A Woman's Heart

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXII, Issue XVI, 22 April 1899, Page 513

A Woman's Heart

By

MRS EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS.

CHAPTER VII Basil Fothergill let another twentyfour hours elapse before he approached Justina again, either in his own person or in the person of his sister. Although lie could give no definite reason for it, he' was conscious of a sensation of strong uneasiness about the girl during these hours of holding himself aloof. It was only natural that his thoughts should be sombre ones; thoughts sadder and heavier than any that had yet thronged in his mind.

The blighted young life, the close, horrible association with one so utterly vicious and dishonourable as Rupert Seaton had proved himself to be, the whole of Justina’s disastrous surroundings. the realisation of her most terrible mistake, were in themselves thoughts potent and keen enough to fill the heart of all or any one who cared for her, with a sorrow and regret hardly describable in words.

But it was a feeling apart and above these that oppressed Basil all through the long day and night that followed on that early morning visit to his hotel and the drive afterward to Bayswater.

He was not a man given to weakness of emotions or presentiments or any such thing, yet it was absolutely impossible for him to dissociate from his mind the feeling that Justina was passing through a further and perhaps even a harsher trouble than that which had just burdened her. If he had allowed himself to yield to the impulse in his heart, he would have started without any delay for that humble lodging that was the nearest approach to a home that the girl could claim, but strong as this desire was, Basil conquered it. He was possessed of the most supreme delicacy and refinement of feeling-. Though he was in a matesense the wronged and injured person in this last transaction of Rupert Seaton’s, and though by his generosity and friendship all difficulties and dangers had been removed from the forger's path, still he shrank from intruding himself upon the sacred agony of Justina’s grief too soon; he determined he would await some sign from her before going to see her. or risking a chance of meeting the man who had robbed him and dishonoured her.

When the next day came, however, and there was not a word or a sign from Justina, his impulse to go to her to give her help, comfort, protection perhaps, was too strong to be put to one side. He was so grave and sombre at breakfast time that his sister looked at him anxiously. 'Must you still remain in town. Bay?' she asked, gently, calling him by her own pet name for the big, tender-hearted brother whom she loved so devotedly; ‘isn’t that tiresome lawyer's business done yet? You know- you are looking not at all well. London never agrees with you. You want the sunshine and fresh air of Croome to set you up. Can’t you arrange to come down with me today, darling?’ Sir Basil looked up hurriedly and yet most affectionately at his sister. She was a slight, small likeness of himself; not pretty exactly, but so frank in expression, so fair and fresh and neat, that she seemed to possess a beauty that was distinct, but difficult to define exactly. ‘Do you want to go home so very much. Molly?’ he asked. Miss Fothergill nodded her head. ‘The place will be at sixes and sevens without me.’ she declared, munching her toast briskly in her white, even teeth. ‘You know 1 only eame up for one day, or. at the outside. two. Bay, dear. I am not prepared for a long stay. I have absolutely no clothes with me!’ 'What is it you want? Can’t you buy a bonnet and shawl somewhere to go out with?’ Molly laughed brightly at this suggestion, given by Sir Basil in a thoughtful, abstracted sort of fashion.

‘A bonnet — ami a shawl! flood heavens! is it conceivable that a man should suggest such a thing in this

age of civilisation and general enlightenment? Just imagine me in a shawl, Bay! Why, I should look like a scarecrow of the highest quality!’ and then Molly Fothergill dropped hei light tone and looked at her brother earnestly. ‘Of course I am only exaggerating about my clothes; I have plenty with me, and 1 will stay just as long as you like if 1 am not in the way, dear,’ she said, gently. ‘You are never in the way, Molly; and just now you can be particularly useful to me. I have something for you to do, in fact, this very day.' ‘1 am delighted to do anything, Bay. dear,’ and Molly’s face expressed her contentment as well as her words. ‘By the way, did you not want me to go and call on Mrs Seaton? I can d<- that this afternoon? ‘lt is precisely this I am going to ask you to do, Molly,’ Sir Basil broke in. rather hurriedly, ‘and I want you to be very kind to Justina. Put on your sweetest, most gracious little self, and let her feel she has found a friend in my sister as well as in myself.’ Molly rose from the breakfast table and paused a moment. ‘Does she want friends then so very badly. Bay?’ He answered her quietly, and with convincing sadness: ‘She is alone in the world, and she needs a woman’s sympathy and love more than I could even tell you in plain words, my little sister. Thank Heaven, such grief and sorrow as have come into that poor child’s heart will never enter into your life, Molly; but you will not need the bitter lesson of experience. I know, to let your woman’s heart speak out some comfort to her now in her hour of need and trouble.' Tears rose in Molly’s clear, brown eyes. ‘My heart has spoken already, Bay,’ she made answer, in a low voice. ‘Even were she an utter stranger to me. I could not withhold my pity after what you have just said; but you know I cannot call Mrs Seaton a stranger. I have such a vivid remembrance of hei- in those old days when you were studying under her father’s care. Why, I almost believe, Bay, dear.’ the generous, kind - hearted girl said, laughing slightly; ‘I almost believe I used to I'e jealous of little Justina North in those old days. Your letters used to lie so full of her, and when you- came home for your holidays you could talk of no one else. You had a perfect boyish infatuation for her!’ Sir Basil’s face had flushed a little during this speech.

‘lt was natural 1 should care for Justina.' he answered her, rather hurriedly. ‘She was only a baby when T went to North’s, and the loveliest little creature in the world. Von cannot conceive. Molly, how her father adored her. It was more than ordinary love—it was worship; and when 1 recall those days and realise her sad condition now. I can hardly keep the tears from my eyes for thinking what suffering it would be to poor Richard North if he could only know how his beloved child is placed, and the weight of sorrow and care there is laid on her young shoulders.’ Molly put out her hands impulsively toward her brother. ‘Oh, Bay!’ she said, with a little catch in her voice, ‘is there nothing we can do? You don't tell me what her trouble is, but surely we can help her a little! Do you think if I tried to persuade her I should succeed in getting hei - to come down and stay with us at Croome? I should like to show her some kindness, and perhaps a visit, to the country might do her some good!’ Sir Basil drew her sister close to him and kissed her tenderly. ‘You have hit the very nail on the head. Molly.’ he said, in a quiet. low voice. ‘Though we may not be able to do very much for Justina, we can yet give her sympathy and consolation. and I believe if you ask her very prettily she will consent to come to us for a few weeks at least. She can do

her writing at Croome just as well as in London, and she will have the advantage of the fresh air. to say nothing of all the eare and comfort my clever little housekeeping sister can give her. It will be a change. I imagine,’ Basil Fothergill added, with a touch of intense bitterness, ‘for Justina to feel herself cared for; she has done nothing but fight for herself since her father’s death.’ Then, rising from the table. Sir Basil stood by the fire and gave his sister a short sketch of Justina’s circumstances. dwelling as briefly as he could upon Rupert Seaton’s unsatisfactoriness. and avoiding all possible mention of the last most terrible grief that had fallen upon this girl who was so dear to him. ‘And do you mean to say Mr Seaton does no work. Bay. and that that poor little thing writes like a slave to keep them both?’ Molly’s voice was one tone of amazement and incredulous indignation. Sir Basil nodded his head for a reply. ‘Oh! I call it shameful —disgraceful —horrible. How unmanly! What a horrid, horrid creature he must be! Oh! Ido hope. Bay. dear. 1 shall not meet him when I go this afternoon. I am afraid I shall not be civil to him. I do hate unmanly men!’ Miss Fothergill declared, frankly,, ‘and a man who does no work is a shame to his sex.’ Sir Basil smiled faintly as he laid his hand affectionately on the girl's shoulder. ‘All the same, Molly, though in the abstract I agree with every fiery word you say, I don’t want you to let your indignation find voice before Justina. The child has a pride that makes her hard life more bitter and difficult to bear, and —’ ‘Oh. you can trust me. I will be as careful as possible, and 1 shall hope, before very long. Bay, that this poor, pretty, young- Justina will call me her friend as well as you.’ Then the brother and sister parted, and Miss Fothergill spent a busy morning among the smart West End shops that, despite her adoration for her beloved country, always possessed a great fascination for her. There were a. good many things to be bought for Molly’s various proteges in the village that stretched about her brother’s spacious estate, and then there were so many dainty novelties to tempt her artistic eyes—some things that were absolutely necessary for Basil’s particular sanctum, besides a dozen little trifles for her own pet corner; a new, silver-mounted collar for Joan, the spaniel; some large photograph frames in which to place the pictures of her friends, and after she had snatched a hurried luncheon Molly filled her hands full of flowers and started off for Bayswater, not without a little thrill of something like excitement mingling with the interest and pleasure this visit afforded her.

As she drew up at the small house another carriage gave way for her cab, and a glance at this small, neat brougham gave Molly all at once it sensation of its belonging to a medical man. Her theory was proved correct almost immediately, for as she went forward to the door, it opened and a man eame forth from the house. Molly spoke on the impulse of the moment. ‘1 have come to see Mrs Seaton. I hope she is well,’ she said, glancing at the woman who held the door open; but her query was really addressed to the gentleman who was unmistakably a doctor. In another moment she heard all there was to hear. Justina. was lying very seriously ill. and though it was early to point to the exact nature of her illness, the doctor seemed to regard it as a grave matter, being attended by high fever and excessive suffering in the head. ‘And Mr Seaton just gone to America. too. and she all alone,’ the landlady. said, in that loin- of cheerfulness that is peculiar with some people when brought in contact with trouble and the mysteries of illness and death. Molly Fothergill answered this sentence quickly. In an instant her decision was made and her duty clear. 'No; she is not alone. I am come to see her. and I shall remain here while she is so ill. My imine is Fothergill,' she added, turning to the doctor, ‘and Mrs Seaton is a very dear friend to my brother and myself.' The doctor seemed to find a certain relief in Molly’s words. They walked down the path to-

gether. and he gave her a few instructions and spoke more openly on the illness than he had just done. 'I was feeling very sorry for her, poor child—for she seems little more than that—when you eame, Miss Fothergill. She requires great eare and close nursing for the next few days. It is the inflammation to the brain. I fear. She seems to be in a high state of nervous agitation and excitement. It. seems very unfortunate that Mr Seaton should have had to leave her at this moment. I would have telegraphed for him last night, but the landlady could give me no exact information as to his movements, and Mrs Seaton is in no condition to lie questioned. Your presence relieves me of much anxiety, for I feel now that my patient will be in good hands, and that in consequence the illness may go much better than I feared this morning. Doctors, after all, can do very little iu these cases in comparison with what a nurse can do. You will, I think, require professional aid. and I can send you a very nice woman the moment you find this necessary.’ ‘I should like her to come at once.' Molly answered gravely. ‘I am not frightened of any amount of nursing, only I am quite inexperienced, and so I should like a proper nurse —and oh! would you be so very kind as to send a telegram to my brother, telling him the facts of the ease, and that I am going to stay here?’ Molly gave him Sir Basil's address, ami the doctor promised to communicate with him at once. After this he drove briskly away, and Miss Fothergill returned to the house. CHAPTER VIII. Molly Fothergill established herself as guardian of the sick girl and mistress of the entire situation in so quiet and yet so determined a manner that Justina’s landlady found herself accepting the new-comer and her commands in the most ordinary way. as though Miss Fothergill had been in the habit of paying frequent visits to this little Bayswater lodging house instead of never having set foot in it Ix'fore this day that was the commencement of Justina’s illness. Before nightfall Molly had arranged everything to the l>est of her power; the nurse recommended by th doctor had come, the small rooms were set in the order most convenient for the furtherance of the nursing Molly determined should be as much her work as the nurse's. Basil had answered the telegrnin immediately; he had held a short whispered conference with bis sister in the little sitting’ room where Justina had sat toiling at her pen for so many weary hours. Molly was so deeply concerned in the motive that brought them both here that her brother's mental condition was not clearly demonstrated to her: she saw, of course, that he was very grave, and wore the hard, taciturn sort of manner which, with Basil, was always a sure sign that be was troubled and anxious, but Molly Fothergill did not see beyond this manner, and she was absolutely ignorant of the havoc this last sad event was creating in her brother's great, generous heart. She was a little startled, it is true, for one moment when, having repeated all that the nurse and the doctor had to say upon the ease, she suggested in the most natural way that Basil should either go or send word to Justina’s relations of the trouble that had fallen upon her. and Basil negatived this suggestion instantly. ‘They have left her to starve and die as soon as she could—we will not let them do anything for her now. She belongs to us, Molly, for this little time at least, and we will share her with no one.’

The man’s voice had been full of an emotion that was almost impossible for his sister to understand: she attributed it. and rightly enough in a certain sense, to anger against the people who had turned their back on the child of his old tutor, and to the indignation which was as strong within him as it could be toward the man who had most evidently deserted his girl wife, and been no doubt the primary cause of her bodily collapse. Further than this Molly did not go at this moment.

She was delighted that Basil made no object ions to nil she had done and desired to do (she little knew what a eonifort it was to her brother to realize that she was with Justina Seaton in this dark hour), and together they

discussed and arranged things in the easiest and most natural way. At his sister’s instigation Sir Basil had a little conversation with the landlady, and after that loquacious lady had given him all the information in her power he went away from the house for a while, feeling convinced, as he went, that Rupert Seaton had undoubtedly abandoned the girl he had married, and gone out of her life perhaps forever. ft must l>e forgiven Basil, if. in this first moment of grief and anxiety over .lustina’s condition, he should have set his teeth, and while in his heart he had a fierce anger that was not to be measured in words against the coward and the thief whose name .Tustina bore, he had prayed earnestly and eagerly that this might be realized, and that the young creature, who was so inexpressibly dear to him. should be henceforth free from the contaminating influence, the evilness, the burden and grief of her husband's presence. The heart of the man thrilled with

the only sensation of pleasure possible under the sad circumstances of the moment, when he let himself realize how completely the child had drifted into his protecting care. He had no selfish thoughts, no selfish desires, hopes or regrets; he thought only of .lustina and of the joy it was to him to lx- able to minister, even ever so little, to the girl he knew now lie loved with all the tenacity and strength of his vigorous, tender, faithful nature.

,’L’he lengthened absence of Sir Basil Fothergill and his sister from their country home was the subject of some discussion ami more regret among their neighbours, friends and tenantry; they were Isith established as firm favourites in the hearts of those among whom they lived, and there was a depressed and almost desolate feeling prevalent when the master of the big house and liis bright, charming.

happy-looking sister were absent from it. Little rumours, or course, leaked out as to the cause of this prolonged stay in London. Miss Fothergill had written explanations to her housekeeper, and it was pretty quickly known that the illness of some very near ami friend was the reason that kept both Sir Basil and Molly in town. The younger portion of the small world that was clustered together around and about Croome Park were not disposed to regard this sick friend with any degree of sympathy or liking, since he or she (the sex of the invalid was not yet known) had most successfully spoiled the beginning of the hunting season and autumnal amusements. Ever since Basil had come into the title and settled down in his estate, matters had been decidedly more pleasant in a social sense for the young folks in Croomehurst village and the surrounding country. There wtts always some sort of entertainment provided at Croome.

Molly Fothergill had a girl’s love for fun and brightness, and the moment she found herself in a position to encourage these propensities she did so with a zest and a delight that was infectious. She had a wonderful sympathy and comprehension for all young people, and as Basil gave her carte blanche to do just as she liked, she soon established herself as a leader of all sorts and kinds of amusements, associating with her a group of two or three girls from the families scattered about, who were only too eager to help her in her scheme for making the general life more entertaining and agreeable than life is, ordinarily speaking, in a small country place.

There were hunt breakfasts and shooting luncheons, five o’clock tea was an institution at Croome. and at least twice a week there was an informal dinner party, which, as often

as not, developed into an impromptu

dance. At last, when November was almost a thing of the past, the news spread about that Sir Basil was not only exl»eeted to be coming to Croome shortly, but that he had already arrived, and that Miss Fothergill was to follow him almost immediately. There was a flutter of excitement mingled with relief at this news, and the appearance of the master of Croome riding through the village on his big bay mare speedily set at rest any doubts that might have been cast on the truth of the rumour.

Quite unknown to himself, though Molly was perfectly conscious of it, and took a sly delight in realising it, Basil Fothergill was something of a hero in the eyes of the female part of Croomehurst community; indeed, his magnificent figure and honest, attractive face possessed a charm for women in all lands and places, and here, where everything took its position by comparisons, Basil Fothergill stood apart and above all the other men,

even including the handsome young Earl of Dunehester, who lived for a few months in the year at a ramshackle old house about a mile out of Croomehurst. Basil’s universal tenderness and courtesy made his seeming imperviousness to all sentiment the more marked, lie was gracious to all. and singled out no one person more than another for his attentions. When he had first come among them there had been a flutter of excitement and hope in every mother’s heart near and far, but the time had gone on and Basil Fothergill was as far from choosing a wife as he had been in the beginning. There were all sorts of theories given for his strange indifference to women, but Molly alone out of all the world knew the value of these theories. Basil was indifferent simply because, as yet, no woman had ever ap-

pealed to his heart. He could love fast enough when the right moment and the right person arrived, and Molly, although she was so happy as ‘chatelaine’ of his house, told herself truthfully and unselfishly that she would rejoice sincerely when that moment did come.

‘Basil ought to marry; he would be the best husband in the world; yes, the very best,’ Molly had often said to herself. Then sometimes she had sat and pondered over the girls and young women who clustered about their home, and who would, any one of them, have jumped at the chance of being Lady Fothergill, and reigning in her place up at the big house. They were for the most part bright, pretty, fresh-faced girls, athletic to a fault, perhaps, good at taking their hedges or at playing golf, or at walking their dozen miles. There were a few superior to the rest in point of accomplishments; but on the whole, though they were nice, pleasant, happy girls, they were none of them amazingly clever or intellectual, none

of them just exactly the sort of a woman Molly would like to see as her brother's wife.

‘Except, perhaps, Leam,’ Molly would add to herself when she arrived as far as this. ‘There is no doubt Leam Greatorex is neither a common nor an unintellectual woman. If anything, she is just a little too clever—at least she is too clever for me; but I can’t help admiring her. She is a splendid-looking creature, and she would be an ornament to any man’s house. 1 believe, too, Leam cares sincerely for Basil. I wonder if he ever gives a second thought to her.’ This had been a query that had come more than once into Molly Fothergill’s mind in the days before that visit to London. She never let such a query come now, for the answer to this or to any such a one was given to her only too surely, too sadly. Basil might marry a dozen" times over, but love in its truest, intensest

form would never enter into any marriage he might make, for it was given in all its splendour of tenderness, of passionate yearning, to the poor, fragile creature who had been brought back from the jaws of death, as it were, by a miracle. Molly had soon learned to love Justina Seaton. She would have done so willingly to please Basil if even it had not been so easy a task; but from the first moment she entered into Justina’s shadowed life and took up the work her womanly sympathy and goodness allotted to her Molly Fothergill was conscious of a new sensation; a rush of new affection; a clinging love for this brave, young thing who had fought and would have to fight against as hard a lot as can fall to most humans.

It was impossible for the sister within her not to feel regret that was keen as sorrow over the secret she had read in Basil's heart and eyes: but it was equally impossible for her to let wisdom or sisterly love or any other feeling stand between herself and Justina.

The girl’s loveliness of mind as well as body; her desolation; the fact of her cruel fate; the sweetness of her nature; all combined to draw her closer and closer to the heart of the girl who nursed her through the terrible illness with a tenderness and a devotion passing words. And when the convalescence began, it was Molly who planned first and afterward insisted on carrying away her invalid to the comforts and the fresh, clear air of their country home. Basil was dispatched down first, and Justina and Molly were to follow him in a day or two.

Justina had tried to make some protest —to urge the necessity to return to her work and take up her checked career, but Molly put every protest vigorously on one side.

‘You shall do what you like when you are well, but until you are well you will do as 1 like, Justina, so please let me hear no more on the matter. After you have been a little while at Croome. you will feel another person, and if it is work you are troubling about, well, you can set your mind at rest. 1 will have an attic prepared for you. and when I consider you are sufficiently strong to do so, you shall go up there and scribble to your heart's content —more than that I shall not promise.’ Justina had smiled faintly, but there were big tears in her eyes, ami when she was alone she let them flow freely.

The tenderness, the care, the love she had received was something too great for her almost to realize.

She was so unused to any consideration. so accustomed to fight for herself. this new state of things simply destroyed her strength of will, even sapped her courage. And then when she remembered the horrible wrong her husband had done to the man who had proved himself more than a friend, more than human, in his generous forbearance and goodness, Justina’s proud heart seemed to be struck by some keen, sharp sword, so great was the pain, so overpowering the anguish of realising her husband’s dishonour and cowardly sin. When she found how earnestly both Sir Basil and Molly desired her to be with them at Croome, Justina. determined to go for a time at least. There was no way possible for her to show her deep gratitude, her illimitable recognition of their great goodness, save by sacrificing her own will to theirs.

If she could have obeyed the dictates of her pride only, she would not have agreed to go on this visit; not because her own dependence upon them was hurtful to her, but because she suffered when she let herself remember the wrong, the shameful theft, of which Rupert Seaton had been guilty. She would go for a little while till she was grown stronger and more fit to start out in the old, hard groove of labour and trial. Her whole soul was set now on working for one end —to pay back to Basil Fothergill the sum of money which her husband bad obtained through forgery.

Once she was only half as strong as she used to be, she would begin at this tremendous task, and pride and honour would be the staffs to support her on the road she hud to travel.

She left her lodgings with no regrets—indeed, she was glad to be nwny from a place where she had been

so deeply tried—and she set forth for the journey to Croome. finding a pleasure in watching Molly’s delight and excitement grow greater and greater as her home was approached.

‘Now I know' how much you have done for me,’ she said once in her soft, low voice to Molly. Miss Fothergill leaned forward in the carriage ami put her hand on the speaker’s lips. ‘I do love Croome. but 1 love you much better, and I would do everything over and over again, if it came in my way. I am a silly person, aren't I. Justina? But I never can grow out of excitement, and 1 am so happy at the thought of bringing you back to our dear old home. I feel half out of my mind. 1 mean you to get enormously strong, and fat, too —don't laugh, if you please. Justina; I said fat, and. as 1 happen to know what Croomehurst air can do when it is roused. 1 know what I am talking about!’

At the station a carriage was waiting. and Sir Basil was waiting on the platform. He had been there quite •a quarter of an hour before it was necessary, and as he stood leaning against the wooden palings a train had come in from another direction, and among the passengers who alighted from it were two young ladies and a couple of men. The girls were in riding habits, and from their well-splashed condition had evidently been riding across some very heavy country, their attendant squires being in an equally muddy condition. Sir Basil shook hands with them all. ‘1 am come to meet my sister; she arrives to-day.’ he explained, and then he turned to the tallest young woman. She was not particularly handsome—at least not in the stiffness of her riding garb, having a rather thin, sallow face, but her eyes were magnificent, and her carriage exceedingly good.

■J am sorry to hear your mother is not very well. Miss Greatorex,’ he said. 'Oh! there is not much the matter really,’ Learn Greatorex answered. ’You know mother is very neuralgic, and this damp weather does not suit her exactly. When are you going to pay her a visit. Sir Basil? She would be so glad to see you any time!’ ‘I will go very soon—perhaps tomorrow. Are you going to walk home? Won't you all be very tired?' ‘Oh! it will take off the stiffness.' cried the other girl, by name Beatrice Somerset, a fresh, smiling, young creature. ‘Come along. Leam; we must be starting. Sir Basil, give my love to Molly, and say how enchanted I am she is home. We shall begin to live again now, shan’t we. Leam?'

Leam Greatorex's answer was a glance out of her splendid eyes up at Sir Basil; but he did not see it; he was looking almost eagerly down the line; the signal was given, ami a puff of smoke in the distance denoted the coming of the train. The four young people hade him an revoir and went away. The walk homeward was accomplished by Miss Greatorex. at least, in utter silence.

She was thinking of the man they had just left, and she was wondering with a thrill at her heart if she should ever grow into that nearer and closer intercourse with him which she had desired for so long a time. There had been no definite hope or ambition formed in Leam’s mind about Basil Fothergill up to this day, but somehow this afternoon, how or why she could not have told, she was conscious of an eagerness, a longing or yearning to break asunder the coldness of this man’s indifference to herself. and to touch upon the heart the wealth of love and passion that she knew was hidden beneath this indifference.

‘Leam, you are very unsociable,’ Beatrice Somerset cried after a while. ‘You have not spoken a single word since we left the station!’

‘I have been listening to you. Bee; you forget you never give another person a chance to speak.' ‘How impertinent!' Miss Somerset touched her friend lightly with the whip, then she looked backward. 'Here comes the Fothergill carriage; let us stand and give Molly a salute as she passes!’ The girl drew up at the side of the road as she spoke, and her companions humoured her. Leant standing a little apart, a tall and superb figure in her well-cut. habit. The carriage rolled by. Molly all

smiles and laughing words and gesticulations.

‘Can’t stop now because of my invalid; it is too damp; shall see you lioth to-morrow!’ she cried, as she blew each girl a dozen kisses.

‘Oh, Leam!' Beatrice Somerset exclaimed. ‘Did you see Molly's new friend? What an exquisitely lovely girl!’ ‘By Jove, she's right!’ one of the men said under his breath. Leam made no answer; she had grown a shade paler. Justina's beauty had not been lost oq her. nor had the Hush of eagerness on Basil Fothergill’s face escaped her. She had the sensation of lading hurt most keenly: it was almost an insult to her to note that change in this man’s looks His universal, indifference had given her a satisfaction to realize. She had felt that the day she should win him would be a day of triumph indeed, but to-day a sudden difference had come upon her, upon him. upon the whole world. She did not know exactly what her thoughts were—only she was conscious all at once of a strong hot wave of jealous dislike for the pale, lovely girl who had come to be an inmate of Croome Hall. CHAPTER IX. Justina Seaton had not been established twenty-four hours at Croombe Hall before the rumour of her beauty and delicate charm had spread through the little country place with the rapidity of a fire or an infectious illness. Of course, as is common to all villages or small communities, news was

a scarce commodity. and every tiny item of interesting matter or anything out of the ordinary run of things was eagerly grasped and made the very most, more especially if the particular anything had its origin or connection with the inhabitants of Croome Hall.

Molly's long absence had, as has been shown, paved the way for much surmising and curiosity, and her return. accompanied by the invalid who had been the cause of her long stay in London, was the keynote for a whole chorus of chatter and comment. When it was known what sort and manner of individual the invalid was. Croomehurst was even more excited and interested, in many cases excited and anxious, for the advent of a young and most lovely woman actually staying under the same roof as Sir Basil Fothergill awakened apprehensive thoughtsand suggestions in the minds of those, and they were by no means a few, who secretly and hopefully hail

allowed ambitious dreams for the future to dawn in their minds. Not that there was one single girl or woman in the whole neighbourhood who could conscientiously allow, even in her most hopeful moments, that Sir Basil had given her the very faintest encouragement to imagine a future life mated with him; but after all he was a bachelor, he had been so assuredly heart-whole, he seemed to be so devoted to his beautiful old home, and to find keen pleasure in the simple life that surrounded him when in it, that it was only in the ordinary run of things that each and every marriageable woman's heart in

Croomehurst should cherish al thought that the little Hutter of hope called into life by the existence of Basil Fothergill in their midst might develop into a possibility, and from that into a certainty. Hence it can be well imagined that the advent of one so singularly blessed by nature with beauty as Justina Seaton, brought with it a corresponding amount of consternation, fear and disappointment. Nothing definite was known about the guest in these the first hours of her arrival, her name had not even transpired; it was natural enough therefore that one and all, being acquainted with the fact of Justina’s extremely youthful appearance, should class her immediately as a maiden and not as a married woman. It was through Beatrice Somerset’s lively and restless tongue that the fame of the girl’s loveliness was made known so quickly and so surely. Miss Somerset, who was the beloved and only child of a retired naval captain, and who, by reason of her bright, merry disposition, and pretty laughing face, was a general favourite wherever she might go, had lost no time in circulating her description of Miss Fothergill’s invalid guest. ‘The loveliest face I have ever seen!’ she cried, the evening after the rencontre with Sir Basil at the railway station. It was one of Croomehurst’s social evenings and a splendid opportunity for Miss Somerset to spread about her news. At least twice or three times in the month the house of her father, Captain Hoche Somerset, was flung open for the amusement and delectation of Beatrice’s many friends. Following in Molly Fothergill’s footsteps, Beatrice desired and endcavoured to make life as bright for the rest of the girls scattered about the place as it was for herself, and though, of course, there was not the same amount of prestige accompanying Miss Somerset’s social endeavours as of those up at the big house, she yet managed to secure a very fair amount of success.

It so happened that this particular eight should have been one of those chosen for her entertainment, and in consequence the discussion on Justina’s presence and personal appearance came as perhaps the most exciting and interesting part of the event.

‘She is lovely—so delicate and fair, with great big eyes as blue —oh! as blue as the Mediterranean!’ Beatrice declared, ‘or the sapphire in father's big ring. I assure you I never saw any one or anything so pretty; she is like a picture or a dream —not like a human being at all!’ ‘Bee is getting quite poetical,’ Learn Greatorex said to a man standing beside her; there was the tiniest soupcon of a sneer disfiguring her wellshaped mouth. She was leaning back, in her chair, looking exceedingly handsome tonight in her dinner-gown of black velvet and jet. with a diamond star shining from the centre of her dark hair brought down low on her brow. Although her age was scarcely a few months in excess of Beatrice Somerset’s, no one could have imagined Miss Greatorex to have been so youthful.

There was nothing girlish about her, all was stately and dignified, the bearing of a woman, not of a girl.

Learn was much admired in Croomeliurst, but she was not quite popular. No one could have explained exactly why this was. but the fact remained without full comprehension of its

origin. Leam’s mother. Lady Gertrude Greatorex, was too much of a reeluse and an invalid to win for herself any decided position in the hearts of her neighbours. Socially speaking, of course. Lady Gertrude and Miss Greatorex took precedence of every one, not even excepting Sir Basil Fothergill, and perhaps, if the truth could have been spoken, Croomehurst was just a little proud of counting so distinguiished a lady among its inhabitants.

It was this fact of her aristocratic birth and standing that had led most people to imagine that Sir Basil’s future wife, if chosen from this small corner of the universe, must inevitable be Lady Gertrude Greatorex’s handsome daughter, and in her own In art there can be no doubt Learn had had the same thought, not in-

Iseribed clearly or forcibly, but writIten there none the less. I Indeed, in thinking of her future of dale. and Learn was one who always 'endeavoured to look far ahead, she had seen no other fate, matrimonially speaking, for herself except as Basil Fothergill's wife and mistress of his house. It was not that she had not met or did not. know many other men, for, as she had been duly presented in the spring just gone, and as duly had passed through the ordeal of a short London season under the august wing of her maternal grandmother, the Duchess of Loamshire, Learn had in consequence been brought in contact with all sorts and conditions of men, marriageable and otherwise. She had not made a great success in her first appearance. The fact that she was absolutely unendowed, ami that her family were proverbial for their poverty hack no doubt, had a great deal to do with this, for it is not an age in which marriages are made for love without some other more substantial capital; and then, again. Learn had always detested her grandmother, and the short time she had been obliged to spend with the Duchess had been a veritable trial to the girl's proud, intolerant spirit, awakening in her all her most uncongenial feelings, and making her cold, hard manner more hard and uncompromising than ever. Leam had returned to Croomehurst. and her mother, fully conscious of being regarded as a social failure by her grandmother and by the world at large, and the realisation of this had embittered her not a little. The result of her visit to London was to awaken within Leam Greatorex a spirit of defiant ambition—a sort of scornful determination to redeem her character in her grandmother’s eyes and find herself a position that would place her forever beyond the attack of criticism or commiseration. This determination it was that had called into clearer and more definite form the hopes and thoughts and suggestions that had always existed vaguely in her mind where Basil Fothergill had been concerned, though nothing had taken firm root or grown into a fixed determination until the evening before, when she had seen Basil’s face with an utterly new look upon it bent downwards to a woman as young and far more lovely than herself. It had, in fact, been the certainty of Sir Basil’s absolute indifference and heart-wholeness that had allowed Leam’s intentions towards him to have remained so long undefined. She had felt unconsciously that there was no need of alarm or haste. Miss Greatorex had a sort of contemptous tolerance for the rest of the young people scattered about her mother’s home, not excluding Beatrice Somerset, although there was a far nearer approach to a friendship between Leam and Beatrice than with any of the others. Molly Fothergill admired Lady Gertrude’s handsome daughter immensely, and, as has been shown in her thoughts, she had half sketched Cut the possibilty of a marriage between Basil and this girl. In her inmost heart, however, Molly confessed sometimes to herself she did not find any great sympathetic attraction in Leam, ami though she admired her so sincerely she was not half as fond of Miss Greatorex as she was of sunny Beatrice or several of the many other girls she called her friends.

As for Leam, she was inclined to be a little harsh in her judgment of Molly. She determined that, as Basil’s sister and mistress of the big house, Molly should have comported herself with more dignity, more austerity even; that a line ought to have been more clearly drawn between Miss Fothergill and the other young women of Croomehurst, herself alone excepted, and the honour and glory of Croome Hall upheld in a prouder and more regal fashion. To see Molly scampering about the place like a wild creature on her pet pony, or going for long walking excursions with half a dozen of the neighbouring girls, was something that ought not to have been, in Leam’s estimation. It was all very well for Beatrice Somerset, who, for all her prettiness, was, socially speaking, a nobody; but

for Miss Fothergill, of Croome Hall, it was distinctly not well. The sort of supercilious tolerance which Leam extended to the inhabitants of Croomehurst generally’ was not by any means assumed. She was honest in regarding them as so many middle-class people, and although she had by force of circumstances to make her life among them, that was by no means a reason, in her eyes, why she or her mother should allow themselves to be intimate with their neighbours.

Indeed, with the exception of the big house, the Somersets, and once or twice a year at the Vicarage, neither Lady Gertrude nor Miss Greatorex visited any of the houses. As for regarding the numerous .young women in the light of probable or dangerous rivals where Basil Fothergill was concerned, the mere suggestion would have been, to Leam, absolutely ridiculous.

Sir Basil had evidently’ no eyes or appreciation for the many’ really pretty faces that surrounded his residence, except, perhaps, for bright, liappy-looking Bee Somerset; but Leam had never had any misgivings where Bee was concerned, for she happened to know that there was a barrier existing which would never permit Captain Somerset’s darling to become Basil Fothergill’s wife, even had he desired such a marriage with all his heart.

The man standing b.y Miss Greatorex’s chair on this particular evening was this barrier personified. Leam knew’ that, for all her sauciness and innocent coquetry. Bee loved this quiet, grave, almost middle-aged doctor of Croomehurst with all the wealth and fervour of her budding woman’s heart. ‘Bee is getting puite poetical.’ Miss Greatorex said, just turhing her head towards her companion, as Miss Somerset gave forth that eloquent tiibute of admiration for the Croome Hall guest. ‘I had no idea she couild talk so well before.’ ‘She had a good subject for her eloquence.’ Jasper Wyllie made answer, a touch of something like enthusiasm in his voice. Leam caught herself frowning. ‘Then you have met this very’ beautiful young person already, Dr. Wyllie?’ she said questionably. ‘1 went to Croome by appointment late this afternon. Miss Fothergill was anxious I should see her friend and discover w’hether the journey had fatigued her very much. I confess.’ Dr. Wyllie added, ‘I should have hardly cared about giving Mrs Seaton my permission to travel so soon after her long illness, but she is very young, and though delicate, I should say her constitution is good, so perhaps no harm w’ill come of her fatigue.’ There was a gleam of light in Miss Greatorex’s dark eyes, and her cheeks had a sudden touch of colour. ‘Oh! so Bee’s prodigy is a married woman. That is very interesting, but I fear it will be a disappointment to you Croomehurst bachelors.’ Dr. Wyllie laughed. ‘Oh, I dare say we shall be able to survive it, although, to take a leaf out of Miss Somerset’s book, I must say I have rarely seen a more lovely face than Mrs Seaton's. It is not only that she is definitely beautiful, but there is an intense sweetness in the expression, a look of a pure and noble sold in those big blue eyes.’ Leam laughed her own particular laugh, which was too well bred to express much amusement. The man's enthusiasm annoyed her, although since she had heard that Justina was a married woman she had not the same annoyance as that which had come before. Still this reiterated assurance of Mrs Seaton’s loveliness, added to the fact that her own eyes had had proof that the rumour was only too well founded, was not pleasing to Leam. It was sufficiently agg’ravating that another woman had appeared in the place she had considered it her right to fill as a close and confidential friend to Molly Fothergill; and, however much married this new woman might be, the constant sound of praise that was meted out to her was almost an offence to Leam Greatorex’s proud, arrogant heart.

‘I must make haste to see this wonderful young person,’ she said as she rose to go. ‘lt is not often one has the chance to meet with a really beautiful woman.’

Beatrice Somerset, seeing her rise flew across the room.

‘Not going so soon. Leam!’ she cried. ‘I have not had two words with you. Must you go? It is veryearly, and I half expect Molly and Sir Basil may look in for a moment. I had a few words sent down from the hall to say they would both come after dinner if Mrs Seaton was well enough for Molly to leave. Oh! don’t go just yet;' they will be disappointed if they don’t see you here, Leam.’

It was not easy even for Miss Greatorex to resist Beatrice Somerset’s pretty manner, and Leam was about to grant a gracious consent to this pleading just as the door was opened and Basil Fothergill’s tall, commanding figure entered the room. A touch of colour came into Leam’s cheeks and lingered there at sight of him. She resumed her seat and opened her fan, waving it to and fro slowly. Dr. Wyllie had gone from her side, but Sir Basil had no sooner spoken a few words of greeting to his ruddyfaced host and pretty little hostess fhan he made his way toward Miss Greatorex.

He always had an indistinct sense of pleasure in being with Leam; the girl’s dignity impressed him, and he had an honest admiration for her handsome presence. To-night Leam in her well-made black gown, with that diamond star flashing and gleaming 011 her brow, had a sort of queenliness about her which inspired admiration and respect. ‘I have a message for you, Miss Greatorex,’ Sir Basil said, as he drew up a chair and put his big frame into it. ‘Molly sends you. her love, and. if you have nothing better to do, will you come and partake of luncheon with us to-morrow? I believe Molly has no end of things she wishes to exhibit for your approbation and criticism.’

‘I shall be charmed to lunch,’ Learn said, smiling faintly, and looking exceedingly attractive as she did so. in fact, in this moment, with tha< shadow of warm colour on her cheeks, she had a touch of real beauty about her. ‘Molly is not with you, this evening, Sir Basil.’ ‘No, she did not like to leave Justina—Mrs Seaton, I mean. Our guest is still, I am sorry to say, very much of an invalid.* ‘The air of Croomehurst will do her good, I hope. It is certainly very health-giving. Mother declares she is another creature since she has lived here.’ Leam was moving her fan to and fro still in that same slow, languorous fashion; her voice was conventionally courteous but cold. ‘lt certainly is beautiful air,’ Sir Basil agreed, ‘and I hope from my heart it will do as much for Mrs Seaton as it has for Lady Gertrude. I fear, however, it will be a long time before she will be able to consider herself well, much more robust and strong.’ Miss Greatorex closed her fan. ‘ls your friend related to the Monck-Seatons?’ she asked. ‘I am intimate with a good many of that family, so perhaps—’ Sir Basil took uip the subject rather hurriedly, she thought. ’Oh, no! Justina has no connection with that branch of Seatons. She would tell you herself she has no very high social standing, Miss Greatorex; but if this be the case, she can most assuredly claim to be a lady in the truest sense of the word both in birth and breeding. I have known her when she was a little fairy of a child. Her father,’ Sir Basil added, in explanation, ‘was my tutor and my earliest, most beloved friend. I think that Richard North was as nearly perfect as it is possible for a humin, being to be.’ His enthusiasm of this dead man was, for some reason or other, disagreeable for Leam to hear. She was. without having known it very clearly, up to now- possessed of an extremely jealous nature, and Justina Seaton had already succeeded, even though they had not yet met. in rousing this sort of resentful jealousy in Miss Greatorex’s feelings toward her to a really marvellous extent.

‘lt must be very pleasant for you to have so valued a friend staying with you as your guest, Sir Basil,’ she remarked, in answer to his last speech, and then she laughed. ‘1 am afraid Croomehurst is going to indulge in

some jealousy where Mrs Seaton is concerned. Molly is so popular, you know, Sir Basil, and up to now we have one and all imagined her to belong to us in a sort of way. Now that Mrs Seaton has come— ’

•It will make no difference in the world —none. I only hope you will all be as kind to Justina, and give her as bountifully of your friendship as vou give to my little sister.’ Leam rose from her chair.

I must go now,’ she said,

She had almost an impatient sort of dislike to Basil Fothergill this evening. She was beginning to be bored with so much conversation about this girl, whom she felt instinctively, yet surely, she should dislike most heartily.

‘I shall see you to-morrow,’ she added, with a faint smile, as he rose, too, and moved with her to the door. •Molly will have to come and spend a long hour soon with my mother, or ther.e will be great disappointment. Please tell her so. Yes, Bee, dear, I must go now. Don’t look so gloomy; one would think you were never going to see me again.’

Leam Greatorex submitted in a languid, graceful manner to be kissed L»y her pretty, young hostess. There was no doubt of the genuineness of Beatrice Somerset’s affection for her proud, undemonstrative friend. Bee admired Leam immensely. She was attracted chiefly to Miss Greatorex because the latter possessed just those very qualities which she herself lacked. Bee was not clever, not verythoughtful, not proud or dignified. Leam she considered to be her superior in every sense of the word, and it was only natural that Bee Somerset should 'be a little vain of the partiality which Lady Gertrude and her handsome daughter showed tor her own pretty self. Apart from all this, too, there was not quite consciously defined, perhaps, in Bee’s mind a sort of pity for the girl whom she admired so much —a sense of.regret that Leam’s life was not, and never would be, the same as her own bright, happy one. There was a great deal of grandeur and dignity in Lady Gertrude Greatorex's house, but there was no warmth or gladness, as it were, and although Bee knew this was owing as much to Leam’s uncongenial nature as to her mother s, still the other girl did not withhold her pity on that account —rather did she give it the more. Deep down in her heart Beatrice was cherishing a hope for Leam’s future —a hope that should mean happiness and brightness and a constant pleasure in life; and this hope was centred on Basil Fothergill. Beatrice, however, said nothing definite, even to herself, about- this Thought and hope, but she encouraged it all the same. She never lost an opportunity of putting Leam’s charms before Sir Basil—not heavily, or with a purpose in her words, but gently, prettily, lightly, as befitted all that came from her. To-night after Basil returned from putting Miss Greatorex into the large roomy barouche in which Lady Gertrude was wont to take her daily drives, Beatrice was full of admiring words for

"The room always seems to me to have a sort of void when Leant goes,’ she said to him, warmly. ‘Did she not look splendid to-night? There is really something regal about Leam Greatorex.’

‘She is certainly very handsome. Sir Basil agreed, just as warmly, but there was no flush on his face or little awkwardness or shyness about him as he spoke Leam’s name, such as came over Jasper Wyllie’s rugged face when Beatrice Somerset smiled up at him or flashed some pretty |.ertness at his gravity, as she danced hither and thither.

Bee noticed this fact, of course, in Sir Basil’s manner, but it did not carry much weight against that little scheme she was cherishing in her heart. Every man was not so foolish as Jasper Wyllie, she would have declared saucily had she been asked to speak outright on this subject. Then Bee would most certainly have blushed a rosy red, for, despite this sauciness and deprecation of him. Jasper Wyllie and his ‘foolishness’ were exceedingly dear, to her. (To be continued.)