyston." The other Miss Palliser was called Euphemia.


"We've got no pipes, Duchess, at any rate," said Lady Glencora; and Alice, as she sat listening, thought she discerned in Lady Glencora's pronunciation of the word pipes an almost hidden imitation of the Duchess's whistle. It must have been so, for at the moment Lady Glencora's eye met Alice's for an instant, and was then withdrawn, so that Alice was compelled to think that her friend and cousin was not always quite successful in those struggles she made to be proper.

"We've got no pipes, Duchess, at any rate," said Lady Glencora; and Alice, as she sat listening, thought she discerned in Lady Glencora's pronunciation of the word pipes an almost hidden imitation of the Duchess's whistle. Lady Glencora's eye met Alice's for an instant, and was then withdrawn, so that Alice was compelled to think that her friend was not always quite successful in her struggles to be proper.


Then the gentlemen came in one after another, and other ladies, till about thirty people were assembled. Mr. Palliser came up and spoke another word to Alice in a kind voice,--meant to express some sense of connection if not cousinship. "My wife has been thinking so much of your coming. I hope we shall be able to amuse you." Alice, who had already begun to feel desolate, was grateful, and made up her mind that she would try to like Mr. Palliser.

Then the gentlemen came in, and other ladies, till about thirty people were assembled. Mr. Palliser came up and spoke a kind word to Alice.
"My wife has been thinking so much of your coming. I hope we shall be able to amuse you."
Alice, who had already begun to feel desolate, was grateful, and made up her mind that she would try to like Mr. Palliser.


Jeffrey Palliser was almost the last in the room, but directly he entered Lady Glencora got up from her seat, and met him as he was coming into the crowd. "You must take my cousin, Alice Vavasor, in to dinner," she said, "and;--will you oblige me to-day?"

Jeffrey Palliser was almost the last in the room. Lady Glencora went to meet him, saying, "You must take my cousin, Alice Vavasor, in to dinner, and


"Then try to make her comfortable." After that she introduced them, and Jeffrey Palliser stood opposite to Alice, talking to her, till dinner was announced.

try to make her comfortable." She introduced them, and Jeffrey Palliser stood talking to Alice till dinner was announced.


In the meantime Kate Vavasor was living down in Westmoreland, with no other society than that of her grandfather, and did not altogether have a very pleasant life of it. George had been apt to represent the old man to himself as being as strong as an old tower, which, though it be but a ruin, shows no sign of falling. To his eyes the Squire had always seemed to be full of life and power. He could be violent on occasions, and was hardly ever without violence in his eyes and voice. But George's opinion was formed by his wish, or rather by the reverses of his wish. For years he had been longing that his grandfather should die,--had been accusing Fate of gross injustice in that she did not snap the thread; and with such thoughts in his mind he had grudged every ounce which the Squire's vigour had been able to sustain. He had almost taught himself to believe that it would be a good deed to squeeze what remained of life out of that violent old throat. But, indeed, the embers of life were burning low; and had George known all the truth, he would hardly have inclined his mind to thoughts of murder.

In the meantime Kate Vavasor was living in Westmorland with her grandfather, and did not have a very pleasant life. George thought of the old man as being as strong as a tower, and full of life. But, in fact, the embers of the Squire's life were burning low.

Chapter 53: The Last Will of the Old Squire


He was, indeed, very weak with age, and tottering with unsteady steps on the brink of his grave, though he would still come down early from his room, and would, if possible, creep out about the garden and into the farmyard. He would still sit down to dinner, and would drink his allotted portion of port wine, in the doctor's teeth. The doctor by no means desired to rob him of his last luxury, or even to stint his quantity; but he recommended certain changes in the mode and time of taking it. Against this, however, the old Squire indignantly rebelled, and scolded Kate almost off her legs when she attempted to enforce the doctor's orders. "What the mischief does it signify," the old man said to her one evening;--"what difference will it make whether I am dead or alive, unless it is that George would turn you out of the house directly he gets it."

He was, indeed, very weak with age, and tottering with unsteady steps on the brink of his grave, though he would still creep about the garden and into the farmyard. He would still sit down to dinner, and drink his allotted portion of port wine. The doctor did not try to rob him of his last luxury; but he recommended certain changes in the taking of it. The old Squire indignantly rebelled, and scolded Kate when she attempted to enforce the doctor's orders.
"What does it matter," the old man said one evening, "whether I am dead or alive? Unless George would turn you out of the house directly he gets it."


"I was not thinking of any one but yourself, sir," said Kate, with a tear in her eye.

"I was not thinking of anyone but you, sir," said Kate, with a tear in her eye.


"You won't be troubled to think of me much longer," said the Squire; and then he gulped down the remaining half of his glass of wine.

"You won't be troubled to think of me much longer," said the Squire; and he gulped down the rest of his wine.


Kate was, in truth, very good to him. Women always are good under such circumstances; and Kate Vavasor was one who would certainly stick to such duties as now fell to her lot. She was eminently true and loyal to her friends, though she could be as false on their behalf as most false people can be on their own. She was very good to the old man, tending all his wants, taking his violence with good-humour rather than with submission, not opposing him with direct contradiction when he abused his grandson, but saying little words to mitigate his wrath, if it were possible. At such times the Squire would tell her that she also would learn to know her brother's character some day. "You'll live to be robbed by him, and turned out as naked as you were born," he said to her one day. Then Kate fired up and declared that she fully trusted her brother's love. Whatever faults he might have, he had been staunch to her, So she said, and the old man sneered at her for saying so.

Kate was, in truth, very good to him. She was true and loyal to her friends, though she could be false on their behalf. She tended to the old man with good-humour, not contradicting him when he abused his grandson, but saying little things to mitigate his anger.
"You'll learn his character some day," the Squire told her. "You'll live to be robbed by him, and turned out as naked as you were born." Then Kate fired up and declared that she fully trusted her brother. Whatever faults he might have, he had been true to her. So she said, and the old man sneered at her for saying so.


One morning, soon after this, when she brought him up to his bedroom some mixture of thin porridge, which he still endeavoured to swallow for his breakfast, he bade her sit down, and began to talk to her about the property. "I know you are a fool," he said, "about all matters of business;--more of a fool than even women generally are." To this Kate acceded with a little smile,--acknowledging that her understanding was limited. "I want to see Gogram," he said. "Do you write to him a line, telling him to come here to-day,--he or one of his men,--and send it at once by Peter." Gogram was an attorney who lived at Penrith, and who was never summoned to Vavasor Hall unless the Squire had something to say about his will. "Don't you think you'd better put it off till you are a little stronger?" said Kate. Whereupon the Squire fired at her such a volley of oaths that she sprang off the chair on which she was sitting, and darted across to a little table at which there was pen and ink, and wrote her note to Mr. Gogram, before she had recovered from the shaking which the battery had given her. She wrote the note, and ran away with it to Peter, and saw Peter on the pony on his way to Penrith, before she dared to return to her grandfather's bedside.

One morning, when she brought his porridge up to his bedroom, he told her to sit down, and began to talk to her about the property.
"I know you are a fool," he said, "about all matters of business." To this Kate acceded with a little smile. "I want to see Gogram," he said. "Write and tell him to come here today - and send it at once by Peter." Gogram was an attorney at Penrith, who was never summoned to Vavasor Hall unless the Squire had something to say about his will.
"Don't you think you'd better put it off till you are a little stronger?" said Kate.
The Squire fired such a volley of oaths at her that she sprang up and wrote at once to Mr. Gogram. She gave the note to Peter, and saw Peter depart on the pony to Penrith, before she dared to return to her grandfather's bedside.


"What should you do with the estate if I left it you?" the Squire said to her the first moment she was again back with him.

"What should you do with the estate if I left it you?" the Squire said to her.


This was a question she could not answer instantly. She stood by his bedside for a while thinking,--holding her grandfather's hand and looking down upon the bed. He, with his rough watery old eyes, was gazing up into her face, as though he were trying to read her thoughts. "I think I should give it to my brother," she said.

She could not answer instantly. She stood by his bedside thinking, and holding her grandfather's hand. "I think I should give it to my brother," she said.


"Then I'm d---- if I'll leave it to you," said he.

"Then I'm d-- if I'll leave it to you," said he.


She did not jump now, though he had sworn at her. She still stood, holding his hand softly, and looking down upon the bed. "If I were you, grandfather," she said almost in a whisper, "I would not trust myself to alter family arrangements whilst I was ill. I'm sure you would advise any one else against doing so."

"If I were you, grandfather," she said softly, "I would not trust myself to alter family arrangements whilst I was ill. I'm sure you would advise anyone else against doing so."


"And if I were to leave it to Alice, she'd give it to him too," he said, speaking his thoughts out loud. "What it is you see in him, I never could even guess. He's as ugly as a baboon, with his scarred face. He has never done anything to show himself a clever fellow. Kate, give me some of that bottle the man sent." Kate handed him his medicine, and then stood again by his bedside.

"And if I were to leave it to Alice, she'd give it to him too," he said. "What you see in him, I never could guess. He has never done anything to show himself a clever fellow. Kate, give me some of that medicine." Kate handed him his medicine, and then stood again by his bedside.


"Where did he get the money to pay for his election?" the Squire asked, as soon as he had swallowed the draught. "They wouldn't give such a one as him credit a yard further than they could see him."

"Where did he get the money to pay for his election?" the Squire asked.


"I don't know where he got it," said Kate, lying.


"And what made you offer it to him after what I said to you?"


"Because it was my own," said Kate, stoutly.


"You're the biggest idiot that ever I heard of, and you'll know it yourself some day. Go away now, and let me know when Gogram comes."

"You're the biggest idiot that ever I heard of. Go away now, and let me know when Gogram comes."


She went away, and for a time employed herself about her ordinary household work. Then she sat down alone in the dingy old dining-room, to think what had better be done in her present circumstances. The carpet of the room was worn out, as were also the covers of the old chairs and the horsehair sofa which was never moved from its accustomed place along the wall. It was not a comfortable Squire's residence, this old house at Vavasor. In the last twenty years no money had been spent on furniture or embellishments, and for the last ten years there had been no painting, either inside or out. Twenty years ago the Squire had been an embarrassed man, and had taken a turn in his life and had lived sparingly. It could not be said that he had become a miser. His table was kept plentifully, and there had never been want in his house. In some respects, too, he had behaved liberally to Kate and to others, and he had kept up the timber and fences on the property. But the house had become wretched in its dull, sombre, dirty darkness, and the gardens round it were as bad.

She went away, and sat down alone in the dingy old dining-room, to think what had better be done. The carpet of the room was worn out, as were the chair-covers and the horsehair sofa by the wall. It was not a comfortable house. In the last twenty years no money had been spent on furniture, and for the last ten years there had been no painting, either inside or out. The Squire was not a miser. In some respects, he had behaved generously to Kate and others, and he had kept up the timber and fences on the property. But the house had become wretched in its dirty, sombre darkness.


What ought she now to do? She believed that her grandfather's last days were coming, and she knew that others of the family should be with him besides herself. For their sakes, for his, and for her own, it would be proper that she should not be alone there when he died. But for whom should she send? Her brother was the natural heir, and would be the head of the family. Her duty to him was clear, and the more so as her grandfather was at this moment speaking of changes in his will. But it was a question to her whether George's presence at Vavasor, even if he would come, would not at this moment do more harm than good to his own interests. It would make some prejudicial change in the old man's will more probable instead of less so. George would not become soft and mild-spoken even by a death-bed side, and it would be likely enough that the Squire would curse his heir with his dying breath. She might send for her uncle John; but if she did so without telling George she would be treating George unfairly; and she knew that it was improbable that her uncle and her brother should act together in anything. Her aunt Greenow, she thought, would come to her, and her presence would not influence the Squire in any way with reference to the property. So she made up her mind at last that she would ask her aunt to come to Vavasor, and that she would tell her brother accurately all that she could tell,--leaving him to come or stay, as he might think. Alice would, no doubt, learn all the facts from him, and her uncle John would hear them from Alice. Then they could do as they pleased. As soon as Mr. Gogram had been there she would write her letters, and they should be sent over to Shap early on the following morning.

What ought she to do? She believed that her grandfather's last days were coming, and she knew that other relatives should be with him when he died. But for whom should she send? Her brother was the natural heir, and would be the head of the family. But George's presence at Vavasor Hall might do more harm than good to his own interests. It would make some unfavourable change in the old man's will more probable. George would not become soft and mild-spoken even by a death-bed side.
She might send for her uncle John; but if she did so without telling George she would be treating George unfairly. Her aunt Greenow, she thought, would come to her, and her presence would not influence the Squire.
So she made up her mind to ask her aunt to come to Vavasor, and to tell George all that she could, leaving him to come or stay as he thought best. Alice would, no doubt, learn the facts from him, and her uncle John would hear them from Alice. Then they could do as they pleased. As soon as Mr. Gogram had been there she would write her letters, and send them off the following morning.