"Is that on your way?" said the Archdeacon, stopping short. "Are you going to the Merediths now, or coming back to the house?" the gloom, the grey, the mist: the branches seemed heavy with it, ivy tendrils glistened in the damp, the mosses were green upon the silver trunks, and the lichens were opening wide their grey months. There "I am going now," said Hollis: "she begged me to come early. There is a was a faint aromatic scent in the air from short-cut from the lodge. I said good-by to my hostess before I came away, and told them to send on my things. I wonder what there is we could say to Miss Ireton to induce her to come over?" "Janet does not know her own interest," said her uncle, testily, "when she persists in refusing such a very pleasant and welltimed invitation." The Archdeacon's speech was anything but well-timed. Janet drew herself up. "I am very sorry, I am wanted at home." She had taught herself her lesson and could repeat it very glibly. As she spoke they had come to a gate, and George Hollis, who held it open for her as she passed, looked at her fixedly for an instant to see if this was a real reason or only an excuse. Janet saw his doubtful look, and her two eyes fell, and her bright cheeks blushed for her and then for themselves. Hollis with some temper let the gate go when she had passed. She was making an excuse, - she did not come because she would not, she would not because There was no accounting for the vagaries of girls. Miss Ireton had guessed at his displeasure; she looked up defiantly. what was it to her? Then her heart smote her, for it was not a very hard one. "Don't think I am not very sorry," she said. "Who could help being sorry? I shall never forget this happy time." The Archdeacon had waited behind a little to examine the gate; it was a curious hasp, and he wanted one of the same put up in his field to keep out irreverent cows. 44 "I am so used to come and to go," said Hollis, in a snappish voice, that I leave fewer regrets behind me than you do. I have no special reason for liking Brand House." It was a cross speech, and only meant that he was offended. Janet thought it meant, not that he was offended, but utterly indifferent. It did not pain her much. This was what she had been expecting ever since her little talk with Mrs. Brandiscombe. The Archdeacon still lingered and the two young people walked on in silence. They had left the common behind them at last, and come into a wild green park. It seemed the last vestige of the thick woods that had once covered the country, reaching down to the sea almost. Janet, with an impatient, quick step or two, had gone a-head, a bright figure against - the many fir-cones and spikes; from the golden drops of turpentine that were oozing from the bark; from the damp sweet decay all about, of dying leaves and spreading creepers. And then above were the bare branches, full with the buds of the coming spring; decay, and life, and change, in a sweet, subdued, silent glen, where the dim daylight came dimmer still through the crossing rustle of the beech branches. This is a lovely sort of Hades," said Hollis, coming to himself again, and looking about. 46 "I believe it is Meredith's property," said the Archdeacon, who had caught them up; "the place wants thinning, but I can quite understand a man's reluctance to cut down his own trees." "I shall ask him what he is about," said Hollis. I know the place of old. I used to come here when my father lived at Portsmouth." Janet heard so far, and walked on faster to get out of the sound of their voices. Every word and every little event that had happened for the last hour or two, seemed to confirm her more and more in the new interpretation that Mrs. Brandiscombe's words had given to the small events that were so interesting to her. She had been played with, she had been used as a screen to conceal real feelings and interests that were unknown to her. . . . Her bright cheeks blushed with shame as she rushed along, her grey eyes had an odd misty look of anger in them, she picked up a dried stick, upon which some little lichens were clinging still, and began beating it against the stems on either side of the pathway; it soon broke; and she flung the pieces away impatiently. A word had been enough to make her happy, a word had been enough to disabuse her. And yet it was hard, she thought, that this her last walk should be so spoiled; he might be friendly just this last time. And then she waited for them to come up and tried to make friends again, speaking of one thing and another, for she was thinking they might never meet again. Among other things she asked Hollis if he had ever met her friend Mrs. Rowland. Is it a case of devoted ladies' friendship?" the young man asked, in his turn. "Why do you laugh at women's friendships ?" said Janet, gently. Mrs. Rowland would do anything for me." And then she added, with a fierce look at the poor heavy, her steps lagged dull and wearily. She might have stayed; she might have seen him again and again; but now she was going to-morrow; it was all settled; it was good-by! Had she done right? Alas! how could she tell; why was she not as other girls are, befriended, advised, and comforted? why was she all alone to work out right and wrong from this tangle? “I should like to do something, reasonable or not." Ah, what did he mean? Only kind "My dear child, that is because you are utterly unreasonable, every one of you, and never stop to think of the obstacles there may be in the way. Mrs. Rowland is charming, but she would be just as un-ness, only friendship. If she asked Hollis reasonable in granting as you would be in asking." "I think men invent obstacles," said Janet, mollified a little, "for the pleasure of thinking themselves reasonable in not overcoming them.” "I wish you would try me some day, Miss Ireton," said Hollis, laughing; "I should like to do something, reasonable or not, and prove myself as staunch a friend as Mrs. Rowland." He wondered why a look of pain, followed by a burning blush, came into the girl's face. Instead of answering, she looked away down the long dim avenue by which they had been coming. They had reached the little lodge by this time, where their roads divided. Janet's heart began to beat a little; she felt her uncle's mild inquiring glance fixed upon her; she felt as if she hated him almost at that instant. How could he expect it; how could be allow her to humiliate herself by asking strangers for what was his own to bestow! It was all horrid, all except Hollis's kindness. She clenched her left hand tight as she suddenly said "Good-by; I am tired, I want to go home. Please don't come back with me," said the poor child. "I had rather go back alone; I should like it best.” to help her, this was clear-she could never see him again; never, never. What, another gate? She tried to open it; it was stiff, and hurt her fingers. Janet stamped in a sort of despair. Give her a living! She might as well ask Hollis for the moon. She looked back once more: there were the two dark figures, walking away with all her best hopes, at the end of the long dark alley; then she got the gate open and trudged on. Everything seemed changed: no life, no promise, only decay; the leaves were rotting all about, a great gust of smoky mist seemed falling upon her, the little laurel-bushes alone looked green and flourishing. Janet was shivering by the time she got to the house; she was jaded and tired. Bodies are apt to be dull when the spirits are weary. V. JANET'S was a big state-room at the end of the passage, with tall windows looking blank out upon the mist and the laurelwalks along which she had just come. There was old-fashioned furniture, in stately preparation for the guests who came to inhabit it; there were medecine-spoons of every shape and size, medecine-glasses, capstands, leg-rests; there was a sofa, with vaShe was too much in earnest to be other rious-shaped cushions: there was a bootthan cold. Hollis looked disappointed. jack. It would have all seemed more suitaThe Archdeacon, who had been counting ble to one of the dowager ladies, Mrs. on this final walk to bring about some sort Brandiscombe's contemporaries, than to of explanation, looked annoyed. He of Janet Ireton, who did not require any of fered to walk on a little way with the young these appliances. She threw her hat upon man, feeling it was his part to make up to the great four-post bed; she fell into the him for Janet's ungraciousness by every great arm-chair, and sat curled up in the little attention in his power. Notwithstand-seat, with her head resting on the arm and ing his wife's demurs and Mrs. Brandis- her hand hanging over- she tried to think combe's solemn head-shakes, he had been it all out calmly for herself, but her heart of opinion that Hollis was very much beat almost too impetuously. Here was the attracted by his young niece. It was a most desirable thing in every respect; and if Dr. Phillips accepted Chawhampton, Holmesdale, his present living, would be in Hollis's gift, &c. &c. Poor Janet! She walked away for a little distance, and then she stood for an instant looking back after Hollis and her uncle. Her heart was very case. She had been a goose, and had fancied that a few civil words meant a life-long devotion. She was not ashamed of herself; she had found out her mistake in time, and instantly determined to avoid any possible misunderstanding in future. But now, to do as her uncle wished, to ask Mr. Hollis, whom of all other people in the whole world she wished to avoid, for so great a mark of to reply to one another's favours of the favour, ah! it was too much; she would 14th, and to announce their safe arrival," not, she could not. Then Janet thought no &c. Poor Janet began writing in a despermore, but sat staring at the great pier-glass; ate hurry, flying over the paper as if afraid then she jumped up, and began walking that if she paused for one instant her courround and round the room. Why did ev-age would fail, her pen fly away, her paper erything seem to jar upon her? Her dress slip from under her fingers: caught in a table-corner as she went along, she shook it free impatiently; a chair stood a little crooked, and the slanting lines worried her, but when she had put it straight she was no calmer than she had been before. 66 'DEAR MR. HOLLIS, I am going to take a great liberty; if you never forgive me I cannot help it. I feel I must say what I am going to say. Perhaps if we ever meet again you may tell me that you do forgive me, though I almost fear that this letter may make you think ill of us all. You and unguarded. I do not want to belong to a "JANET IRETON." Janet of the even nerves could not understand this new phase. It frightened her "I am going home to-morrow to my father, who and horrified her. She found herself asking is the best father, the truest gentleman, that ever herself, Why did he ask me so often to lived. He is very very anxious and suffering, and go to the Merediths'? He could not know, for years we had hoped that my uncle would have he did not know, how hard it was to refuse. appointed him to Chawhampton when it fell vaAh, it was cruel, yes, cruel, to make such a has given it to Dr. Phillips, the vicar of Holmescant. This he now says he cannot do, and he play if it was play." A deep, burning dale. Will you give papa Holmesdale? blush of indignation came into her cheeks, do not know how good he is. He speaks what as she felt in her deepest heart of hearts he thinks. My uncle calls him impressionable what happiness was not. She would not trust herself to think what it might be. Ah, if she had any one to go to now, as other girls had, girls who were loved and sympathized with, and comforted, and guarded from harm. Her father was no guide, dearly as she loved him. She loved her uncle, but she mistrusted him; he was too complicated a mind for a straightforward nature like Janet's. Her home was a house full of cracks and darns to be repaired, and children to Janet did not trust herself even to read be patched and borne with, not much the blotted page. It was blotted, but she else; her mother's love was with the boys. dared not write it out; she sealed it up in Then, of course, came a reaction, and the the envelope, and then threw the letter thought that, though Mr. Hollis's civil from her on the floor; and then, flinging speeches meant nothing in one sense, they her head down over her arms upon the table, might mean something in another. He had she burst out crying, sobbing, as if her said he would gladly help her; perhaps he heart would break. Her pride seemed hurt, meant what he said. He could not know of crushed, soiled; her maiden dignity seemed her father unless she told him. It was her sacriticed. Any one, any one else in all the duty to do what she could, even in a hope- world she could have asked without shame, less endeavour like this one. Should she but this pang was like heart's blood given ever forgive herself if, because it was horri-drop by drop. Had he not wounded her ble to speak, she was silent, and by this si- already, made a play and pretence of his lence did her father an injury? It was a liking for her? Before this there might have shame that she should have to do such a been a chance that some day they might thing; she who had always held her head so have met again and been friends. Now, high, and vowed that no poverty should never, never; she would never see him; ever bring her low. Janet stamped impa- she had humiliated herself before him; she tiently at the thought. Then came a ray would avoid him, hide out of his way. of relief. She should not see him again. "Oh, papa, my dear papa," sobbed Janet, But she might write, said her officious con- with another great burst of tears. science; she might send the letter by the messenger who carried over his luggage. The poor persecuted girl ran with a sort of leap across the room to the writing-table, where the old ladies were accustomed to carry on their correspondence in their delicate old-fashioned handwriting, "hastening A noise in the passage outside reminded her that there was no time to lose, and she ran out to stop a servant and ask if Mr. Hollis's luggage was going to the Mount. "The luggage has gone, ma'am," said the housemaid, placidly. Would you please to like your fire lighted ? " 66 Gone!" repeated Janet, stupidly. It Mrs. Rowland was like music moving on seemed impossible that when all the powers continuously from one modulation to anof her mind and will and conscience had other, never hurrying, never lagging, flowbeen brought together to write the letter, ing on to a rhythm of her own. "Now I," so small a thing should come to prevent the thought poor Janet, "I go in jerks and jigs; fulfilment of her scheme. sometimes I stop altogether, sometimes I crash out ever so many false notes." She forgot that she was young, that Caroline had had a longer time to learn to play upon the "It is an omen," thought the girl, "that I need not send the letter." "Yes, please, light my fire,” she said to the housemaid, and a momentary thought of relief unspeak-instrument which had been granted her. able, of a burning letter, of a mind at ease, came to beguile her. The maid came back in a minute, saying she had been mistaken, the cart had not yet gone. Was that the letter? — (poor Janet hastily dropped her composition into the woman's hand). The butler had desired her to say that Mrs. Rowland was in the drawing-room, and had been asking for Miss Ireton. Caroline come! This was, indeed, a ray of comfort in all Janet's despairing troubles. What kind fate had sent her? Here was the friend, the adviser, and sympathizer for whom she had been longing. VI. As Janet burst into the drawing-room Mrs. Rowland looked up, with a little exclaination of delight, and held out her arms. The widow was installed by the fire. She had not moved for the last half hour or more. While Janet had been going through so much, Caroline had warmed her little feet, smoothed her soft hair, and looked at the clock a dozen times. My dear child," she is saying, "how glad I am to see you, how delightful this is, what have you been doing? Where have you been? I hoped I should find you. Come sit down, and tell me all about yourself. Aunt Brandiscombe won't be back for half-an-hour at least." Then they both kissed each other again, and then came that moment's silence which comes when people's liking for each other exceeds their habit of intimacy. 66 Mrs. Rowland, in her pleasure, laid hands upon the poker, and was on the point of stirring up the fire to a brighter welcome, when Janet, with a little cry of alarm even in her first greeting, tore it out of her friend's hand. "Not this one, the little black one, Caroline; the bright one is never used." Janet had not been so long away from schoolroom restrictions as her friend. "Silly child!" said Mrs. Rowland impatiently, relinquishing the shining steel, and taking Janet's soft warm hand instead into her own. Janet sat looking up with honest eyes full of admiration. She had all a young girl's enthusiasm for her friend. Miss Ireton used to think sometimes that Janet's tunes were very sweet and gay if she had but known it. For her there was no cause to fear, but, alas! for those who can never master the subtle harmonies of life! It seems hard, indeed, if all the long, patient practice of years is to produce no harmonious sound; no corresponding chords in answer. Perhaps, though these sad cracked strains to our dull ears may seem to jar so painfully, they belong to a wider song and a mightier symphony than any which we can apprehend. 66 "Now tell me all about yourself and your people, and everything I want to know," said Mrs. Rowland, settling herself comfortably in the blaze. "That would be "All!" said the girl. a melancholy story. Papa is more out of spirits, mamma more anxious; and I-I am beginning to think that everything is disappointing, except seeing one's friends sometimes," said Janet, as her eyes smiled and then filled up with tears. As Janet looked at her, Caroline could not help being touched by the sad looks in the two grey eyes. The widow stooped and kissed the girl's forehead. "I am so glad you are going to be here," said Mrs. Rowland. "I could not bear to think of a tcte-à-tete with aunt Brandiscombe till Monday. But now I shall have you to support me." "But you won't," said Janet bluntly and blushing, "for I'm going to-morrow. I have been very happy here -I'm very sorry to go, but I must.' There was a jar in Janet's voice as she spoke which struck Mrs. Rowland, who was usually quick to hear what people didn't say, as well as what they said. She had a great many curious gifts and quicknesses of the same sort. "You must not desert me in this unkind way," she said. "I want to talk over all sorts of things with you. First of all, tell me why you must go. I had hoped to persuade you to come home with me on Monday, and see my little girls." "How I should like it some day," said grateful Janet; "but I cannot stay here any longer." 66 Why cannot you stay?" said Mrs. The widow sighed. Waiting! I never liked waiting much," she said. "Oh, Caroline!" cried the girl, "I have so longed for some one to speak to all these past days. It is so difficult to settle for oneself always, to know what is right, and when it is right to go against the wishes of people older than oneself. Of course I love papa most of all. I would do anything in the whole world for him." 66 "No; why should there be?" cried the girl; "that is what is so horrible." "Whose gift is it in ?" asked Mrs. Rowland, with a faint curiosity. "It is Mr. Hollis's living," said poor Janet. "He went away just now; he has been here a week; he is gone to the MereYou must marry, Janet," said Mrs. diths now. He is very kind, too kind; and Rowland, in a cheerful voice, drawing her now, perhaps, you know all," cried the girl, big chair in a little nearer to the fire. impetuously, who had in those two words "That is what you must do, then you will said more than she had meant; "but I know have some one to consult with. You must I can trust you, and that you will keep my come and stay with me, and I shall intro- secret. I am talking nonsense, there is no duce some nice eligible young men to you." secret to keep. Dear Caroline, I was Marry! Oh, Caroline!" said Janet, obliged to ask him. It has been so horrihurt as young people are who ask you for ble. But I won't stay; I know I am right bread and you give them a stone. (Mrs. to go." Rowland was twisting her own flashing Caroline was silent for an instant. guard-ring round and round her finger.) "What did he say ?" she asked, in a low What are you saying? It is like aunt voice. Fanny, who knows no better- but you! "I did not say it, I wrote it," said Janet. Can people marry like that? Is there noth-"The letter is going now. You know him ing more wanting?-nothing more solemn and sacred in marriage than a few dinnerparties and an eligible young man ?" Caroline coloured a little. She told herself in her heart that Janet was right, but she only said, "Life is very matter-of-fact, my poor Janet, as you will find; and after all an eligible young man is human though eligible. And now tell me who he is, for I know now there is somebody special in the better than I do," she implored. "Can't I trust him? He will understand. He won't think it forward ?" cried the girl, in an agony. Caroline, you know the world; tell me I did not do wrong; that I can trust him?" she implored. 66 Miss Ireton was so agitated on her own account that she did not notice her friend's odd changing looks. "If you take my advice, Janet, you will trust nobody," said Caroline, coldly, "beyond a certain point. If two people were alone in the world they might trust each other, but think how many claims, memories, doubts, difficulties, there are!" Then Caroline thought for an instant, and reflected upon a past light in her old friend Mr. Hollis's character. She was trying to be true to her friendship, though sympathy she had not to give. There was a moment's struggle and an evil impulse of mischiefmaking to be overcome before she spoke. For my poor Caroline is no model woman, |