"Now sing a song--a Scottish song," suggested Caroline, when the hymn was over--"'Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon.'"

"Now sing a Scottish song," suggested Caroline. "'Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon.'"


Again Mrs. Pryor obeyed, or essayed to obey. At the close of the first stanza she stopped. She could get no further. Her full heart flowed over.

Again Mrs. Pryor obeyed, but after the first stanza she stopped. She could get no further.

Chapter 24: THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH


"You are weeping at the pathos of the air. Come here, and I will comfort you," said Caroline, in a pitying accent. Mrs. Pryor came. She sat down on the edge of her patient's bed, and allowed the wasted arms to encircle her.

"You are weeping at the sadness of the song. Come here, and I will comfort you," said Caroline, in a pitying accent. Mrs. Pryor sat on the edge of the bed, and allowed the wasted arms to encircle her.


"You often soothe me; let me soothe you," murmured the young girl, kissing her cheek. "I hope," she added, "it is not for me you weep?"

"You often soothe me; let me soothe you," murmured the young girl, kissing her cheek. "I hope it is not for me you weep?


"Do you think I shall not get better? I do not feel _very_ ill--only weak."


"But your mind, Caroline--your mind is crushed. Your heart is almost broken; you have been so neglected, so repulsed, left so desolate."

"But your heart is almost broken, Caroline; you have been so neglected, so repulsed, left so desolate."


"I believe grief is, and always has been, my worst ailment. I sometimes think if an abundant gush of happiness came on me I could revive yet."

"I believe grief has been my worst ailment. I sometimes think if happiness came to me I could revive yet."


"Very much--very truly--inexpressibly sometimes. Just now I feel as if I could almost grow to your heart."


"I will return directly, dear," remarked Mrs. Pryor, as she laid Caroline down.

"I will return directly, dear," remarked Mrs. Pryor.


Quitting her, she glided to the door, softly turned the key in the lock, ascertained that it was fast, and came back. She bent over her. She threw back the curtain to admit the moonlight more freely. She gazed intently on her face.

Gliding to the door, she softly turned the key in the lock, and came back. She bent over Caroline and gazed intently on her face.


"Then, if you love me," said she, speaking quickly, with an altered voice; "if you feel as if, to use your own words, you could 'grow to my heart,' it will be neither shock nor pain for you to know that _that_ heart is the source whence yours was filled; that from _my_ veins issued the tide which flows in _yours_; that you are _mine_--my daughter--my own child."

"Then, if you love me," said she, "it will be neither shock nor pain for you to know that from my veins issued the blood which flows in yours; that you are mine - my daughter - my own child."


"That is--that means--you have adopted me?"


"It means that, if I have given you nothing else, I at least gave you life; that I bore you, nursed you; that I am your true mother. No other woman can claim the title; it is _mine_."

"It means that, if I have given you nothing else, I at least gave you life; that I bore you, nursed you; that I am your true mother."


"But Mrs. James Helstone--but my father's wife, whom I do not remember ever to have seen, she is my mother?"

"But Mrs. James Helstone - my father's wife, whom I do not remember, she is my mother?"


"She _is_ your mother. James Helstone was _my_ husband. I say you are _mine_. I have proved it. I thought perhaps you were all his, which would have been a cruel dispensation for me. I find it is _not_ so. God permitted me to be the parent of my child's mind. It belongs to me; it is my property--my _right_. These features are James's own. He had a fine face when he was young, and not altered by error. Papa, my darling, gave you your blue eyes and soft brown hair; he gave you the oval of your face and the regularity of your lineaments--the outside _he_ conferred; but the heart and the brain are _mine_. The germs are from _me_, and they are improved, they are developed to excellence. I esteem and approve my child as highly as I do most fondly love her."

"She is your mother. James Helstone was my husband. I say you are mine. I thought perhaps you were all his, which would have been cruel. But God permitted me to be the parent of my child's mind. These features are James's; he had a fine face when he was young. Papa gave you your blue eyes and soft brown hair, my darling; he gave you your oval face and regular features; but the heart and brain are mine, in you developed to excellence. I esteem my child as highly as I do most fondly love her."


"I wish it were as true that the substance and colour of health were restored to your cheek."


"My own mother! is she one I can be so fond of as I can of you? People generally did not like her--so I have been given to understand."

My own mother! Is she one I can be so fond of as I can of you? I have been told people generally did not like her."


"They told you that? Well, your mother now tells you that, not having the gift to please people generally, for their approbation she does not care. Her thoughts are centred in her child. Does that child welcome or reject her?"

"They told you that? Well, your mother now tells you that, not having the gift to please people generally, for their approval she does not care. Her thoughts are centred in her child. Does that child welcome or reject her?"


"But if you _are_ my mother, the world is all changed to me. Surely I can live. I should like to recover----"

"But if you are my mother, the world is all changed to me. Surely I can live. I should like to recover-"


"You _must_ recover. You drew life and strength from my breast when you were a tiny, fair infant, over whose blue eyes I used to weep, fearing I beheld in your very beauty the sign of qualities that had entered my heart like iron, and pierced through my soul like a sword. Daughter! we have been long parted; I return now to cherish you again."

"You must recover. Daughter! we have been long parted; I return now to cherish you again."


She held her to her bosom; she cradled her in her arms; she rocked her softly, as if lulling a young child to sleep.

She cradled her in her arms; she rocked her softly, as if lulling a young child to sleep.


The offspring nestled to the parent; that parent, feeling the endearment and hearing the appeal, gathered her closer still. She covered her with noiseless kisses; she murmured love over her, like a cushat fostering its young.

The offspring nestled to the parent; that parent gathered her closer still. She covered her with noiseless kisses; she murmured love over her, like a dove nurturing its young.


There was silence in the room for a long while.


"Your uncle knows. I told him when I first came to stay with you here."

"I told him when I came to stay with you here."


"Did you recognize me when we first met at Fieldhead?"


"How could it be otherwise? Mr. and Miss Helstone being announced, I was prepared to see my child."

"How could it be otherwise? I was prepared to see my child."


"It was that, then, which moved you. I saw you disturbed."


"You saw nothing, Caroline; I can cover my feelings. You can never tell what an age of strange sensation I lived, during the two minutes that elapsed between the report of your name and your entrance. You can never tell how your look, mien, carriage, shook me."

"Caroline, you do not know what an age of strange sensation I lived, during the two minutes that elapsed between you being announced and your entrance. Your appearance shook me."


"What will she be like? I had asked myself; and when I saw what you were like, I could have dropped."

"What will she be like? I had asked myself; and when I saw you, I could have dropped.


"I trembled in your presence. I said, I will never own her; she shall never know me."


"But I said and did nothing remarkable. I felt a little diffident at the thought of an introduction to strangers--that was all."

"But I said and did nothing remarkable. I felt a little diffident at meeting strangers - that was all."


"I soon saw you were diffident. That was the first thing which reassured me. Had you been rustic, clownish, awkward, I should have been content."

"I soon saw you were diffident. That was the first thing which reassured me."


"I had reason to dread a fair outside, to mistrust a popular bearing, to shudder before distinction, grace, and courtesy. Beauty and affability had come in my way when I was recluse, desolate, young, and ignorant--a toil-worn governess perishing of uncheered labour, breaking down before her time. These, Caroline, when they smiled on me, I mistook for angels. I followed them home; and when into their hands I had given without reserve my whole chance of future happiness, it was my lot to witness a transfiguration on the domestic hearth--to see the white mask lifted, the bright disguise put away, and opposite me sat down---- O God, I _have_ suffered!"

"I had reason to dread beauty, to mistrust grace and courtesy. Beauty and affability had come in my way when I was young and desolate - a toil-worn governess breaking down before her time. These, Caroline, when they smiled on me, I mistook for angels. I followed them home; and when I had given my chance of future happiness into their hands, I witnessed a transfiguration - saw the white mask lifted, the bright disguise put away, and opposite me sat down - O God, I have suffered!"


"I _have_ suffered! None saw--none knew. There was no sympathy, no redemption, no redress!"

"I have suffered! None saw - none knew. There was no sympathy, no redress!"


"It is over, and not fruitlessly. I tried to keep the word of His patience. He kept me in the days of my anguish. I was afraid with terror--I was troubled. Through great tribulation He brought me through to a salvation revealed in this last time. My fear had torment; He has cast it out. He has given me in its stead perfect love. But, Caroline----"

"It is over. God kept me in the days of my anguish. Through great tribulation He brought me through to this salvation. He has cast away my fear, and given me in its stead perfect love. But, Caroline-"


Thus she invoked her daughter after a pause.


"I charge you, when you next look on your father's monument, to respect the name chiselled there. To you he did only good. On you he conferred his whole treasure of beauties, nor added to them one dark defect. All _you_ derived from him is excellent. You owe him gratitude. Leave, between him and me, the settlement of our mutual account. Meddle not. God is the arbiter. This world's laws never came near us--never! They were powerless as a rotten bulrush to protect me--impotent as idiot babblings to restrain him! As you said, it is all over now; the grave lies between us. There he sleeps, in that church. To his dust I say this night, what I have never said before, 'James, slumber peacefully! See! your terrible debt is cancelled! Look! I wipe out the long, black account with my own hand! James, your child atones. This living likeness of you--this thing with your perfect features--this one good gift you gave me has nestled affectionately to my heart, and tenderly called me "mother." Husband, rest forgiven!'"

"When you next look on your father's monument, respect the name chiselled there. To you he did only good. On you he conferred all his beauties, and none of his defects. You owe him gratitude. Leave, between him and me, the settlement of our mutual account. God is the arbiter. This world's laws were powerless to protect me, or to restrain him! As you said, it is all over now; he sleeps in that church. To his dust I say this night, what I have never said before, 'James, slumber peacefully! Your terrible debt is cancelled! Look! I wipe out the long, black account with my own hand! James, your child atones. This one good gift you gave me has nestled to my heart, and tenderly called me "mother." Husband, rest forgiven!'"


"Dearest mother, that is right! Can papa's spirit hear us? Is he comforted to know that we still love him?"


"I said nothing of love. I spoke of forgiveness. Mind the truth, child; I said nothing of love! On the threshold of eternity, should he be there to see me enter, will I maintain that."

"I said nothing of love. I spoke of forgiveness."


"O child, the human heart _can_ suffer! It can hold more tears than the ocean holds waters. We never know how deep, how wide it is, till misery begins to unbind her clouds, and fill it with rushing blackness."

"O child, the human heart can suffer! We never know how deep, how wide it is, till misery fills it with rushing blackness."


"Forget!" she said, with the strangest spectre of a laugh. "The north pole will rush to the south, and the headlands of Europe be locked into the bays of Australia ere I forget."

"Forget!" she said, with the strangest laugh. "The world will change before I forget."


And the child lulled the parent, as the parent had erst lulled the child. At last Mrs. Pryor wept. She then grew calmer. She resumed those tender cares agitation had for a moment suspended. Replacing her daughter on the couch, she smoothed the pillow and spread the sheet. The soft hair whose locks were loosened she rearranged, the damp brow she refreshed with a cool, fragrant essence.

And the child lulled the parent, as the parent had lulled the child. At last Mrs. Pryor wept. She grew calmer, and resumed her tender attentions. Replacing her daughter on the bed, she smoothed the pillow, rearranged the soft hair, and refreshed the damp brow.


"Mamma, let them bring a candle, that I may see you; and tell my uncle to come into this room by-and-by. I want to hear him say that I am your daughter. And, mamma, take your supper here. Don't leave me for one minute to-night."

"Mamma, let them bring a candle, so that I may see you; and tell my uncle to come in. I want to hear him say that I am your daughter. And, mamma, take your supper here. Don't leave me for one minute tonight."


"O Caroline, it is well you are gentle! You will say to me, Go, and I shall go; Come, and I shall come; Do this, and I shall do it. You inherit a certain manner as well as certain features. It will always be 'mamma' prefacing a mandate--softly spoken, though, from you, thank God! Well," she added, under her breath, "he spoke softly too, once, like a flute breathing tenderness; and then, when the world was not by to listen, discords that split the nerves and curdled the blood--sounds to inspire insanity."

"O Caroline, it is well you are gentle! You will say to me, Go, and I shall go; Do this, and I shall do it. You inherit a certain manner as well as certain features - softly spoken, though, thank God! Well," she added, under her breath, "he spoke softly too, once; and then, when the world was not listening, sounds to curdle the blood."


"It seems so natural, mamma, to ask you for this and that. I shall want nobody but you to be near me, or to do anything for me. But do not let me be troublesome. Check me if I encroach."

"It seems so natural, mamma, to ask you for this and that. But do not let me be troublesome. Stop me if I encroach."


"You must not depend on me to check you; you must keep guard over yourself. I have little moral courage; the want of it is my bane. It is that which has made me an unnatural parent--which has kept me apart from my child during the ten years which have elapsed since my husband's death left me at liberty to claim her. It was that which first unnerved my arms and permitted the infant I might have retained a while longer to be snatched prematurely from their embrace."

"You must not depend on me to stop you; I have little moral courage. The want of it is my bane. It is that which kept me apart from my child during the ten years since my husband's death. It was that which first permitted the infant I might have kept a while longer to be snatched from my embrace."


"I let you go as a babe, because you were pretty, and I feared your loveliness, deeming it the stamp of perversity. They sent me your portrait, taken at eight years old; that portrait confirmed my fears. Had it shown me a sunburnt little rustic--a heavy, blunt-featured, commonplace child--I should have hastened to claim you; but there, under the silver paper, I saw blooming the delicacy of an aristocratic flower--'little lady' was written on every trait. I had too recently crawled from under the yoke of the fine gentleman--escaped galled, crushed, paralyzed, dying--to dare to encounter his still finer and most fairy-like representative. My sweet little lady overwhelmed me with dismay; her air of native elegance froze my very marrow. In my experience I had not met with truth, modesty, good principle as the concomitants of beauty. A form so straight and fine, I argued, must conceal a mind warped and cruel. I had little faith in the power of education to rectify such a mind; or rather, I entirely misdoubted my own ability to influence it. Caroline, I dared not undertake to rear you. I resolved to leave you in your uncle's hands. Matthewson Helstone I knew, if an austere, was an upright man. He and all the world thought hardly of me for my strange, unmotherly resolve, and I deserved to be misjudged."

"I let you go as a babe, because you were pretty, and I feared your loveliness, deeming it the stamp of perversity. They sent me your portrait, taken at eight years old; it confirmed my fears. Had it shown me a heavy, blunt-featured, commonplace child, I should have hastened to claim you; but I saw the delicacy of an aristocratic flower - a 'little lady'. I had too recently crawled from under the yoke of the fine gentleman - escaped crushed and paralysed - to dare to meet his still finer representative. My sweet little lady overwhelmed me with dismay; her air of elegance froze my marrow. In my experience, truth had not gone along with beauty. A form so straight and fine, I argued, must conceal a mind warped and cruel. I resolved to leave you in your uncle's hands. Matthewson Helstone, I knew, was an upright if austere man. He and all the world thought badly of me for my strange, unmotherly resolve, and I deserved to be misjudged."


"Mamma, why did you call yourself Mrs. Pryor?"


"It was a name in my mother's family. I adopted it that I might live unmolested. My married name recalled too vividly my married life; I could not bear it. Besides, threats were uttered of forcing me to return to bondage. It could not be. Rather a bier for a bed, the grave for a home. My new name sheltered me. I resumed under its screen my old occupation of teaching. At first it scarcely procured me the means of sustaining life; but how savoury was hunger when I fasted in peace! How safe seemed the darkness and chill of an unkindled hearth when no lurid reflection from terror crimsoned its desolation! How serene was solitude, when I feared not the irruption of violence and vice!"

"It was a name in my mother's family. I could not bear my married name. My new name sheltered me. Under it, I resumed my old occupation of teaching. At first I scarcely earned a living; but how safe seemed the hunger and chill of a cold hearth when free from terror! How serene was solitude, when I feared no violence and vice!"


"But, mamma, you have been in this neighbourhood before. How did it happen that when you reappeared here with Miss Keeldar you were not recognized?"

"But, mamma, you have been in this neighbourhood before. How was it that when you reappeared here with Miss Keeldar you were not recognized?"


"I only paid a short visit, as a bride, twenty years ago, and then I was very different to what I am now--slender, almost as slender as my daughter is at this day. My complexion, my very features are changed; my hair, my style of dress--everything is altered. You cannot fancy me a slim young person, attired in scanty drapery of white muslin, with bare arms, bracelets and necklace of beads, and hair disposed in round Grecian curls above my forehead?"

"I only paid a short visit, as a bride, twenty years ago, and then I was very different. My figure, my features, my hair - everything is altered. You cannot imagine me slim and dressed in scanty white muslin, with hair in Grecian curls above my forehead?"


"You must, indeed, have been different. Mamma, I heard the front door open. If it is my uncle coming in, just ask him to step upstairs, and let me hear his assurance that I am truly awake and collected, and not dreaming or delirious."

"You must, indeed, have been different. Mamma, I heard my uncle coming into the house. Ask him to step upstairs, and let me hear his assurance that I am truly awake and not dreaming."


The rector, of his own accord, was mounting the stairs, and Mrs. Pryor summoned him to his niece's apartment.


"She's not worse, I hope?" he inquired hastily.


"I think her better. She is disposed to converse; she seems stronger."

"I think her better. She seems stronger."


"Good!" said he, brushing quickly into the room.--"Ha, Cary! how do? Did you drink my cup of tea? I made it for you just as I like it myself."

"Good!" said he, brushing quickly into the room. "Ha, Cary! how do? Did you drink my cup of tea? I made it for you just as I like it myself."


"I drank it every drop, uncle. It did me good; it has made me quite alive. I have a wish for company, so I begged Mrs. Pryor to call you in."

"I drank it every drop, uncle. It did me good. I wished for company, so I begged Mrs. Pryor to call you in."


The respected ecclesiastic looked pleased, and yet embarrassed. He was willing enough to bestow his company on his sick niece for ten minutes, since it was her whim to wish it; but what means to employ for her entertainment he knew not. He hemmed--he fidgeted.

The rector looked pleased, and yet embarrassed. He was willing enough to bestow his company on his sick niece for ten minutes; but how to entertain her he knew not. He hemmed and fidgeted.


"You'll be up in a trice," he observed, by way of saying something. "The little weakness will soon pass off; and then you must drink port wine--a pipe, if you can--and eat game and oysters. I'll get them for you, if they are to be had anywhere. Bless me! we'll make you as strong as Samson before we're done with you."

"You'll be up in a trice," he observed. "The little weakness will soon pass off; and then you must drink port wine and eat game and oysters. I'll get them for you, if they are to be had anywhere. Bless me! we'll make you as strong as Samson before we're done."


"Who is that lady, uncle, standing beside you at the bed-foot?"

"Who is that lady, uncle, standing beside you?"


"Good God!" he ejaculated. "She's not wandering, is she, ma'am?"


"I am wandering in a pleasant world," said Caroline, in a soft, happy voice, "and I want you to tell me whether it is real or visionary. What lady is that? Give her a name, uncle."

"I am wandering in a pleasant world," said Caroline, in a soft, happy voice, "and I want you to tell me whether it is real or visionary. What is the name of that lady, uncle?"


"We must have Dr. Rile again, ma'am; or better still, MacTurk. He's less of a humbug. Thomas must saddle the pony and go for him."

"We must have the doctor again, ma'am. Thomas must go for him."


"No; I don't want a doctor. Mamma shall be my only physician. Now, do you understand, uncle?"


Mr. Helstone pushed up his spectacles from his nose to his forehead, handled his snuff-box, and administered to himself a portion of the contents. Thus fortified, he answered briefly, "I see daylight. You've told her then, ma'am?"

Mr. Helstone pushed up his spectacles to his forehead, and took a pinch of snuff from his snuff-box. Thus fortified, he answered briefly, "I see daylight. You've told her then, ma'am?"


"And is it _true_?" demanded Caroline, rising on her pillow. "Is she _really_ my mother?"

"And is it true?" demanded Caroline. "Is she really my mother?"


"You won't cry, or make any scene, or turn hysterical, if I answer Yes?"


"Cry! I'd cry if you said _No_. It would be terrible to be disappointed now. But give her a name. How do you call her?"

"Cry! I'd cry if you said No. It would be terrible to be disappointed now. But how do you call her?"


"I call this stout lady in a quaint black dress, who looks young enough to wear much smarter raiment, if she would--I call her Agnes Helstone. She married my brother James, and is his widow."

"I call her Agnes Helstone. She married my brother James, and is his widow.


"What a little sceptic it is! Look at her small face, Mrs. Pryor, scarcely larger than the palm of my hand, alive with acuteness and eagerness." To Caroline--"She had the trouble of bringing you into the world at any rate. Mind you show your duty to her by quickly getting well, and repairing the waste of these cheeks.--Heigh-ho! she used to be plump. What she has done with it all I can't, for the life of me, divine."

She had the trouble of bringing you into the world. Mind you show your duty to her by quickly getting well!"


"If _wishing_ to get well will help me, I shall not be long sick. This morning I had no reason and no strength to wish it."

"If wishing to get well will help me, I shall not be long sick. This morning I had no reason and no strength to wish it."


Fanny here tapped at the door, and said that supper was ready.


"Uncle, if you please, you may send me a little bit of supper--anything you like, from your own plate. That is wiser than going into hysterics, is it not?"

"Uncle, if you please, send me a little bit of supper - anything you like, from your own plate. That is wiser than going into hysterics, is it not?"


"It is spoken like a sage, Cary. See if I don't cater for you judiciously. When women are sensible, and, above all, intelligible, I can get on with them. It is only the vague, superfine sensations, and extremely wire-drawn notions, that put me about. Let a woman ask me to give her an edible or a wearable--be the same a roc's egg or the breastplate of Aaron, a share of St. John's locusts and honey or the leathern girdle about his loins--I can, at least, understand the demand; but when they pine for they know not what--sympathy, sentiment, some of these indefinite abstractions--I can't do it; I don't know it; I haven't got it.--Madam, accept my arm."

"It is spoken like a sage, Cary. When women are sensible and intelligible, I can get on with them. It is only the superfine sensations and extreme notions that put me out. If a woman asks me for something edible or wearable, I can understand the demand; but when they pine for sympathy, sentiment, and whatnot - I can't do it; I don't know it; I haven't got it."


Mrs. Pryor signified that she should stay with her daughter that evening. Helstone, accordingly, left them together. He soon returned, bringing a plate in his own consecrated hand.

Mr. Helstone then departed, but soon returned, bringing a plate.


"This is chicken," he said, "but we'll have partridge to-morrow.--Lift her up, and put a shawl over her. On my word, I understand nursing.--Now, here is the very same little silver fork you used when you first came to the rectory. That strikes me as being what you may call a happy thought--a delicate attention. Take it, Cary, and munch away cleverly."

"This is chicken," he said, "but we'll have partridge tomorrow. - Lift her up, and put a shawl over her. Now, here is the very same little silver fork you used when you first came to the rectory. That strikes me as being what you may call a happy thought - a delicate attention. Take it, Cary, and munch away."


Caroline did her best. Her uncle frowned to see that her powers were so limited. He prophesied, however, great things for the future; and as she praised the morsel he had brought, and smiled gratefully in his face, he stooped over her pillow, kissed her, and said, with a broken, rugged accent, "Good-night, bairnie! God bless thee!"

Caroline did her best. Her uncle frowned to see her so weakened. He prophesied, however, great things for the future; and as she smiled gratefully, he stooped over her pillow, kissed her, and said, with a broken, rugged accent, "Good-night, bairnie! God bless thee!"


Caroline enjoyed such peaceful rest that night, circled by her mother's arms, and pillowed on her breast, that she forgot to wish for any other stay; and though more than one feverish dream came to her in slumber, yet, when she woke up panting, so happy and contented a feeling returned with returning consciousness that her agitation was soothed almost as soon as felt.

Caroline enjoyed peaceful rest that night, encircled by her mother's arms, and pillowed on her breast; and though more than one feverish dream came to her in slumber, yet, when she woke, returning consciousness brought so happy a feeling that her agitation was swiftly soothed.


As to the mother, she spent the night like Jacob at Peniel. Till break of day she wrestled with God in earnest prayer.

As for the mother, she spent the night like Jacob, wrestling with God in earnest prayer.


Louis Moore's doubts respecting the immediate evacuation of Fieldhead by Mr. Sympson turned out to be perfectly well founded. The very next day after the grand quarrel about Sir Philip Nunnely a sort of reconciliation was patched up between uncle and niece. Shirley, who could never find it in her heart to be or to seem inhospitable (except in the single instance of Mr. Donne), begged the whole party to stay a little longer. She begged in such earnest it was evident she wished it for some reason. They took her at her word. Indeed, the uncle could not bring himself to leave her quite unwatched--at full liberty to marry Robert Moore as soon as that gentleman should be able (Mr. Sympson piously prayed this might never be the case) to reassert his supposed pretensions to her hand. They all stayed.

Louis Moore's doubts whether Mr. Sympson would leave immediately turned out to be well founded. The day after the grand quarrel about Sir Philip Nunnely, a sort of reconciliation was patched up between uncle and niece. Shirley, who could never find it in her heart to be inhospitable (except to Mr. Donne), earnestly begged the family to stay a little longer. Indeed, the uncle could not bring himself to leave her unwatched - at full liberty to marry Robert Moore as soon as that gentleman should be able to resume his courtship. So they all stayed.


In his first rage against all the house of Moore, Mr. Sympson had so conducted himself towards Mr. Louis that that gentleman--patient of labour or suffering, but intolerant of coarse insolence--had promptly resigned his post, and could now be induced to resume and retain it only till such time as the family should quit Yorkshire. Mrs. Sympson's entreaties prevailed with him thus far; his own attachment to his pupil constituted an additional motive for concession; and probably he had a third motive, stronger than either of the other two. Probably he would have found it very hard indeed to leave Fieldhead just now.

In his first rage against the house of Moore, Mr. Sympson had behaved towards Mr. Louis so insolently that the tutor had promptly resigned his post, and could be induced to resume it only until the family should quit Yorkshire. Louis was persuaded by Mrs. Sympson's entreaties and his own attachment to his pupil; and probably he had a third motive. He would have found it very hard indeed to leave Fieldhead just now.


Things went on for some time pretty smoothly. Miss Keeldar's health was re-established; her spirits resumed their flow. Moore had found means to relieve her from every nervous apprehension; and, indeed, from the moment of giving him her confidence, every fear seemed to have taken wing. Her heart became as lightsome, her manner as careless, as those of a little child, that, thoughtless of its own life or death, trusts all responsibility to its parents. He and William Farren--through whose medium he made inquiries concerning the state of Phbe--agreed in asserting that the dog was not mad, that it was only ill-usage which had driven her from home; for it was proved that her master was in the frequent habit of chastising her violently. Their assertion might or might not be true. The groom and gamekeeper affirmed to the contrary--both asserting that, if hers was not a clear case of hydrophobia, there was no such disease. But to this evidence Louis Moore turned an incredulous ear. He reported to Shirley only what was encouraging. She believed him; and, right or wrong, it is certain that in her case the bite proved innocuous.

Things went on pretty smoothly. Miss Keeldar's health and spirits were re-established. Moore had relieved her from every nervous apprehension; and her fear seemed to have taken wing. Her heart became as light as a child's, that trusts all responsibility to its parents. Louis and William Farren, on making inquiries, had concluded that the dog Phbe was not mad - that it was only ill-usage which had driven her from home. Right or wrong, it is certain that in her case the bite proved innocuous.


November passed; December came. The Sympsons were now really departing. It was incumbent on them to be at home by Christmas. Their packages were preparing; they were to leave in a few days. One winter evening, during the last week of their stay, Louis Moore again took out his little blank book, and discoursed with it as follows:--

November passed; December came. The Sympsons were now really departing, to be at home for Christmas. They were to leave in a few days. One winter evening, during the last week of their stay, Louis Moore again took out his notebook, and wrote in it as follows:


"She is lovelier than ever. Since that little cloud was dispelled all the temporary waste and wanness have vanished. It was marvellous to see how soon the magical energy of youth raised her elastic and revived her blooming.

"She is lovelier than ever. Since that little cloud was dispelled all the wanness has vanished, and with the magical energy of youth she blooms again.


"After breakfast this morning, when I had seen her, and listened to her, and, so to speak, felt her, in every sentient atom of my frame, I passed from her sunny presence into the chill drawing-room. Taking up a little gilt volume, I found it to contain a selection of lyrics. I read a poem or two; whether the spell was in me or in the verse I know not, but my heart filled genially, my pulse rose. I glowed, notwithstanding the frost air. I, too, am young as yet. Though she said she never considered me young, I am barely thirty. There are moments when life, for no other reason than my own youth, beams with sweet hues upon me.

"After breakfast this morning, when I had seen her, and listened to her, and felt her in every atom of my frame, I went into the chill drawing-room. There I read a poem or two; whether the spell was in me or in the verse I know not, but my heart filled, my pulse rose, I glowed. I, too, am young as yet. I am barely thirty, and there are moments when life beams sweetly upon me.


"It was time to go to the schoolroom. I went. That same schoolroom is rather pleasant in a morning. The sun then shines through the low lattice; the books are in order; there are no papers strewn about; the fire is clear and clean; no cinders have fallen, no ashes accumulated. I found Henry there, and he had brought with him Miss Keeldar. They were together.

"It was time to go to the schoolroom. It is rather pleasant of a morning, when the sun shines through the low lattice; the books are in order, and the fireplace is clean. There I found Henry and Miss Keeldar together.


"I said she was lovelier than ever. She is. A fine rose, not deep but delicate, opens on her cheek. Her eye, always dark, clear, and speaking, utters now a language I cannot render; it is the utterance, seen not heard, through which angels must have communed when there was 'silence in heaven.' Her hair was always dusk as night and fine as silk, her neck was always fair, flexible, polished; but both have now a new charm. The tresses are soft as shadow, the shoulders they fall on wear a goddess grace. Once I only _saw_ her beauty, now I _feel_ it.

"I said she was lovelier than ever. She is. A delicate rose opens on her cheek. Her eye, always dark and clear, speaks now as angels must have communed when there was 'silence in heaven.' Her hair is soft as shadow; the shoulders they fall on wear a goddess grace. Once I only saw her beauty, but now I feel it.


"Henry was repeating his lesson to her before bringing it to me. One of her hands was occupied with the book; he held the other. That boy gets more than his share of privileges; he dares caress and is caressed. What indulgence and compassion she shows him! Too much. If this went on, Henry in a few years, when his soul was formed, would offer it on her altar, as I have offered mine.

"Henry was repeating his lesson to her before bringing it to me. He held her hand as he recited. That boy gets more than his share of privileges. What indulgence she shows him! If this went on, Henry in a few years would offer his soul on her altar, as I have offered mine.


"I saw her eyelid flitter when I came in, but she did not look up; _now_ she hardly ever gives me a glance. She seems to grow silent too; to _me_ she rarely speaks, and when I am present, she says little to others. In my gloomy moments I attribute this change to indifference, aversion, what not? In my sunny intervals I give it another meaning. I say, were I her equal, I could find in this shyness coyness, and in that coyness love. As it is, dare I look for it? What could I do with it if found?

"I saw her eyelid flutter when I came in, but she did not look up; now she hardly ever gives me a glance. She rarely speaks to me either, and when I am present, she says little to others. In my gloomy moments I attribute this change to indifference and aversion. In my sunny intervals I give it another meaning. I say, were I her equal, I could find in this shyness love. Dare I look for it? What could I do with it if found?


"This morning I dared at least contrive an hour's communion for her and me; I dared not only _wish_ but _will_ an interview with her. I dared summon solitude to guard us. Very decidedly I called Henry to the door. Without hesitation I said, 'Go where you will, my boy; but, till I call you, return not here.'

"This morning I dared at least contrive an hour's communion with her. I called Henry to the door, and said, 'Go where you will, my boy; but, till I call you, return not here.'


"Henry, I could see, did not like his dismissal. That boy is young, but a thinker; his meditative eye shines on me strangely sometimes. He half feels what links me to Shirley; he half guesses that there is a dearer delight in the reserve with which I am treated than in all the endearments he is allowed. The young, lame, half-grown lion would growl at me now and then, because I have tamed his lioness and am her keeper, did not the habit of discipline and the instinct of affection hold him subdued. Go, Henry; you must learn to take your share of the bitter of life with all of Adam's race that have gone before or will come after you. Your destiny can be no exception to the common lot; be grateful that your love is overlooked thus early, before it can claim any affinity to passion. An hour's fret, a pang of envy, suffice to express what you feel. Jealousy hot as the sun above the line, rage destructive as the tropic storm, the clime of your sensations ignores--as yet.

"Henry, I could see, did not like his dismissal. That boy is young, but a thinker; his meditative eye shines on me strangely sometimes. He half feels what links me to Shirley; the young, lame, half-grown lion would growl at me now and then, because I have tamed his lioness, if the habit of discipline and his affection did not subdue him. Go, Henry; be grateful that your love is overlooked thus early, before it becomes passion. An hour's fret will suffice to express what you feel.


"I took my usual seat at the desk, quite in my usual way. I am blessed in that power to cover all inward ebullition with outward calm. No one who looks at my slow face can guess the vortex sometimes whirling in my heart, and engulfing thought and wrecking prudence. Pleasant is it to have the gift to proceed peacefully and powerfully in your course without alarming by one eccentric movement. It was not my present intention to utter one word of love to her, or to reveal one glimpse of the fire in which I wasted. Presumptuous I never have been; presumptuous I never will be. Rather than even _seem_ selfish and interested, I would resolutely rise, gird my loins, part and leave her, and seek, on the other side of the globe, a new life, cold and barren as the rock the salt tide daily washes. My design this morning was to take of her a near scrutiny--to read a line in the page of her heart. Before I left I determined to know _what_ I was leaving.

"I took my usual seat at the desk, with my usual outward calm. No one who looks at my slow face can guess the vortex sometimes whirling in my heart, engulfing thought and wrecking prudence. But I would not alarm her by one eccentric movement; at present I would not utter one word of love, or reveal one glimpse of the fire that burns me. Presumptuous I will never be. I would rather part and leave her, and seek, on the other side of the globe, a new life, cold and barren as the wave-washed rock. My plan this morning was to scrutinise her - to read a line in the page of her heart. Before I left I was determined to know what I was leaving.


"I had some quills to make into pens. Most men's hands would have trembled when their hearts were so stirred; mine went to work steadily, and my voice, when I called it into exercise, was firm.

"I had some quills to make into pens. My hands went to work steadily, and my voice, when I spoke, was firm.


"'This day week you will be alone at Fieldhead, Miss Keeldar.'


"'Yes: I rather think my uncle's intention to go is a settled one now.'

"'Yes: I rather think my uncle will go this time.


"'He departs as he came--no better for his journey. This is mortifying.'


"'I trust the failure of his plans will take from him all inclination to lay new ones.'


"'In his way Mr. Sympson honestly wished you well. All he has done or intended to do he believed to be for the best.'

"'In his way Mr. Sympson honestly wished you well. All he has done he believed to be for the best.'


"'You are kind to undertake the defence of a man who has permitted himself to treat you with so much insolence.'

"'You are kind to defend a man who has treated you with so much insolence.'


"'I never feel shocked at, or bear malice for, what is spoken in character; and most perfectly in character was that vulgar and violent onset against me, when he had quitted you worsted.'

"'I never feel shocked at what is spoken in character; and most perfectly in character was that vulgar and violent onset against me, when he had quitted you.'


"'I shall be parted from Henry for a while (if he and I live we shall meet again somehow, for we love each other) and be ousted from the bosom of the Sympson family for ever. Happily this change does not leave me stranded; it but hurries into premature execution designs long formed.'

"'I shall be parted from Henry for a while (though we shall meet again somehow, for we love each other) and leave the Sympson family for ever. Happily this change does not leave me stranded; it merely hurries on plans long formed.'


"'No change finds you off your guard. I was sure, in your calm way, you would be prepared for sudden mutation. I always think you stand in the world like a solitary but watchful, thoughtful archer in a wood. And the quiver on your shoulder holds more arrows than one; your bow is provided with a second string. Such too is your brother's wont. You two might go forth homeless hunters to the loneliest western wilds; all would be well with you. The hewn tree would make you a hut, the cleared forest yield you fields from its stripped bosom, the buffalo would feel your rifle-shot, and with lowered horns and hump pay homage at your feet.'

"'Nothing finds you off your guard. I was sure you would be calmly prepared for sudden change. I always think you are like a solitary but watchful, thoughtful archer in a wood. Such too is your brother. You two might be homeless hunters in the loneliest western wilds; all would be well with you. The hewn tree would make you a hut, the cleared forest would yield you fields, the buffalo would feel your rifle-shot.'


"'And any Indian tribe of Blackfeet or Flatheads would afford us a bride, perhaps?'

"'And an Indian tribe would afford us brides, perhaps?'


"'No' (hesitating), 'I think not. The savage is sordid. I think--that is, I _hope_--you would neither of you share your hearth with that to which you could not give your heart.'

"'No' (hesitating), 'I think not. I hope you would neither of you share your hearth with that to which you could not give your heart.'


"'What suggested the wild West to your mind, Miss Keeldar? Have you been with me in spirit when I did not see you? Have you entered into my day-dreams, and beheld my brain labouring at its scheme of a future?'

"'What suggested the wild West to your mind, Miss Keeldar? Have you entered my day-dreams, and beheld my brain at work?'


"She had separated a slip of paper for lighting tapers--a spill, as it is called--into fragments. She threw morsel by morsel into the fire, and stood pensively watching them consume. She did not speak.

"She had torn a slip of paper into fragments, and threw morsel by morsel into the fire, pensively watching them burn. She did not speak.


"'How did you learn what you seem to know about my intentions?'


"'I know nothing. I am only discovering them now. I spoke at hazard.'

"'I am only discovering them now. I spoke at hazard.'


"'Your hazard sounds like divination. A tutor I will never be again; never take a pupil after Henry and yourself; not again will I sit habitually at another man's table--no more be the appendage of a family. I am now a man of thirty; I have never been free since I was a boy of ten. I have such a thirst for freedom, such a deep passion to know her and call her mine, such a day-desire and night-longing to win her and possess her, I will not refuse to cross the Atlantic for her sake; her I will follow deep into virgin woods. Mine it shall not be to accept a savage girl as a slave--she could not be a wife. I know no white woman whom I love that would accompany me; but I am certain Liberty will await me, sitting under a pine. When I call her she will come to my loghouse, and she shall fill my arms.'

"'Your hazard sounds like divination. A tutor I will never be again. I am now a man of thirty; I have never been free since I was a boy of ten. I have such a thirst for freedom, such a deep passion and longing to win her, I will not refuse to cross the Atlantic for her sake; her I will follow deep into virgin woods. I know no woman whom I love that would accompany me; but I am certain Liberty will await me, sitting under a pine; and when I call her, she shall fill my arms.'


"She could not hear me speak so unmoved, and she _was_ moved. It was right--I meant to move her. She could not answer me, nor could she look at me. I should have been sorry if she could have done either. Her cheek glowed as if a crimson flower through whose petals the sun shone had cast its light upon it. On the white lid and dark lashes of her downcast eye trembled all that is graceful in the sense of half-painful, half-pleasing shame.

"She was moved. I meant to move her. She could not answer me, nor look at me. Her cheek glowed. On the dark lashes of her downcast eye trembled all that is graceful in half-painful, half-pleasing shame.


"Soon she controlled her emotion, and took all her feelings under command. I saw she had felt insurrection, and was waking to empire. She sat down. There was that in her face which I could read. It said, I see the line which is my limit; nothing shall make me pass it. I feel--I know how far I may reveal my feelings, and when I must clasp the volume. I have advanced to a certain distance, as far as the true and sovereign and undegraded nature of my kind permits; now here I stand rooted. My heart may break if it is baffled; let it break. It shall never dishonour me; it shall never dishonour my sisterhood in me. Suffering before degradation! death before treachery!

"Soon she took her feelings under command, and sat down. I could read her face. It said, I see the line which is my limit; nothing shall make me cross it. I know how far I may reveal my feelings. I have advanced as far as my nature permits; now here I stand rooted. My heart may break if it is baffled; let it break. It shall never dishonour me!


"I, for my part, said, 'If she were poor, I would be at her feet; if she were lowly, I would take her in my arms. Her gold and her station are two griffins that guard her on each side. Love looks and longs, and dares not; Passion hovers round, and is kept at bay; Truth and Devotion are scared. There is nothing to lose in winning her, no sacrifice to make. It is all clear gain, and therefore unimaginably difficult.'

"I, for my part, said to myself, 'If she were poor, I would be at her feet; if she were lowly, I would take her in my arms. But her gold and her lofty station are two griffins that guard her on each side. Love looks and longs, and dares not; Passion hovers, and is kept at bay; Truth and Devotion are scared. There is no sacrifice to make in winning her. It is all clear gain, and therefore unimaginably difficult.'


"Difficult or not, something must be done, something must be said. I could not, and would not, sit silent with all that beauty modestly mute in my presence. I spoke thus, and still I spoke with calm. Quiet as my words were, I could hear they fell in a tone distinct, round, and deep.

"Difficult or not, I had to say something. I could not sit silent with all that beauty modestly mute in my presence. I spoke with quiet calm.


"'Still, I know I shall be strangely placed with that mountain nymph Liberty. She is, I suspect, akin to that Solitude which I once wooed, and from which I now seek a divorce. These Oreads are peculiar. They come upon you with an unearthly charm, like some starlight evening; they inspire a wild but not warm delight; their beauty is the beauty of spirits; their grace is not the grace of life, but of seasons or scenes in nature. Theirs is the dewy bloom of morning, the languid flush of evening, the peace of the moon, the changefulness of clouds. I want and will have something different. This elfish splendour looks chill to my vision, and feels frozen to my touch. I am not a poet; I cannot live with abstractions. You, Miss Keeldar, have sometimes, in your laughing satire, called me a material philosopher, and implied that I live sufficiently for the substantial. Certainly I feel material from head to foot; and glorious as Nature is, and deeply as I worship her with the solid powers of a solid heart, I would rather behold her through the soft human eyes of a loved and lovely wife than through the wild orbs of the highest goddess of Olympus.'

"'Still, I know I shall be strangely placed with that mountain nymph Liberty. She is, I suspect, akin to that Solitude which I once wooed, and from which I now seek a divorce. These nymphs have an unearthly charm, like some starlight evening; they inspire a wild but not warm delight; their beauty is the beauty of spirits, of nature. Theirs is the dewy bloom of morning, the languid flush of evening, the peace of the moon, the changefulness of clouds. I want something different. This elfish splendour looks chill to my vision, and feels frozen to my touch. I am not a poet; I cannot live with abstractions. Glorious as Nature is, and deeply as I worship her, I would rather behold her through the soft human eyes of a loved and lovely wife than through the wild orbs of the highest goddess of Olympus.'


"'Juno could not cook a buffalo steak as you like it,' said she.


"'She could not; but I will tell you who could--some young, penniless, friendless orphan girl. I wish I could find such a one--pretty enough for me to love, with something of the mind and heart suited to my taste; not uneducated--honest and modest. I care nothing for attainments, but I would fain have the germ of those sweet natural powers which nothing acquired can rival; any temper Fate wills--I can manage the hottest. To such a creature as this I should like to be first tutor and then husband. I would teach her my language, my habits and my principles, and then I would reward her with my love.'

"'She could not; but I will tell you who could - some young, penniless, friendless orphan girl. I wish I could find such a one - pretty enough for me to love, honest and modest. I care nothing for attainments, but I would fain have the germ of those sweet natural powers which nothing acquired can rival; I can manage the hottest temper that Fate wills. To such a creature I should like to be first tutor and then husband. I would teach her my language, my habits and my principles, and then I would reward her with my love.'


"'_Reward_ her, lord of the creation--_reward_ her!'" ejaculated she, with a curled lip.

"'Reward her, lord of the creation - reward her!'" exclaimed she, with a curled lip.


"'You have stipulated for any temper Fate wills. Compulsion is flint and a blow to the metal of some souls.'


"'Who cares for the love that is but a spark--seen, flown upward, and gone?'

"'Who cares for the love that is only a spark?'


"'I must find my orphan girl. Tell me how, Miss Keeldar.'


"'Advertise; and be sure you add, when you describe the qualifications, she must be a good plain cook.'

"'Advertise; and be sure you add that she must be a good plain cook.'


"'I must find her; and when I do find her I shall marry her.'

"'I must find her; and when I find her I shall marry her.'


"'Not you!' and her voice took a sudden accent of peculiar scorn.


"I liked this. I had roused her from the pensive mood in which I had first found her. I would stir her further.

"I liked this. I had roused her from her pensive mood.


"'Yes, of course; nothing more evident than that I can and shall.'

I said. 'Of course I shall marry. Nothing is more evident.'


"She charmed me in this mood--waxing disdainful, half insulting; pride, temper, derision, blent in her large fine eye, that had just now the look of a merlin's.

"She charmed me in this mood - disdainful pride lit her large fine eye, that had just now the look of a falcon's.


"'Favour me with your reasons for such an opinion, Miss Keeldar.'


"'How will _you_ manage to marry, I wonder?'

"'How will you manage to marry, I wonder?'


"'I shall manage it with ease and speed when I find the proper person.'


"'Accept celibacy!' (and she made a gesture with her hand as if she gave me something) 'take it as your doom!'

she went on. "'Accept celibacy as your doom!'


"'No; you cannot give what I already have. Celibacy has been mine for thirty years. If you wish to offer me a gift, a parting present, a keepsake, you must change the boon.'

"'You cannot give what I already have. Celibacy has been mine for thirty years. If you wish to offer me a parting gift, it must be something else.'


"I now felt, and looked, and spoke eagerly. I was unwise to quit my sheet-anchor of calm even for an instant; it deprived me of an advantage and transferred it to her. The little spark of temper dissolved in sarcasm, and eddied over her countenance in the ripples of a mocking smile.

"I now felt and spoke eagerly. I was unwise to lose my calm even for an instant; it deprived me of an advantage. The little spark of temper dissolved in a mocking smile.


"'Take a wife that has paid you court to save your modesty, and thrust herself upon you to spare your scruples.'


"'Any stout widow that has had a few husbands already, and can manage these things.'

"'Look for any stout widow that has had a few husbands already.'


"'She must not be rich, then. Oh these riches!'

"'She must not be rich. Oh, these riches!'


"'Never would you have gathered the produce of the gold-bearing garden. You have not courage to confront the sleepless dragon; you have not craft to borrow the aid of Atlas.'


"'And you far haughtier. Yours is the monstrous pride which counterfeits humility.'

"'Yours is the monstrous pride which counterfeits humility.'


"'I have received ordinances, and own obligations stringent as yours.'

"'I have obligations as stringent as yours.'


"We had reached a critical point now, and we halted and looked at each other. _She_ would not give in, I felt. Beyond this I neither felt nor saw. A few moments yet were mine. The end was coming--I heard its rush--but not come. I would dally, wait, talk, and when impulse urged I would act. I am never in a hurry; I never was in a hurry in my whole life. Hasty people drink the nectar of existence scalding hot; I taste it cool as dew. I proceeded: 'Apparently, Miss Keeldar, you are as little likely to marry as myself. I know you have refused three--nay, four--advantageous offers, and, I believe, a fifth. Have you rejected Sir Philip Nunnely?'

"We had reached a critical point now, and we halted and looked at each other. She would not give in, I felt. A few moments yet were mine, before the end came. I would dally, wait, talk, and when impulse urged I would act. I am never in a hurry; I never was in a hurry in my whole life. I proceeded:
"'Apparently, Miss Keeldar, you are as little likely to marry as myself. I know you have refused four advantageous offers, and, I believe, a fifth. Have you rejected Sir Philip Nunnely?'


"I put this question suddenly and promptly.


"'Conformity of rank, age, pleasing contrast of temper--for _he_ is mild and amiable--harmony of intellectual tastes.'

"'Conformity of rank, age, pleasing contrast of temper - for he is mild and amiable - harmony of intellectual tastes.'


"'A beautiful sentence! Let us take it to pieces. "Conformity of rank." He is quite above me. Compare my grange with his palace, if you please. I am disdained by his kith and kin. "Suitability of age." We were born in the same year; consequently he is still a boy, while I am a woman--ten years his senior to all intents and purposes. "Contrast of temper." Mild and amiable, is he; I--what? Tell me.'

"'A beautiful sentence! Let us take it to pieces. "Conformity of rank." He is quite above me. I am disdained by his family. "Suitability of age." We were born in the same year; consequently he is still a boy, while I am a woman - ten years his senior to all intents and purposes. "Contrast of temper." Mild and amiable, is he; what am I? Tell me.'


"'Sister of the spotted, bright, quick, fiery leopard.'

"'Sister of the bright, quick, fiery leopard.'


"'And you would mate me with a kid--the millennium being yet millions of centuries from mankind; being yet, indeed, an archangel high in the seventh heaven, uncommissioned to descend? Unjust barbarian! "Harmony of intellectual tastes." He is fond of poetry, and I hate it----'

"'And you would mate me with a lamb? Unjust! "Harmony of intellectual tastes." He is fond of poetry, and I hate it-'


"'I absolutely shudder at the sight of metre or at the sound of rhyme whenever I am at the priory or Sir Philip at Fieldhead. Harmony, indeed! When did I whip up syllabub sonnets or string stanzas fragile as fragments of glass? and when did I betray a belief that those penny-beads were genuine brilliants?'

"'I absolutely shudder at the sound of rhyme from Sir Philip. Harmony, indeed! When did I whip up syllabub sonnets or string together penny-bead stanzas in the belief that they were genuine jewels?'


"'You might have the satisfaction of leading him to a higher standard, of improving his tastes.'

"'You might have the satisfaction of improving his tastes.'


"'Leading and improving! teaching and tutoring! bearing and forbearing! Pah! my husband is not to be my baby. I am not to set him his daily lesson and see that he learns it, and give him a sugar-plum if he is good, and a patient, pensive, pathetic lecture if he is bad. But it is like a tutor to talk of the "satisfaction of teaching." I suppose _you_ think it the finest employment in the world. I don't. I reject it. Improving a husband! No. I shall insist upon my husband improving me, or else we part.'

"'Pah! my husband is not to be my baby. I am not to set him his daily lesson, and give him a sugar-plum if he is good, and a patient, pathetic lecture if he is bad. Being a tutor, I suppose you think it the finest employment in the world. I don't. I reject it. Improving a husband! No. I shall insist upon my husband improving me, or else we part.'


"'What I say. Improvement is imperatively needed.'


"'If you were a woman you would school _monsieur, votre mari_, charmingly. It would just suit you; schooling is your vocation.'

"'If you were a woman you would improve your husband charmingly. It would suit you; schooling is your vocation.'


"'May I ask whether, in your present just and gentle mood, you mean to taunt me with being a tutor?'


"'Yes, bitterly; and with anything else you please--any defect of which you are painfully conscious.'

"'Yes, bitterly; and with anything else you please - any defect of which you are painfully conscious.'


"'Of course; that will sting you. You are sore about your poverty; you brood over that.'

I asked.
"'Of course. You are sore about your poverty.'


"'With having nothing but a very plain person to offer the woman who may master my heart?'

"'About having nothing but a plain face to offer the woman who may master my heart?'


"'Exactly. You have a habit of calling yourself plain. You are sensitive about the cut of your features because they are not quite on an Apollo pattern. You abase them more than is needful, in the faint hope that others may say a word in their behalf--which won't happen. Your face is nothing to boast of, certainly--not a pretty line nor a pretty tint to be found therein.'

"'Exactly. You are sensitive about your features because they are not quite on an Apollo pattern. You abase them in the faint hope that others may say a word in their behalf - which won't happen. Your face is nothing to boast of, certainly.


"'It looks like a god of Egypt--a great sand-buried stone head; or rather I will compare it to nothing so lofty. It looks like Tartar. You are my mastiff's cousin. I think you as much like him as a man can be like a dog.'

It looks like a god of Egypt - a great sand-buried stone head. No, I will compare it to nothing so lofty. It looks like Tartar. You are my mastiff's cousin.'


"'Tartar is your dear companion. In summer, when you rise early, and run out into the fields to wet your feet with the dew, and freshen your cheek and uncurl your hair with the breeze, you always call him to follow you. You call him sometimes with a whistle that you learned from me. In the solitude of your wood, when you think nobody but Tartar is listening, you whistle the very tunes you imitated from my lips, or sing the very songs you have caught up by ear from my voice. I do not ask whence flows the feeling which you pour into these songs, for I know it flows out of your heart, Miss Keeldar. In the winter evenings Tartar lies at your feet. You suffer him to rest his head on your perfumed lap; you let him couch on the borders of your satin raiment. His rough hide is familiar with the contact of your hand. I once saw you kiss him on that snow-white beauty spot which stars his broad forehead. It is dangerous to say I am like Tartar; it suggests to me a claim to be treated like Tartar.'

"'Tartar is your dear companion. In summer, when you rise early, and run out into the fields, you always call him to follow you, sometimes with a whistle that you learned from me. In the solitude of your wood, when you think nobody but Tartar is listening, you whistle the very tunes you learnt from my lips, or sing the very songs you have caught up from my voice. In the winter evenings Tartar lies at your feet. You allow him to rest his head on your lap; you let him lie on the edge of your gown. His rough hide is familiar with the feel of your hand. I once saw you kiss him on his forehead. It is dangerous to say I am like Tartar; I may claim to be treated like Tartar.'


"'Perhaps, sir, you can extort as much from your penniless and friendless young orphan girl, when you find her.'

"'Perhaps, sir, you can extort as much from your penniless young orphan girl, when you find her.'


"'Oh could I find her such as I image her! Something to tame first, and teach afterwards; to break in, and then to fondle. To lift the destitute proud thing out of poverty; to establish power over and then to be indulgent to the capricious moods that never were influenced and never indulged before; to see her alternately irritated and subdued about twelve times in the twenty-four hours; and perhaps, eventually, when her training was accomplished, to behold her the exemplary and patient mother of about a dozen children, only now and then lending little Louis a cordial cuff by way of paying the interest of the vast debt she owes his father. Oh' (I went on), 'my orphan girl would give me many a kiss; she would watch on the threshold for my coming home of an evening; she would run into my arms; she would keep my hearth as bright as she would make it warm. God bless the sweet idea! Find her I must.'

"'Oh, could I find her as I imagine her! Something to tame first, and teach afterwards; to break in, and then to fondle. To lift the destitute proud thing out of poverty; to influence and then to be indulgent to the capricious moods that were never influenced and indulged; to see her alternately irritated and subdued twelve times in a day; and perhaps, eventually, to behold her the exemplary mother of a dozen children, only now and then giving little Louis a cordial cuff by way of paying the interest of the vast debt she owes his father. Oh, my orphan girl would give me many a kiss; she would watch on the threshold for my coming home, and run into my arms; she would keep my hearth bright and warm. God bless the sweet idea! Find her I must.'


"Her eyes emitted an eager flash, her lips opened; but she reclosed them, and impetuously turned away.

"Her eyes flashed eagerly, her lips opened; but she re-closed them, and turned away.


"'Tell me, tell me where she is, Miss Keeldar!'


"Another movement, all haughtiness and fire and impulse.


"'I must know. You _can_ tell me; you _shall_ tell me.'


"She turned to leave me. Could I now let her part as she had always parted from me? No. I had gone too far not to finish; I had come too near the end not to drive home to it. All the encumbrance of doubt, all the rubbish of indecision, must be removed at once, and the plain truth must be ascertained. She must take her part, and tell me what it was; I must take mine and adhere to it.

She turned to leave me.
"Could I now let her part as she had always parted from me? No. I had gone too far; I had come too near the end not to drive home to it. All the doubt, all the indecision, must be removed, and the plain truth seen.


"'A minute, madam,' I said, keeping my hand on the door-handle before I opened it. 'We have had a long conversation this morning, but the last word has not been spoken yet. It is yours to speak it.'

"'A minute, madam,' I said, keeping my hand on the door-handle. 'The last word has not been spoken yet.'


"'No; I guard the door. I would almost rather die than let you leave me just now, without speaking the word I demand.'


"'What I am dying and perishing to hear; what I _must_ and _will_ hear; what you dare not now suppress.'

"'What I must and will hear; what you dare not now suppress.'


"'Mr. Moore, I hardly know what you mean. You are not like yourself.'


"I suppose I hardly was like my usual self, for I scared her--that I could see. It was right: she must be scared to be won.

"I suppose I hardly was like my usual self, for I scared her - that I could see. It was right: she must be scared to be won.


"'You _do_ know what I mean, and for the first time I stand before you _myself_. I have flung off the tutor, and beg to introduce you to the man. And remember, he is a gentleman.'

"'You do know what I mean, and for the first time I stand before you myself. I have flung off the tutor, and beg to introduce you to the man.'


"She trembled. She put her hand to mine as if to remove it from the lock. She might as well have tried to loosen, by her soft touch, metal welded to metal. She felt she was powerless, and receded; and again she trembled.

"She trembled. She put her hand to mine as if to remove it from the lock. She was powerless, and receded; and again she trembled.


"What change I underwent I cannot explain, but out of her emotion passed into me a new spirit. I neither was crushed nor elated by her lands and gold; I thought not of them, cared not for them. They were nothing--dross that could not dismay me. I saw only herself--her young beautiful form, the grace, the majesty, the modesty of her girlhood.

"What change I underwent I cannot explain. A new spirit passed into me. I was not crushed by her riches; I thought not of them. I saw only herself - her young beautiful form, the grace, the majesty, the modesty of her girlhood.


"She waited with declined brow and ringlets drooped.


"'I have to tell you that for four years you have been growing into your tutor's heart, and that you are rooted there now. I have to declare that you have bewitched me, in spite of sense, and experience, and difference of station and estate. You have so looked, and spoken, and moved; so shown me your faults and your virtues--beauties rather, they are hardly so stern as virtues--that I love you--love you with my life and strength. It is out now.'

"'I have to tell you that for four years you have been growing into your tutor's heart, and that you are rooted there now. I have to declare that you have bewitched me, in spite of sense, and experience, and difference of estate. You have so shown me your faults and your virtues - beauties rather, they are hardly so stern as virtues - that I love you - love you with my life and strength.'


"She sought what to say, but could not find a word. She tried to rally, but vainly. I passionately repeated that I loved her.

"She sought what to say, but could not find a word. I passionately repeated that I loved her.


"'Well, Mr. Moore, what then?' was the answer I got, uttered in a tone that would have been petulant if it had not faltered.

"'Well, Mr. Moore, what then?' was the answer in a tone that would have been petulant if it had not faltered.


"'Have you nothing to say to me? Have you no love for me?'


"'I am not to be tortured. I will not even play at present.'


"'I wonder you dare speak of going at this moment. _You_ go! What! with my heart in your hand, to lay it on your toilet and pierce it with your pins? From my presence you do not stir, out of my reach you do not stray, till I receive a hostage--pledge for pledge--your heart for mine.'

"'Go! What! with my heart in your hand, to lay it on your dressing-table and pierce it with your pins? From my presence you do not stir, out of my reach you do not stray, till I receive a hostage - your heart for mine.'


"'The thing you want is mislaid--lost some time since. Let me go and seek it.'

"'The thing you want is mislaid - lost some time since. Let me go and seek it.'


"'Declare that it is where your keys often are--in my possession.'

"'Declare that it is where your keys often are - in my possession.'


"'You ought to know. And where are my keys, Mr. Moore? Indeed and truly I have lost them again; and Mrs. Gill wants some money, and I have none, except this sixpence.'

"'Where are my keys, Mr. Moore? Indeed I have lost them again; and Mrs. Gill wants some money, and I have none, except this sixpence.'


"She took the coin out of her apron pocket, and showed it in her palm. I could have trifled with her, but it would not do; life and death were at stake. Mastering at once the sixpence and the hand that held it, I demanded, 'Am I to die without you, or am I to live for you?'

"She took the coin out of her pocket, and showed it. I could have trifled with her, but it would not do; life and death were at stake. Mastering at once the sixpence and the hand that held it, I demanded, 'Am I to die without you, or am I to live for you?'


"'Do as you please. Far be it from me to dictate your choice.'


"'You shall tell me with your own lips whether you doom me to exile or call me to hope.'


"'Perhaps I too _can_ bear to leave you. But reply, Shirley, my pupil, my sovereign--reply.'

"'Perhaps I too can bear to leave you. But reply, Shirley, my pupil, my sovereign.'


"'Die without me if you will; live for me if you dare.'


"'I am not afraid of you, my leopardess. I _dare_ live for and with you, from this hour till my death. Now, then, I have you. You are mine. I will never let you go. Wherever my home be, I have chosen my wife. If I stay in England, in England you will stay; if I cross the Atlantic, you will cross it also. Our lives are riveted, our lots intertwined.'

"'I am not afraid of you, my leopardess. I dare live for and with you, from this hour till my death. Now, then, I have you. You are mine. I will never let you go. Wherever my home be, I have chosen my wife. If I stay in England, in England you will stay; if I cross the Atlantic, you will cross it also. Our lives are riveted.'


"'And are we equal, then, sir? are we equal at last?'

"'And are we equal, then, sir, at last?'


"'You are younger, frailer, feebler, more ignorant than I.'


"'Will you be good to me, and never tyrannize?'


"'Will you let me breathe, and not bewilder me? You must not smile at present. The world swims and changes round me. The sun is a dizzying scarlet blaze, the sky a violet vortex whirling over me.'

"'Will you let me breathe, and not bewilder me? You must not smile. The world swims and changes round me. The sun is a dizzying scarlet blaze, the sky a vortex whirling over me.'


"I am a strong man, but I staggered as I spoke. All creation was exaggerated. Colour grew more vivid, motion more rapid, life itself more vital. I hardly saw her for a moment, but I heard her voice--pitilessly sweet. She would not subdue one of her charms in compassion. Perhaps she did not know what I felt.

"I am a strong man, but I staggered as I spoke. All creation was exaggerated. Colour grew more vivid, motion more rapid, life itself more vital. I hardly saw her for a moment, but I heard her voice - pitilessly sweet.


"'You name me leopardess. Remember, the leopardess is tameless,' said she.


"'Tame or fierce, wild or subdued, you are _mine_.'

"'Tame or fierce, wild or subdued, you are mine.'


"'I am glad I know my keeper and am used to him. Only his voice will I follow; only his hand shall manage me; only at his feet will I repose.'

"'I am glad I know my keeper and am used to him. His voice only will I follow; his hand only shall manage me; only at his feet will I repose.'


"I took her back to her seat, and sat down by her side. I wanted to hear her speak again. I could never have enough of her voice and her words.

"I wanted to hear her speak again. I could never have enough of her voice and her words.


"'Ah! you know. I will not gratify you--I will not flatter.'


"'I don't know half enough; my heart craves to be fed. If you knew how hungry and ferocious it is, you would hasten to stay it with a kind word or two.'


"'Poor Tartar!' said she, touching and patting my hand--'poor fellow, stalwart friend, Shirley's pet and favourite, lie down!'

Poor Tartar!' said she, patting my hand; 'poor fellow, stalwart friend, Shirley's favourite, lie down!'


"'But I will not lie down till I am fed with one sweet word.'

"'I will not lie down till I am fed with one sweet word.'


"'Dear Louis, be faithful to me; never leave me. I don't care for life unless I may pass it at your side.'


"She gave me a change; it was not her way to offer the same dish twice.


"'Sir,' she said, starting up, 'at your peril you ever again name such sordid things as money, or poverty, or inequality. It will be absolutely dangerous to torment me with these maddening scruples. I defy you to do it.'

'Sir,' she said, 'never again name such sordid things as money, or poverty, or inequality. It will be absolutely dangerous to torment me with these maddening scruples.'


"My face grew hot. I did once more wish I were not so poor or she were not so rich. She saw the transient misery; and then, indeed, she caressed me. Blent with torment, I experienced rapture.

"My face grew hot. I did once more wish I were not so poor or she were not so rich. She saw the misery; and then, indeed, she caressed me. Along with torment, I experienced rapture.


"'Mr. Moore,' said she, looking up with a sweet, open, earnest countenance, 'teach me and help me to be good. I do not ask you to take off my shoulders all the cares and duties of property, but I ask you to share the burden, and to show me how to sustain my part well. Your judgment is well balanced, your heart is kind, your principles are sound. I know you are wise; I feel you are benevolent; I believe you are conscientious. Be my companion through life; be my guide where I am ignorant; be my master where I am faulty; be my friend always!'

"'Mr. Moore,' said she, looking up with a sweet, open face, 'teach me and help me to be good. I do not ask you to take off my shoulders all the cares and duties of property, but I ask you to share the burden, and to show me how to do it well. Your judgment is good, your heart is kind, your principles are sound. Be my companion through life; be my guide where I am ignorant; be my master where I am faulty; be my friend always!'


Yet again a passage from the blank book if you like, reader; if you don't like it, pass it over:--

Yet again a passage from the notebook, reader; if you don't like it, pass it over.


"The Sympsons are gone, but not before discovery and explanation. My manner must have betrayed something, or my looks. I was quiet, but I forgot to be guarded sometimes. I stayed longer in the room than usual; I could not bear to be out of her presence; I returned to it, and basked in it, like Tartar in the sun. If she left the oak parlour, instinctively I rose and left it too. She chid me for this procedure more than once. I did it with a vague, blundering idea of getting a word with her in the hall or elsewhere. Yesterday towards dusk I had her to myself for five minutes by the hall fire. We stood side by side; she was railing at me, and I was enjoying the sound of her voice. The young ladies passed, and looked at us; we did not separate. Ere long they repassed, and again looked. Mrs. Sympson came; we did not move. Mr. Sympson opened the dining-room door. Shirley flashed him back full payment for his spying gaze. She curled her lip and tossed her tresses. The glance she gave was at once explanatory and defiant. It said: 'I like Mr. Moore's society, and I dare you to find fault with my taste.'

"The Sympsons are gone, but not before discovery. My manner must have betrayed something, or my looks. I was quiet, but I forgot to be guarded sometimes. I stayed longer with her than usual; I could not bear to be out of her presence. If she left the parlour, instinctively I rose and left it too, with a vague idea of getting a word with her in the hall. Yesterday towards dusk I had her to myself for five minutes by the hall fire. We stood side by side, talking. The young ladies passed, and looked at us; we did not separate. Before long they repassed, and again looked. Mrs. Sympson came; we did not move. Mr. Sympson opened the dining-room door. Shirley curled her lip and tossed her tresses at him: the glance she gave was at once explanatory and defiant. It said: 'I like Mr. Moore's society, and I dare you to find fault with my taste.'


"I asked, 'Do you mean him to understand how matters are?'


"'I do,' said she; 'but I leave the development to chance. There will be a scene. I neither invite it nor fear it; only, you must be present, for I am inexpressibly tired of facing him solus. I don't like to see him in a rage. He then puts off all his fine proprieties and conventional disguises, and the real human being below is what you would call _commun, plat, bas--vilain et un peu mchant_. His ideas are not clean, Mr. Moore; they want scouring with soft soap and fuller's earth. I think, if he could add his imagination to the contents of Mrs. Gill's bucking-basket, and let her boil it in her copper, with rain-water and bleaching-powder (I hope you think me a tolerable laundress), it would do him incalculable good.'

"'I do,' said she. 'There will be a scene. I neither invite it nor fear it; only, you must be present, for I am inexpressibly tired of facing him alone. I don't like to see him in a rage. He then puts off all his fine proprieties and shows the crudity below. His ideas are not clean, Mr. Moore; I think, if he could put his imagination in Mrs. Gill's laundry-basket, for boiling and bleaching, it would do him incalculable good.'


"This morning, fancying I heard her descend somewhat early, I was down instantly. I had not been deceived. There she was, busy at work in the breakfast-parlour, of which the housemaid was completing the arrangement and dusting. She had risen betimes to finish some little keepsake she intended for Henry. I got only a cool reception, which I accepted till the girl was gone, taking my book to the window-seat very quietly. Even when we were alone I was slow to disturb her. To sit with her in sight was happiness, and the proper happiness, for early morning--serene, incomplete, but progressive. Had I been obtrusive, I knew I should have encountered rebuff. 'Not at home to suitors' was written on her brow. Therefore I read on, stole now and then a look, watched her countenance soften and open as she felt I respected her mood, and enjoyed the gentle content of the moment.

"This morning I was down early, and found her sewing in the breakfast-parlour, busy finishing some little keepsake for Henry. I got only a cool reception, which I accepted till the maid was gone, taking my book to the window-seat. To sit with her in sight was happiness. Had I been obtrusive, I knew she would have rebuffed me. Therefore I read on, stole now and then a look at her, watched her countenance soften as she felt I respected her mood, and enjoyed the gentle content of the moment.


"The distance between us shrank, and the light hoar-frost thawed insensibly. Ere an hour elapsed I was at her side, watching her sew, gathering her sweet smiles and her merry words, which fell for me abundantly. We sat, as we had a right to sit, side by side; my arm rested on her chair; I was near enough to count the stitches of her work, and to discern the eye of her needle. The door suddenly opened.

"The distance between us shrank. Soon I was at her side, watching her sew, listening to her merry words. We sat side by side; my arm rested on her chair. The door suddenly opened.


"I believe, if I had just then started from her, she would have despised me. Thanks to the phlegm of my nature, I rarely start. When I am well-off, _bien_, comfortable, I am not soon stirred. _Bien_ I was--_trs bien_--consequently immutable. No muscle moved. I hardly looked to the door.

"I believe, if I had started from her, she would have despised me. Thanks to the steadiness of my nature, I did not move a muscle. I hardly looked towards the door.


"'Good-morning, uncle,' said she, addressing that personage, who paused on the threshold in a state of petrifaction.

"'Good-morning, uncle,' said she, addressing the person who paused on the threshold in a state of petrifaction.


"'Have you been long downstairs, Miss Keeldar, and alone with Mr. Moore?'


"'Yes, a very long time. We both came down early; it was scarcely light.'

"'Yes, a very long time. We both came down early.'


"'It was at first, I was rather cross, and not civil; but you will perceive that we are now friends.'

"'I was rather cross at first, and not civil; but you will perceive that we are now friends.'


"'I perceive more than you would wish me to perceive.'


"'Hardly, sir,' said I; 'we have no disguises. Will you permit me to intimate that any further observations you have to make may as well be addressed to me? Henceforward I stand between Miss Keeldar and all annoyance.'

"'Hardly, sir,' said I; 'we have no disguises. If you have any further observations to make, they may as well be addressed to me. Henceforward I stand between Miss Keeldar and all annoyance.'


"'_You!_ What have _you_ to do with Miss Keeldar?'

"'You! What have you to do with Miss Keeldar?'


"'Not one word of insult, sir,' interposed she; 'not one syllable of disrespect to Mr. Moore in this house.'


"She turned to me with a sudden fond movement, which I met by circling her with my arm. She and I both rose.


"'Good Ged!' was the cry from the morning-gown standing quivering at the door. _Ged_, I think, must be the cognomen of Mr. Sympson's Lares. When hard pressed he always invokes this idol.

"'Good God!' was the quivering cry from the door.


"'Come forward, uncle; you shall hear all.--Tell him all, Louis.'

"'Come, uncle; you shall hear all. - Tell him, Louis.'


"'I dare him to speak--the beggar! the knave! the specious hypocrite! the vile, insinuating, infamous menial!--Stand apart from my niece, sir. Let her go!'

"'I dare him to speak - the beggar! the knave! the vile, insinuating servant! Stand apart from my niece, sir. Let her go!'


"She clung to me with energy. 'I am near my future husband,' she said. 'Who dares touch him or me?'

"She clung to me. 'I am near my future husband,' she said.


"'Her husband!' He raised and spread his hands. He dropped into a seat.


"'A while ago you wanted much to know whom I meant to marry. My intention was then formed, but not mature for communication. Now it is ripe, sun-mellowed, perfect. Take the crimson peach--take Louis Moore!'


"'But' (savagely) 'you _shall not_ have him; he _shall not_ have you.'

But' (savagely) 'you shall not have him; he shall not have you.'


"'I would die before I would have another. I would die if I might not have him.'

"'I would die before I would have another.'


"He uttered words with which this page shall never be polluted.

"Mr. Sympson uttered words with which this page shall never be polluted.


"She turned white as death; she shook all over; she lost her strength. I laid her down on the sofa; just looked to ascertain that she had not fainted--of which, with a divine smile, she assured me. I kissed her; and then, if I were to perish, I cannot give a clear account of what happened in the course of the next five minutes. She has since--through tears, laughter, and trembling--told me that I turned terrible, and gave myself to the demon. She says I left her, made one bound across the room; that Mr. Sympson vanished through the door as if shot from a cannon. I also vanished, and she heard Mrs. Gill scream.

"She turned white as death; she shook all over; she lost her strength. I laid her down on the sofa; just looked to make sure that she had not fainted - kissed her - and then - I cannot give a clear account of what happened in the course of the next five minutes. She has since, through tears and laughter, told me that I turned terrible, and gave myself to the demon. She says I made one bound across the room; that Mr. Sympson vanished through the door as if shot from a cannon. I also vanished, and she heard Mrs. Gill scream.


"Mrs. Gill was still screaming when I came to my senses. I was then in another apartment--the oak parlour, I think. I held Sympson before me crushed into a chair, and my hand was on his cravat. His eyes rolled in his head; I was strangling him, I think. The housekeeper stood wringing her hands, entreating me to desist. I desisted that moment, and felt at once as cool as stone. But I told Mrs. Gill to fetch the Red-House Inn chaise instantly, and informed Mr. Sympson he must depart from Fieldhead the instant it came. Though half frightened out of his wits, he declared he would not. Repeating the former order, I added a commission to fetch a constable. I said, 'You _shall_ go, by fair means or foul.'

"Mrs. Gill was still screaming when I came to my senses. I was then in the oak parlour, I think. I held Sympson before me crushed into a chair, and my hand was on his cravat. His eyes rolled in his head; the housekeeper stood wringing her hands, begging me to stop. I did stop, feeling at once as cool as stone. I told Mrs. Gill to fetch the chaise instantly, and informed Mr. Sympson he must depart from Fieldhead forthwith.


"He threatened prosecution; I cared for nothing. I had stood over him once before, not quite so fiercely as now, but full as austerely. It was one night when burglars attempted the house at Sympson Grove, and in his wretched cowardice he would have given a vain alarm, without daring to offer defence. I had then been obliged to protect his family and his abode by mastering himself--and I had succeeded. I now remained with him till the chaise came. I marshalled him to it, he scolding all the way. He was terribly bewildered, as well as enraged. He would have resisted me, but knew not how. He called for his wife and daughters to come. I said they should follow him as soon as they could prepare. The smoke, the fume, the fret of his demeanour was inexpressible, but it was a fury incapable of producing a deed. That man, properly handled, must ever remain impotent. I know he will never touch me with the law. I know his wife, over whom he tyrannizes in trifles, guides him in matters of importance. I have long since earned her undying mother's gratitude by my devotion to her boy. In some of Henry's ailments I have nursed him--better, she said, than any woman could nurse. She will never forget that. She and her daughters quitted me to-day, in mute wrath and consternation; but she respects me. When Henry clung to my neck as I lifted him into the carriage and placed him by her side, when I arranged her own wrapping to make her warm, though she turned her head from me, I saw the tears start to her eyes. She will but the more zealously advocate my cause because she has left me in anger. I am glad of this--not for my own sake, but for that of my life and idol--my Shirley."

"He threatened prosecution; but I cared for nothing. I remained with him till the chaise came. I marshalled him to it, he scolding all the way. He was terribly bewildered, as well as enraged. He would have resisted me, but knew not how. I said his wife and daughters should follow him as soon as they could prepare. He fumed and fretted, but he could do nothing. That man is forever impotent. His wife, over whom he tyrannizes in trifles, guides him in matters of importance; and I have long since earned her undying gratitude by my devotion to her boy. In Henry's ailments I have nursed him better, she said, than any woman could nurse. She will never forget that.
"She and her daughters quitted me today, in mute consternation; but she respects me. When Henry clung to my neck as I lifted him into the carriage, when I arranged Mrs. Sympson's wrappings to make her warm, though she turned her head from me, I saw the tears start to her eyes. She will advocate my cause. I am glad of this - not for my own sake, but for that of my life and idol - my Shirley."


Once again he writes, a week after:--"I am now at Stilbro'. I have taken up my temporary abode with a friend--a professional man, in whose business I can be useful. Every day I ride over to Fieldhead. How long will it be before I can call that place my home, and its mistress mine? I am not easy, not tranquil; I am tantalized, sometimes tortured. To see her now, one would think she had never pressed her cheek to my shoulder, or clung to me with tenderness or trust. I feel unsafe; she renders me miserable. I am shunned when I visit her; she withdraws from my reach. Once this day I lifted her face, resolved to get a full look down her deep, dark eyes. Difficult to describe what I read there! Pantheress! beautiful forest-born! wily, tameless, peerless nature! She gnaws her chain; I see the white teeth working at the steel! She has dreams of her wild woods and pinings after virgin freedom. I wish Sympson would come again, and oblige her again to entwine her arms about me. I wish there was danger she should lose me, as there is risk I shall lose her. No; final loss I do not fear, but long delay----

Once again he writes, a week after:
"I am now at Stilbro'. I have taken up my temporary abode with a friend - a professional man, in whose business I can be useful. Every day I ride over to Fieldhead. How long will it be before I can call that place my home, and its mistress mine? I am not tranquil; I am tantalized, sometimes tortured. To see her now, one would think she had never pressed her cheek to my shoulder, or clung to me with tenderness or trust. I feel unsafe; she renders me miserable. I am shunned when I visit her; she withdraws from my reach.
"Today I lifted her face, resolved to get a full look into her deep, dark eyes. Difficult to describe what I read there! Pantheress! beautiful forest-born! tameless, peerless nature! She gnaws her chain; she dreams of her wild woods and pines after virgin freedom. I wish Sympson would come again, and oblige her again to entwine her arms about me. I fear any long delay


"It is now night--midnight. I have spent the afternoon and evening at Fieldhead. Some hours ago she passed me, coming down the oak staircase to the hall. She did not know I was standing in the twilight, near the staircase window, looking at the frost-bright constellations. How closely she glided against the banisters! How shyly shone her large eyes upon me! How evanescent, fugitive, fitful she looked--slim and swift as a northern streamer!

"It is now midnight. I have spent the afternoon and evening at Fieldhead. As she came down the oak staircase to the hall, how shyly shone her large eyes upon me! How fugitive she looked - slim and swift as a northern aurora!


"I followed her into the drawing-room. Mrs. Pryor and Caroline Helstone were both there; she has summoned them to bear her company awhile. In her white evening dress, with her long hair flowing full and wavy, with her noiseless step, her pale cheek, her eye full of night and lightning, she looked, I thought, spirit-like--a thing made of an element, the child of a breeze and a flame, the daughter of ray and raindrop--a thing never to be overtaken, arrested, fixed. I wished I could avoid following her with my gaze as she moved here and there, but it was impossible. I talked with the other ladies as well as I could, but still I looked at her. She was very silent; I think she never spoke to me--not even when she offered me tea. It happened that she was called out a minute by Mrs. Gill. I passed into the moonlit hall, with the design of getting a word as she returned; nor in this did I fail.

"I followed her into the drawing-room. Mrs. Pryor and Caroline Helstone were there. In her white evening dress, with her long hair flowing full, with her noiseless step, her eye full of night and lightning, Shirley looked, I thought, spirit-like - the child of a breeze and a flame, the daughter of ray and raindrop - a thing never to be arrested, fixed. I could not stop looking at her. I talked with the other ladies as well as I could, but still I looked at her. She was very silent; she never spoke to me.
"When she was called out for a minute by Mrs. Gill, I went into the moonlit hall, with the aim of getting a word as she returned.


"'Miss Keeldar, stay one instant,' said I, meeting her.

"'Miss Keeldar, stay one instant,' said I.


"'It is not cold for me; at my side it should not be cold for you.'


"'With fear, I believe. What makes you fear me? You are quiet and distant. Why?'


"'I may well fear what looks like a great dark goblin meeting me in the moonlight.'


"'_Do not--do not_ pass! Stay with me awhile. Let us exchange a few quiet words. It is three days since I spoke to you alone. Such changes are cruel.'

"'Do not pass! Stay with me awhile. It is three days since I spoke to you alone. Such changes are cruel.'


"'I have no wish to be cruel,' she responded, softly enough. Indeed there was softness in her whole deportment--in her face, in her voice; but there was also reserve, and an air fleeting, evanishing, intangible.

"'I have no wish to be cruel,' she responded, softly enough; but there was also reserve in her manner.


"'You certainly give me pain,' said I. 'It is hardly a week since you called me your future husband and treated me as such. Now I am once more the tutor for you. I am addressed as Mr. Moore and sir. Your lips have forgotten Louis.'

"'You certainly give me pain,' said I. 'It is hardly a week since you called me your future husband. Now I am once more the tutor, addressed as Mr. Moore and sir. Your lips have forgotten Louis.'


"'No, Louis, no. It is an easy, liquid name--not soon forgotten.'


"'Be cordial to Louis, then; approach him--let him approach.'

"'Be cordial to Louis, then; let him approach.'


"'I _am_ cordial,' said she, hovering aloof like a white shadow.

"'I am cordial,' said she, hovering aloof like a white shadow.


"'Your voice is very sweet and very low,' I answered, quietly advancing. 'You seem subdued, but still startled.'

"'You seem subdued, but still startled.'


"'No--quite calm, and afraid of nothing,' she assured me.

"'No - quite calm, and afraid of nothing,' she assured me.


"I bent a knee to the flags at her feet.


"'You see I am in a new world, Mr. Moore. I don't know myself; I don't know you. But rise. When you do so I feel troubled and disturbed.'

"'You see I am in a new world, Mr. Moore. I don't know myself; I don't know you. But rise. When you do that, I feel troubled.'


"I obeyed. It would not have suited me to retain that attitude long. I courted serenity and confidence for her, and not vainly. She trusted and clung to me again.

"I obeyed, and put on serenity and confidence for her. She clung to me again.


"'Now, Shirley,' I said, 'you can conceive I am far from happy in my present uncertain, unsettled state.'

"'Now, Shirley,' I said, 'you can conceive I am far from happy in my present uncertain state.'


"'Oh yes, you _are_ happy!' she cried hastily. 'You don't know how happy you are. Any change will be for the worse.'

"'You are happy!' she cried hastily. 'You don't know how happy you are. Any change will be for the worse.


"'Happy or not, I cannot bear to go on so much longer. You are too generous to require it.'


"'Be reasonable, Louis; be patient! I like you because you are patient.'


"'Like me no longer, then; love me instead. Fix our marriage day; think of it to-night, and decide.'

"'Like me no longer, then; love me instead. Fix our marriage day; think of it tonight, and decide.'


"She breathed a murmur, inarticulate yet expressive; darted, or melted, from my arms--and I lost her."

"She breathed an inarticulate murmur; darted, or melted, from my arms - and I lost her."