Chapter V: Part 5

"I'm sure you never will with my consent," shrieked Mrs Bray. "I think you a very nice young person indeed, Miss Bedford; and even Mr Maximilian made the remark this very morning, how pleased he was with the way in which you manage the children. And really, Miss Bedford, if it is a matter of two pounds more in your wages, I'm sure Mr Bray won't object to raising you. It's so troublesome to have to change, you see. But now that you are aware how much we are disposed to keep you, I think you will alter your mind."

"Indeed, madam--" cried Ella.

"There, there, there--pray don't be hasty!" shrieked Mrs Bray. "That's what I always say to the servants: `Don't do anything without plenty of consideration.' You are young yet, Miss Bedford, and have not yet learned how much easier it is to lose than to gain a situation. Now take my advice, and go and think it over. No, I won't hear another word now; only remember this: I wish you to stay, and so does Mr Maximilian, who takes great interest in the studies of his sisters, as well as in their welfare, as you must have found out before now."

"Bai Jove, yes!" murmured Max, unabashed by the sharp glance sent flashing at him by his sister.

"I'm afraid," said Laura with an effort, "that it is all due to my hasty words, spoken in anger last night. I'm sure I beg your pardon, Miss Bedford: I'm afraid I was in error--labouring under a mistake--been deceived--" She hesitated here as for an instant she encountered Ella's candid, wondering look; but feeling reassured by the thought that Ella did not know how she had played the spy, Laura plucked up courage, and joined with Mrs Bray in requesting that Ella would quietly reconsider the matter, playing the hypocrite admirably, and little thinking how those soft eyes read the deceit.

"I quite agree with mamma, that you had better calmly think the matter over," said Laura after a pause.

"Bai Jove, yes!" said Max, rising and going to the door. "There, I'll leave you all to talk it over." And, with a parting glance at Ella, he left the room; but no sooner was the door closed than Ella started again, for Max was heard loudly calling, "Nelly! Nelly!" Then there was the noise of a scuffle, a smart slap, and two or three "I won't's!" and "I sha'n't's!" in the midst of which Max returned, dragging in Nelly, very hot and wild-looking; for her conscience told her that she was to be taken to task for listening amongst the shrubs the night before.

"There!" said Max, "I've got another voter, bai Jove, Miss Bedford! Here, Nelly, Miss Bedford says she wants to go away from the Elms; it won't do--"

"What!" cried Nelly, her eyes flashing as she darted to Ella's side.

"You should say, `I beg your pardon,' or `I did not catch your words,' my dear," shrieked Mrs Bray--"not `what!'"

"Miss Bedford wants to go!" cried Nelly, not heeding Mamma Bray's words. "Then you and Laury have done it between you, and it is cruel and wicked, and--and--shameful, and--and beastly--that it is!" cried Nelly, bursting out into a passion of weeping. "But if she is sent away, I'll run away too, and never come back any more."

"But, bai Jove! we want her to stop," cried Max, "don't you see?"

"Then she will stop," cried Nelly; "won't you, Miss Bedford?"

"There, I'm off; I see you womenkind will settle it amongst you," said Max; and, satisfied that what had threatened to be a check to his plans had been most likely averted, he left the room and sought the solace of a cigar.

End of Volume One.

Volume 2, Chapter I.

CLOUDS AT THE COURT.

"Well, Charley my boy," said Sir Philip Vining, a few mornings after, "you must keep the ball rolling. You are going along swimmingly. But ladies like plenty of attentions. What are you going to do next? Can't you get up something fresh? Don't spare for money, my boy: I've--that is, we've plenty, you know; and I like to be lavish as far as the income allows. It's an old-fashioned idea of mine, Charley, that it is the duty of a landlord, deriving a handsome revenue from a neighbourhood, to spend that revenue liberally in his district. It's no waste, you know; it is all distributed amongst the people, and does some good. By the way, though, I think you might be a little more attentive to Laura. She's a fine girl, Charley: perhaps a little too masculine; but it's surprising how love and matrimony soften down that class of women. I saw you with her yesterday along with that Miss Bedford or Rutland-- which was her name?"

"Bedford," said Charley quietly.

"To be sure--Bedford," said the old gentleman; "and the children. Seems a very ladylike young person. I was rather taken with her nice, sad, gentle face. One can almost read trouble in it. Pity a girl like her should have to lead such a life as that of a governess!"

Charley was silent; and Sir Philip, seeing him thoughtful, took up the paper.

And indeed Charley Vining was thoughtful and troubled in mind. He had encountered Ella twice since the day of the fete, to find her cold and distant. But then she had been in the company of Laura. All the same, though, it struck him as strange that the haughty beauty should have taken it into her head to accompany her in her walks: it looked like supervising her actions; and again and again Charley reverted to Nelly's warning, and longed for a few words with her; but so far it was in vain. He had called twice, to meet Laura and Mrs Bray, Max having returned to town. His reception had been most flattering, and there was a gentle, retiring way with Laura that troubled him; for he felt that he must be giving her pain, and his was too generous a disposition to suffer in peace the knowledge that he was causing others trouble or care. But call or walk, save in the society of Laura, neither Nelly nor Ella could be seen; and leaving Sir Philip immersed in the day's news, Charley left the room, went round to the stables, and had his mare saddled.

Still no luck. He did not even see them that day; and time slipped by without fortune smiling upon him. He called again and again at the Elms; but Nelly and her governess were always invisible, while Laura was still more gentle and retiring. Once he asked to see Nelly, and she was fetched down, evidently longing to take him into her confidence; but opportunity was not afforded; and at last one morning, with the feeling strong upon him that Laura was playing a part, and that he was being debarred from seeing Ella alone, Charley sat listening to the pleasant banter of Sir Philip over the breakfast-table, till, seeing his son's moody looks, the old gentleman became serious; for his conversation had all turned upon Charley's visits to the Elms, and his great love for woodland and meadow rambles.

"Why, my dear boy," Sir Philip had said, "I'd no idea that I was going to make such a solemn fellow of you. Certainly matrimony should be taken _au serieux_; but I'm afraid the lady is hard to win."

A few minutes after Sir Philip rose; for Charley had turned uneasily in his chair, so that his face was averted.

"My dear Charley," said the old gentleman, going round the table, and making the young man start as he felt that loving hand laid upon his shoulder,--"my dear Charley, I have hurt your feelings in some way. Pray forgive me."

Charley groaned.

"My dear boy," said Sir Philip, "what does this mean? Surely my old-womanish babbling has not upset you like this! It was only lightly meant. Or is there something wrong?"

Charley turned his face to his father's for an instant, but only to avert it again.

"Is it anything to do with money, Charley?" said the old gentleman. "But pooh--nonsense! It isn't that, I know. Your personal expenses are ridiculously small. Why, I expected that by this time you would have half ruined yourself in jewellery presents. What is it, Charley? Can you not confide in me?"

"No, father," cried Charley, starting angrily to his feet, and overturning his chair; "I have been showing you for the past month that I cannot. But I can stand this no longer," he cried, striding up and down the room; "for it is not in my nature to play the hypocrite!"

"Hypocrite, Charley! My dear boy, what is it?"

"What is it!" exclaimed Charley fiercely. "You think that I am going day after day to some assignation with that--that--that--with Laura Bray!"

"Good heavens, Charley! what does this mean?"

"Mean, father! Why, that I am a hypocrite, and deceiving one who has always been generous and kind. It means, too, that my life has been turned to gall and bitterness; for I am going about like some puling boy, seeking in vain for a kind word from the woman who has robbed me of all that seems bright in life."

"But, Charley, what does this mean? I thought--I felt sure--"

"Yes," cried Charley bitterly; "and I was so mean, so base and contemptible, as to let you believe that I loved Laura Bray, and ask her here, as if--Heaven forgive me!--I blushed for my love for a woman who-- There, I can't talk of it--I can't enter into it. Father, why did you stop the even tenor of my life? But no!" he cried, as he recalled his first meeting, "it was not your doing. I am half mad with disappointment, and know not what I say. A few weeks ago, and I could mock at the word Love, while now it is as though something was robbing me of sleep by night, rest by day, and my old zest for life. Father, I tell you I love--and love almost madly--a woman who rejects my suit, who turns from me, while every effort to see her now seems to be frustrated."

"But, Charley," cried the old man, his hands trembling with agitation, as, following his son about the room, he sought to drive away the suspicion that was beginning to enlighten him, "who is this lady? You are too timid--too diffident. Surely no one we know would refuse _you_. Pooh! my dear boy, you have taken the distemper almost too strongly," he continued, with a forced laugh. "But who is it?--one of the Miss Lingons?"

Charley turned angrily upon him, as if suspecting him of banter, but only to see truth and earnestness in the old man's troubled countenance.

"Father," he said calmly, "I love Ella Bedford."

"Who? Miss Bedford?" cried the old man excitedly. "You are joking with me, my boy," he said huskily; "and it is ungenerous, Charley. You know how I have set my mind on this--on your marriage--our pedigree, my son, our ancient lineage. Think, Charley, of your position."

"I do, father," said Charley sternly.

"But, my boy," exclaimed Sir Philip angrily, "it is madness! You, soon to be a baronet, with one of the finest rent-rolls in the county, and to stoop to a governess!"

"To a lady, father!" cried Charley fiercely now, as he stood facing Sir Philip. "You told me you wished me to marry. Can I govern my own heart? I told you once that I did not believe so good and pure a woman as my dear mother lived on this earth. I retract it now, and own, father, that it was said in the blind ignorance of my foolish conceit; for I know now that there are women walking this lower earth of ours whom I cruelly calumniated, for they might be taken as the types of the angels above. Father, I love one of these women with a strong man's first fierce love--with the passion long chained, now almost at your bidding let loose, and before heaven I swear that--"

"For heaven's sake be silent, Charley, my dear child!" cried Sir Philip almost frantically, as he laid his hand on his son's lips.

Then with a groan he shrank away, staggered to his chair, and buried his face in his hands, while with face working, brow flushed, and the veins standing out in his forehead, Charley stood struggling between the two loves, when he turned; for the door opened, and the servant handed to him a letter that made his face flush a deeper hue.

Volume 2, Chapter II.

NELLY A CORRESPONDENT.

Charley Vining took the letter with trembling hand from the silver salver upon which it lay, glancing the while at the superscription, written in an awkward scrawly character, as if the sender had been possessed of a wild unbroken colt of a pen, which would shy and buck and dart about as it should not; but as well as if some one had been present to whisper to him that that letter contained trouble, its recipient knew it, and hesitated to tear open the envelope. He gazed at the address once more, then at the bent figure of his father, and took a step forward to speak--but no, he could not. He felt half unmanned, and that his words would be choked in their utterance; and turning hastily round, he hurried from the room, his last glance showing him Sir Philip with his face still covered by his hands; and Charley's heart smote him as he thought of the pain he had inflicted upon that noble heart.

Unintentionally, upon hurrying out of the house, Charley made his way to the part of the grounds where stood the rose-tree from which he had plucked that blossom--the spot where he had told his love, believing that it fell only upon the ears he wished, but all the same in the presence of three witnesses--the false and the true. But the roses were gone--only a few brown withered petals yet clung to the branches; and recalling how Ella had fled from him, he once more threw himself into the garden seat, and with an effort tore open the letter.

And then he could not read it; for the characters swam before his eyes, till savagely calling himself "girl!"

"Idiot!" and setting his teeth firmly upon his nether lip, he read as follows:

"My Own Dearest Charley Vining,--This is not a love letter, though I
do indede love you very much indede (and those are both spelt wrong;
only if I smudge them over and alter them, they will be so hard to
read). I do love you very much indede, though not in that way, you
know, but as I should love brother Max if he wasn't such a donkey.
I've been wanting to speek to you so _verry, verry, verry_ bad, but
Laury has watched me and Miss Bedford just like two mice (I mean like
a cat, only my eyes are so swelled up with crying that I don't hardly
know what I'm saying or doing), and I have such a lot to tell you,
enough to brake your hart, and I'm speling this worse and wors, though
Dear Miss Bedford took such pains with me, and it's all about her I
want to talk to you, only I won't say what, in case you don't see this
yourself. So you must please come and meet me to-night in Gorse Wood,
and it won't be rong, for I'm only a girl and a child; yet sometimes
though I can't help feeling womanish, and feeling half and half too.
But you always did play with and pet me, Charley, and i know you love
somebody else verry much, and so do I, so that it won't be wrong, only
candlestine. Mind and come at 7, whilst they're at dinner, and I
shall tell Milly and Do that I'm going to get some pairs. So plees to
fill both of your pockets verry full of those early ones, same as you
gave me last year. And plees excuse all mistakes, for i write in a
great hurry, and don't forget to come, for I've got to tell you all
about some one you gave the rose to when you thought No one was
looking.

"Mamma and Papa desire their best compliments, and with best love, i
am, deer Charley Vining,

"Youre afectionate friend,

"Nelly Sophia Bray.

"P.S. That's all nonsense about Ma and Pa sending their complements,
only it sliped in, and if I smudge it out, the letter looks so bad;
and it don't mater, does it? for I haven't got time to write another
letter, only don't forget to come."

Charley Vining was too troubled at heart to smile at poor Nelly's letter, as, doubling it back into its former folds, he sat wondering what news the girl could have for him. He did not like the idea of obeying her wishes, but he felt that he must go: the hints the letter contained were too strong to be resisted. If they were seen, what would it matter after all? for Nelly was but a child, he told himself--the great tomboy whom he had romped and played with again and again. There was something about it, though, that he did not like, but a re-perusal of the letter decided him; and more for a means of passing the time than for any other purpose he went round to the stables, and mounting his favourite, rode slowly away, heedless that, looking ten years older, Sir Philip Vining was watching him from the study window.

Volume 2, Chapter III.

REVERSED PROCEEDINGS.

Some people might have called Charley Vining a spoiled child, who had had everything he wished for from his earliest days, and now, at the first disappointment in life, was turning pettish and angry. True enough so far, his every whim had been gratified, and perhaps this made him feel the more bitterly that this newly-awakened desire should be thwarted on every side.

Try what he would, all seemed against him--father, friends, even the object of his choice herself; and he needed no one to tell him that the greatest care was taken to prevent all interviews. That Laura had a great deal to do with it he was sure, with out Nelly's confirmatory words. Max too might have some influence; but it was in vain that he thought--matters would only look more and more rugged on ahead; and at length, longing, in spite of his dislike to the meeting, for the evening to come, he cantered away.

"I only wish I were clever," he muttered. "Some men would scheme a score of plans; but as for me, I understand horses and dogs, and that is about--"

Charley's thoughts were directed the next moment into another channel; for turning a corner sharply, he came upon a family party from the Elms, consisting of Laura Bray and her two youngest sisters, with Max angrily stamping, clenched of fist and with his face distorted with rage.

"It's all a confounded plot of yours, Laury--it is, bai Jove!" he screamed in an excited voice, the very counterpart of his mother's.

"Indeed, indeed, Max, you wrong me," she cried. "It was not--Hush! here's Charley Vining."

"How do, Miss Bray?" he said, reining in, and trying to be cordial.--"Ah, Max, I thought you were in town.--Well, little ones, how are you off for fruit?"

"Nelly's going to have lots to-night," said Do, the youngest "child;" and the blood flushed up in Charley's face as he thought of the note he had received,--for he was as transparent as a girl.

"Bai Jove! ya-a-s," said Max. "Been in town, but thought I'd run down again for a bit."

"What for?" said Charley Vining's jealous heart, as he recalled the excited way in which Max had been gesticulating before his sister.

Max looked half disposed to be sulky; but he caught a meaning glance from Laura, when, feeling that he could not afford to fall off from his part of the compact he had made with her, he commenced talking to his youngest sister, just as Charley's eyes flashed, his nostrils distended, and, evidently moved by some strong emotion, he leaped from his horse, gazing eagerly the while at Max's watch-chain, and then at Max himself, with a fierce questioning look; which the exquisite responded to with a quiet self-satisfied smirk, ran his fingers along the chain, played with the locket and other ornaments to it attached, and then, with a side glance of insolent triumph, he thrust the little finger of his kid glove into a ring which hung there, turned it about a few times, and then walked on with the girls.

Charley Vining's heart felt as if something were making it contract, as if he were seized by some fearful spasm; for that ring--he would swear it--that ring had once encircled Ella Bedford's finger, and had lain in his palm. He had noticed it particularly, as he had longed to press his lips to the hand it graced--no, that graced the little bauble. What did it mean, then?--what was Nelly's news that she had to communicate? He could have groaned aloud as his heart whispered that he was--not supplanted--but that that empty-headed conceited dandy had been able to carry off the prize he had so earnestly sought--that heartless boasting fop, who esteemed a woman's purest best feelings as deeply as he did the quality of his last box of cigars. It was plain enough the ring was a gift, and had been replaced by another.

"I _am_ a fool--a romantic boy!" thought Charley to himself; "and there is no such thing as genuine passion and feeling in this world; at least, I am not discriminating enough to know it. Here have I been grasping at the shadow when I could have possessed the substance. But, O!" he mentally groaned, "how sweet was that shadow, and how bitter is the substance!"

"Have I offended you, Charley?" said a deep soft voice at his ear--a voice trembling with emotion; and starting back to the present, the muser saw that Max had walked on some yards in advance with the girls, and that, with his horse's bridle over his arm, he was standing by Laura, whose hand was half raised, as if ready to be laid upon his arm, while her great dark eyes, swimming with tenderness, were gazing appealingly in his.

There was something new in Laura's manner, something he had not seen before. She was quiet, subdued, and timid; there was a tremulousness in her voice; and with the feelings that agitated him then swaying him from side to side, it was with a strange sense of trouble that he turned to her, half flinching as he did so.

"Have I hurt your feelings in some way?" she said, for he did not reply, and her voice was lower and deeper. "You seem so changed, so different, and it grieves me more than you can think."

It was very dangerous. There had been a sudden discovery coming directly upon Nelly's announcement that she had something grievous to impart. He had evidently been looked upon as a rude uncultivated boor, and this London exquisite had been preferred before him. In his poor country ignorance, he had been looking upon Ella Bedford's words as the utterances of a saint, gazing at her every act through a _couleur de rose_ medium, till now, when he was rudely awakened from his simple love-dream; while, as if offering balm for the wound, here was a passionate loving woman talking, nay, breathing to him in whispers her tender reproaches for what she evidently looked upon as his neglect.

What could he do? He felt that his faith to one he loved would be firm as a rock; but he owed no allegiance--he had been played with--and this woman to whom he had breathed his love had preferred gloss and polish to his simple homely ways.

It was thus that Charley Vining reasoned with himself, as slightly raising his arm he, as it were, made the first step towards a future of trouble; for the next instant Laura's hand was laid gently upon that arm, and they were sauntering slowly along. She, trembling and excited; he, swayed by varied emotions--disappointment, rage, bitterness, and added to all, the knowledge that he had left that gentle loving old man heart-broken at his persistence in what he now owned to himself had been a wild insane passion.

"You do not speak--you say nothing to me," said Laura softly, as she turned slightly, so as to look in his face. "I must in some way have unwittingly caused you annoyance. But there, Charley, I will not dissemble; I know why you are angry, and I must speak. You will think lightly of me--you will even sneer," she said, and he could see that the tears were running down her cheeks, and that her breast heaved painfully; "but I cannot help it; I must speak now that for once there is an opportunity. You are vexed with me because I was so madly angry with you for flirting. But you would not be, Charley, if you knew all. I don't think you would willingly hurt any one; but thoughtless acts sometimes give great pain."

Charley did not reply, but his arm trembled as they walked on, Laura's passionate words being very truthful, as by a bold stroke she tried to recover the ground she told herself that she had lost.

"See how humble I am. I never, that I can remember, asked pardon before of any one, but I do of you; and I feel humbled and abased as I think, for I know it is enough to make you mock at me. But though you refuse to know my heart, I know yours well, and that it is too much that of a gentleman for you ever to make me repent of what I say."

Still Charley was silent, though Laura paused to hear him speak. This interview had been unexpected, and had come upon her by surprise; but, led away by her feelings, words in torrents were pressing upon one another ready to pour forth, and she had to struggle hard to keep those words within due bounds, lest in her agitation she should make a broader avowal than that already uttered, and cause him to turn from her in disgust.

"Have I so deeply offended you? Can you not pardon me? Is mine such a sin against you, Charley, that I am always to suffer--suffer more deeply than you can believe?"

"I am not offended," he said gently. "Indeed, you mistake me."

"Charley!" she exclaimed in a burst of passionate emotion; for the soft, gently-spoken words seemed to sweep away the barrier that she should have more sternly supported--"I cannot help it; I am half heart-broken. You have been cruel to me; you have maddened me into saying things, and treating you in my rage in a way that has torn my own breast. But you will forgive me--you will be to me as you were a few months back--and, above all, promise me this, that you will not think lightly of me for this. Indeed, indeed, I cannot, cannot help it; I--I--"

Laura's voice was choked by her passionate sobs; and trembling himself with emotion, mingled of sorrow, pity, and an undefined sense of tenderness evoked by what he had heard, Charley Vining was moved to say a few words perhaps more warmly than under other circumstances he might have done. He did not love Laura Bray--he almost disliked her; but if there was any vanity in his composition, it was sure to be stirred now, when a young and ardent woman was, in the most unmistakable terms, telling him of her love, and imploring his forgiveness for her past resentment.

Charley Vining was but human. His heart had been deeply torn; and in spite of himself his voice softened, and he was about to say words that might have been too sympathising in their nature, when Laura's eyes flashed with bitterness and mortification. Had she possessed the power, she would have turned her to stone where she stood; for, with a laugh half merry, half sad, Nelly came running up, and pressing herself between him and the horse, she caught hold of Charley's other arm.

Charley gave a sigh of relief, as rousing himself, he exclaimed, "ah, Nelly!"

"I didn't mean to go for a walk," said Nelly; "but thought I'd come and meet them; and I can't walk with Milly and Do, because of old Max; so I've come here."

They say that two are company, three none: and if ever those words were true, they were so here. But, in spite of her mortification, and the agitation brought on by her imprudent avowal, Laura's heart bounded; for she read, or thought she read, on parting, what she called her pardon in Charley Vining's eyes.

Volume 2, Chapter IV.

THE "CANDLESTINE" INTERVIEW.

Sir Philip Vining ate his dinner alone that day, for his son was an absentee. In fact, a good half-hour before the appointed time Charley Vining was in Gorse Wood walking up and down, crushing the thin grass and trampling through the undergrowth, as he vainly sought to control the impatience of his spirit.

But he was in no controllable humour, and the more he tried to beat down the feelings that troubled him, the more fretful his spirit grew. It had been a day of misery and disappointment, such as he had never thought to see, and he was bitterly mortified with his own conduct. He told himself that it was his duty to have sternly answered Laura Bray, whereas he had allowed her to go on till, as they parted, her look of intelligence seemed to intimate that she was happy and satisfied, and that he had been making love to her, when--

When? Why should he trouble himself about a light frivolous girl, who gave love tokens to a tailor's dummy--a contemptible jackanapes? But all the same, there was no reason why he should marry Laura Bray, and give up his happy independent life.

"A fig for all womankind!" said Charley at last, out loud; "but then the poor old gentleman!"

Charley's face darkened as he thought of his father and his wishes. What should he do? Let matters run their course?

He asked himself that last question rather grimly, as he thought of how easily he could be in accord with all Sir Philip wished. A few quiet tender words to Laura Bray, and all would go on satisfactorily. And why should he not utter them? She would be well content, and he need trouble himself no farther, but seek in his old amusements _delassement_ and balm for the disappointment he had met with.

How plain it all was! Max had come down again on Ella's account. Why, he had not spent so much time down at Lexville since he was a boy! Of course, the Brays would not sanction it; but, anyhow, it was another of Mr Maximilian Bray's conquests.

"Ah, well," said Charley, as he stood leaning against an oak, "it's the old story: one's boy love never does come to anything!--What, my little wood-nymph!"

"O, Charley, Charley, Charley!" cried Nelly, running up to him panting, "what shall I do? I am _so, so_ miserable; and they think I'm in the schoolroom now; and I can't bear it, and I hate it; and I've run out through the side gate and over the elm meadow like a mad girl, for they all watch me; and I stay in my bedroom most of the time; for since Miss Bedford's gone--"

"What?" roared Charley, seizing Nelly's arm.

"Don't frighten me, Charley, and please don't pinch so! That's what I wanted to tell you. That Laura led her such a cruel life with her temper, and Max was such a horrible donkey, that she told ma she would rather not stay, and--O, O, O!" sobbed Nelly, crying out aloud, "she's gone away, and I didn't say good-bye; for she went early in the morning, and came and kissed me when I was asleep; and me such a thickheaded, stupid old dormouse that I never knew--knew it--or--or I'd have put my arms so tightly round her neck that I'd never have left go."

"But where has she gone?" cried Charley fiercely.

"I don't know," sobbed Nelly--"nobody knows. She would not say a word even to mamma; and mamma said it was very obstinate, and that she was obstinate altogether."

"Do you think--" said Charley huskily, and then he stopped as if he could not utter the words--"do you think she told Max?"

"Told Max!" said Nelly, almost laughingly; "no, she wouldn't tell him. She hated him too much, for he was always worrying her, when all the time she was ever so fond of you, Charley. I knew it, though she never said so. Pah, she would never tell such a donkey as that, when she would not tell me! They think I'm very stupid; but I know well enough why she wouldn't stay, nor yet say where she was going: it was all because of Max, so that he should not bother her any more."

"Go on, pray!" exclaimed Charley.

"I have not got anything more to tell you," said Nelly pitifully, "only that there was such a scene over and over again; for at the last Laury and Max both wanted her to stay, and Laury asked her over and over again; but I could see through that: it was because Max made her, for some reason of his own."

Here was a new light altogether: Laura and Max both asking her to stay, and the poor girl led such a life that she was compelled to leave. Why had she not confided in him, then, when he had implored her to listen to him? But that ring?

Troubled in spirit, Charley began to stride up and down the wood, but only to stop once more in front of Nelly.

"When did she go?" he asked.

"Yesterday morning," said Nelly; "but I couldn't send you word till to-day. And now I want to ask you something, Charley."

"Quick, then!" he said hoarsely, as he turned to go.

"Will you try and find out where Miss Bedford is gone, and then tell me when you know?"

"Yes, yes!" cried Charley, rushing off.

"Yes, yes, indeed!" cried Nelly; "that's a pretty way to leave a lady who has given him a mysterious assignation in a wood; and--There, now-- what shall I do? If I haven't forgotten all about the pears!"

Volume 2, Chapter V.

MR MAXIMILIAN BEGINNETH TO SHOW HIS HAND.

Gone without leaving a trace behind! Would she take another engagement, and write to Mrs Bray for a recommendation? She might, or she might not. She had taken the train at Lexville station after Dudgeon had, by Mrs Bray's gracious permission, driven the light cart in with "the governess's boxes;" but upon Mr Dudgeon being favoured with five shillings by Charley Vining, he shook his head.

"Sutternly, sir, I did see her boxes in the station, but I didn't read the directions."

Foiled there, Charley inquired of the booking-clerk.

"O yes, sir; remember it perfectly well. Mr Max Bray asked the very same question only this morning. She took a ticket for London, sir."

"Max Bray asking," mused Charley. "Then he did not know where she was, and there could be no undercurrent at work there. Max wanted to know her address, confound him! He had better mind how he stood in his way."

But, save when his thoughts turned in the direction of Laura Bray, which complication in his affairs troubled him, Charley Vining felt lighter of heart; for though Max held that ring, and so ostentatiously displayed it, there was no reason why he might not have obtained it by some hazard, as he himself had once gained possession of a plain golden cross. Matters were not so desperate after all, and he need not give up hope. And yet what misery for her to leave Lexville like that, without one word of farewell--flying, as it were, from his persecution, as well as from that of Max Bray!

Thinking over the words, too, of Nelly, how he could imagine the wretched life the poor girl must have led! and then, with brightened eye, he determined to find out where she had taken refuge. But London-- the place of all others where a quest seemed vain.

Charley's musings were interrupted by one of the servants handing him a letter.

"John Dudgeon, Mr Bray's man, sir, gave it to our Thomas this morning."

Charley hastily tore open the thimble-sealed epistle, to find it written on a very dirty sheet of paper, and in a character that was almost undecipherable; but fortunately the note was not long, and he read as follows:

"Hon'd Sur,--This comes hoppin to fine you verry wel, as it leves me
at presen. Mr Maxy Million comes a hordrin an a swerin at a pore
suvvant lik ennythink, an thare aint know pleesing im. An that ante
the wa 2 get ennythink out of him as nose. E say wairs Mis Bedfors
bocksis drecty 2, an off korse I wasn goin 2 tel he; but mi gal jain,
she se an rede em bofe, an I lik doin gents a good turn as has sivil
tungs for a por suwant, and shes gon to missus Brandins Kops all
laintun; an if Mr Macks Million wan 2 no, dont let im kum to ure
umbel suwant to kommarn,

"Jhon Dugegin.

"P.S. Wich you wone sa i tole u, ples, or yung marsta wil get me the
sak."

Mrs Brandon's, Copse Hall, Laneton! Why, across country that was, not above a dozen miles off, on a branch of the South Midland Railway. Nothing could have happened more fortunately. He would have the dogcart and drive over at once--no, not at once: he would go the next day; and, come what might, he would see her again. Surely she would not be so hard, so cruel, with him--

His musings were brought to an end by the entrance of Sir Philip with a note in his hand.

The old gentleman looked pale and troubled, but his words were gentle, as he said: "A note from Mr Bray, Charley: he asks us to dinner there to-morrow. Shall I say that we will go?"

"To the Elms?--to-morrow?" said Charley. "No, I cannot; I have an engagement."

"An engagement!--to-morrow, Charley!" said Sir Philip sadly.

"Yes, I am going out--I cannot go," said Charley hastily.

Sir Philip said no more, but he sighed deeply as he turned and left the room to decline the invitation, thinking bitterly the while of her who had robbed him of his son's confidence and affection; for hitherto father and son had lived almost for one another, and now there was coldness and estrangement.

Laura Bray's eyes sparkled as she saw the servant returning on horseback with the reply from Blandfield Court, for there was a strange excitement now pervading her. In obedience to her brother's wish she had consented to try and prevail upon Ella Bedford to stay; but it was a source of infinite pleasure to her when she had written to tell Max, in London, that, in spite of all persuasion, Miss Bedford had insisted upon leaving, and had gone--bearing his reproaches and anger with the greatest of patience, when he came down by the fast train, and abused her, and charged her with counterplotting, in the midst of which scene he was interrupted, as we know, by the coming of Charley Vining. As for the events of the next quarter of an hour, they were burned in Laura's memory; and, her rival gone, her heart was light, and she had sat longing for the time when she should next see him who so engrossed her thoughts.

It was at her instigation that a dinner-party had been arranged at the shortest of short notices, ostensibly so that Maximilian Bray might have Charley Vining to see him--a pleasant fiction, which formed the text for much good-humoured banter at the Bray table, while Laura blushed and looked conscious.

The man was a terrible while before he took in that letter, and Laura's colour came and went a score of times. Then it seemed as if the footman would never bring the letter up. But at last it was handed to Mr Bray, who was so long getting out his glasses, that Laura, unable to contain herself, exclaimed:

"Let me look for you, papa."

Seizing the letter, she tore it open, read a few lines, and then dropped it with a look of the utmost disappointment. Then she walked to the window; but only to hurry the next moment from the room, so as to conceal her tears.

Max joined her, though, ten minutes after. "I thought you two had made it up?" he said inquiringly.

"Yes--no--I don't know," she answered passionately.

"He's going out to-morrow, is he?" continued Max musingly. "What's he going to do?--where's he going?"

"Have you found out what you want?" said Laura, to turn the current of the conversation.

"Not yet," he said. "You ought never to have given me the trouble. But I am at work, and so is he."

"What!" cried Laura eagerly, as she caught her brother's hand.

"He's at work too," said Max. "Bai Jove! he thinks himself very cunning, but he won't get over me."

"But you do not mean to say that he is trying to get that creature's address?" cried Laura pitifully.

"Raving mad after it, bai Jove!" said Max. "You see you want me, Laury. I must take her out of your way altogether, or it's no good. He won't throw her up till he hears something."

"Hears something?" said Laura slowly.

"Yes," said Max in a whisper; "hears something. I had nearly ripened my plans, only this evasion of hers disturbs them, and now I have to begin all over again."

"But are you sure he has been trying to find out where she is gone?"

"Certain of it; yes, bai Jove, I am!"

"How cruel!--how treacherous!" muttered Laura.

"There, don't go into the high flights, and spoon!" said Max roughly. "Set your wits to work. And look here, Laury, take my advice. Now, then, are you listening?"

"Yes--yes!" cried Laura, for she had been pressing her hands abstractedly together.

"Then look here. Don't show that you either hear or see anything. I have him on the hip in a way he little thinks for. What you have to do is to meet him always with the same gentle unvarying kindness. Wink at everything you hear about him; and even if he comes to you straight from her, you must receive him with open arms. Do you hear me?"

"Yes," said Laura bitterly; "I hear."

"For, bai Jove! he's not the man to be played with! Any show of jealousy, or whim, or snubbing, or any of that confounded tabby-foolery you women are so well up in, will drive him away."

Laura sighed.

"There, don't be a fool, Laury! Bai Jove, I'm ashamed of you! I thought you were a woman of more spirit. But look here: I was put out-- I was, bai Jove!--when I came down and found the little dove had spread her soft little wings and flown away, for it put me to a great deal of trouble and inconvenience and expense; but you trust to me, and you shall be Lady Vining--of course, I mean when the old gentleman drops off. But Charley will come back to you like a great sheep as he is."

"How dare you, Max!" cried Laura, firing up.

"O, there, I don't want to upset the fair sister's sweet prejudices," said Max, with a sneer. "There, we'll call him the noble baronet-apparent. He'll come back to you by and by to soothe the pains in his great soft heart, and you shall heal them for him."

Laura bit her pocket--handkerchief fiercely, and kept tearing it again from between her teeth.

"I have him, I tell you; and, bai Jove! the day shall come when he shall frown at the very mention of the little soft dove's name!"

"But when--when?" cried Laura.

"When!" said Max coolly; "bai Jove! how can I tell? I shall work hard as soon as I have found out the address, and when the proper time comes, my charming sister, I shall want your help in a scene I have _in petto_. It may be a month, or it may be two, or perhaps three; but," he said excitedly, as he again threw off the drawl, and effeminate way, to let flash out the evil passions of his heart, "I am in earnest, Laury, and I'll have that address before many days are gone by."

"But how--how will you get it?" cried Laura.

"Well," said Max, sinking back into his old way, "I've got a plan for that too--one that will give but little trouble, and so I don't mind telling you."

"Well--quick, tell me!" cried Laura.

"Bai Jove! how excited you are!" said Max, laughing insolently, and taking evident delight in probing his sister's wounds. "Charley is hard at work trying to find out her address."

"Yes, yes!" cried Laura, pressing her hand to her side.

"And he'll be sure to find it sooner or later."

"Yes, yes!" cried Laura pitifully, her eyes flashing with jealous hate the while she stood before her brother, the style of woman who, had she lived at an earlier period, would have gladly taken a leaf from the book of Lucrezia Borgia, and ridded herself of her rival.

"Well," said Max coolly, "I said he'd be sure to find it out, didn't I?"

"Max--Max! why do you torture me?" cried Laura. "Tell me how you will manage, when you say that you will leave him to find out what should be yours to do, if there is to be any faith in your promise!"

"Faith!--yes, bai Jove, you may have faith in me! And there, I won't hurt your feelings any more. Charley will find out the address, and so shall I."

"But how?" cried Laura passionately, stamping her foot.

"How? Why, bai Jove, _I shall watch him_!"

Volume 2, Chapter VI.

THE NEW HOME.

John Dudgeon was right. Ella Bedford's luggage was directed to Mrs Brandon's, Copse Hall, Laneton, to reach which, unless a fly had been engaged to convey her across country, Ella had to go up to town by one line, and then take her ticket by another. This she did, and reached Copse Hall, a gloomy-looking dwelling, late one evening, her heart sinking as the station fly conveyed her down a muddy lane, on the Croppley Magna road. The hedges were heavy, and the trees seemed all weeping--drip, drip, drip--while an occasional gust of wind drove the rain against the fly window.

Cold, sombre-looking, and bare was the house; and feeling that the refuge she had sought by means of advertising would be to her as a prison, Ella descended from the fly. A tall hard-looking footman opened the door, and kept her standing on the mat of a great bare hall, whose floor was polished oak, and whose ornaments were a set of harsh stiff-backed chairs, that looked as if they had been made out of old coffin boards, while the cold wind rushed through and shut a door somewhere in the back regions with an echoing bang.

"There'll be a row about that," said the hard-faced footman, as he set down the second trunk and closed the door, and the flyman drove off. "Missus hates the doors to bang, and they will do it when the wind's in the south. You're to come in here, please, Miss--Bedford, isn't it?"

Trembling, in spite of her efforts to be calm, Ella responded to his query, and then followed the footman to a great gaunt-looking door. He opened it, and announced, "Miss Bedford." She advanced a few steps, seeing nothing for the blinding tears that would stand in her eyes-- tears that she had much difficulty to keep from falling. Then the door was closed behind her, and she felt two warm soft hands take hers, and that she was drawn towards a great glowing fire.

"Why, my dear child!" said a pleasant voice, "you are chilled through. Come this way."

Then, as in a dream, she felt herself placed in a soft yielding easy-chair, her bonnet and mantle removed, the same soft hands smoothing back her hair, and then, as a pair of warm lips were pressed to hers, the same voice said gently:

"Welcome to Copse Hall, my love! I hope it will prove to you a happy home."

Ella started to her feet as those words thrilled through her; words so new, so tender, so motherly, that she could no longer restrain her feelings, but threw herself, sobbing violently, upon the gentle breast that seemed to welcome her; for two arms pressed her tightly there for a few moments. Then there were soothing whispers, soft hands caressing her; and at last Ella was seated calm and tranquil at Mrs Brandon's feet, feeling that, after the storms of the past, a haven of safety had been reached; and long was the converse which followed, as ingenuously Ella told all to her new friend, whose hand still rested on, or played with, the soft glossy bands of hair.

"We will not make a host of promises," said Mrs Brandon cheerfully; "but see how we get on. You were quite right to leave there: and I had such a kind letter from the Reverend Henry Morton, that I was glad to secure your aid for my children's education."

"Mr Morton was very, very kind," said Ella, "and offered me a home when poor mamma died; but I thought that I ought to be up and doing, though I did not expect so much trouble at the outset."

"Trouble, my child," said Mrs Brandon softly,--"the world is full of it;" and Ella, looking up, glanced at the widow's weeds. "Yes, seven years ago now," she continued, interpreting Ella's glance. "But the troubles here could be lessened, if we studied others more and self less. But there, bless me, you haven't seen the children!" and jumping up, she rang, and the hard-faced footman appeared.

"Tell Jane to bring in the young ladies, Edward," said Mrs Brandon; and, five minutes after, two bright happy-looking girls of eight and ten came running in. "There, my dears, that is Miss Bedford--your new governess."

The two girls went smiling up to offer their hands and kiss her, the younger clinging to her, and reading her face with a curious childish gaze.

"They are both totally spoiled, Miss Bedford," said Mrs Brandon, gazing fondly at her children; "and they're behindhand and tomboyish, and will give you no end of trouble. But you must rule them very strictly; and as they've not been quite so bad to-day, they may have tea with us this evening."

The girls clapped their hands, and over that pleasant meal it seemed to Ella that she must have been there for months; while, when Mrs Brandon accompanied her to her bedroom that night--a snug pleasant chamber, with a fire, books, and a general aspect of comfort--and left her alone with the sense of the warm kiss on her lips--a friendly pressure on her hand, Ella sank upon her knees, and the tears would for a while flow--tears this time, though, of thankfulness for the refuge she had found.

Two days of happiness had passed like a dream, in spite of sad thoughts and an undefined dread that all was too bright to last, when, seated in the drawing-room with Mrs Brandon, Ella's heart leaped, and then the blood seemed to rush to her heart, for the clangour of the hall bell proclaimed a visitor. The next minute the hard footman entered with a card upon a salver.

"Gentleman wishes to see Miss Bedford," he said; and Ella with trembling hand took the card, to read thereon:

"Mr Charles Vining, Blandfield Court."

Volume 2, Chapter VII.

MRS BRANDON'S RECEPTIONS.

Mrs Brandon made no movement as the card was handed to Ella; but a look of firmness seemed imperceptibly to sweep across her pleasant matronly face, and one skilled in physiognomy would have said that she was waiting anxiously to see how the young girl would act, under what threatened to be very trying circumstances. Then, glancing at Ella, she saw her standing, pale as ashes, with the card in her hand.

"Where have you shown the gentleman, Edward?" said Mrs Brandon.

"Breakfast-room, ma'am," said the hard footman.

"Very good; you need not wait," said Mrs Brandon; and the next moment they were alone, when, with pleading eyes, Ella held out the card.

"Indeed, indeed, ma'am, I could not help this," she whispered. "I hoped that my retreat would not have been known."

"My dear child," said Mrs Brandon kindly, "I do not blame you;" and she also rose and passed her arm round Ella's waist. "But you would like to see him?"

"No, no, _no_!" cried Ella hastily. "I must not--I would rather not--it cannot be! I hoped to have been left here in peace, and free from persecution. I cannot see him; I must never see him again."