

### About the Book

"You have scandalised your name and ours, and the only thing to do is to make the best of it, and teach Maisie at least the first principles of ladylike conduct." Trevor Stratheyre, from a wealthy and aristocratic English family, impulsively marries Maisie, a servant girl he meets while touring the Continent. Maisie's mother had died at an Italian inn, leaving three-year-old Maisie to be brought up by the landlord and his wife, and helps as a maid at the inn, and cares for the animals. Maisie is charming and affectionate, but when Trevor takes her back to Stratheyre in England as his bride, to the large estate he is expecting to inherit, it is clear that Maisie's ways are not those of the upper classes. When she tells titled guests at dinner that she was once herding some cows home in a thunder storm and one was struck by lightning, trouble is bound to follow.

Miss Elizabeth's Niece

### Margaret S. Haycraft

1855-1936

White Tree Publishing

Abridged Edition

Original book first published 1898

This abridged edition ©Chris Wright 2018

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-7-3

Published by

White Tree Publishing

Bristol

UNITED KINGDOM

wtpbristol@gmail.com

Full list of books and updates on

www.whitetreepublishing.com

Miss Elizabeth's Niece is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this abridged edition.

### Table of Contents

Cover

About the Book

Author Biography

Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17j

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

About White Tree Publishing

More Books from White Tree Publishing

Christian non-fiction

Christian Fiction

Books for Younger Readers

### Author Biography

Margaret Scott Haycraft was born Margaret Scott MacRitchie at Newport Pagnell, England in 1855. She married William Parnell Haycraft in 1883 and wrote mostly under her married name. In 1891 she was living in Brighton, on the south coast of England, and died in Bournemouth, also on the south coast, in 1936. She also wrote under her maiden name of Margaret MacRitchie. Margaret Haycraft is by far our most popular author of fiction.

Margaret was a contemporary of the much better-known Christian writer Mrs. O. F. Walton. Both ladies wrote Christian stories for children that were very much for the time in which they lived, with little children often preparing for an early death. Mrs. Walton wrote three romances for adults (with no suffering children, and now published by White Tree in abridged versions). Margaret Haycraft concentrated mainly on books for children. However, she wrote several romances for older readers. Unusually for Victorian writers, the majority of Margaret Haycraft's stories are told in the present tense, but not this one.

Both Mrs. Walton's and Margaret Haycraft's books for all ages can be over-sentimental, referring throughout, for example, to a mother as the dear, sweet mother, and a child as the darling little child. In our abridged editions overindulgent descriptions of people have been shortened to make a more robust story, but the characters and storyline are always unchanged.

A problem of Victorian writers is the tendency to insert intrusive comments concerning what is going to happen later in the story. Today we call them spoilers. They are usually along the lines of: "Little did he/she know that...." I have removed these when appropriate.

£100 in 1898 may not sound much, but in income value it is worth £12,000 pounds today (about US$15,000). I mention this in case the sums of money in this book sound insignificant!

Chris Wright

Editor

NOTE

There are 30 chapters in this book. In the last third are advertisements for our other books, so the story may end earlier than expected! The last chapter is marked as such. We aim to make our eBooks free or for a nominal cost, and cannot invest in other forms of advertising. However, word of mouth by satisfied readers will also help get our books more widely known. When the story ends, please take a look at what we publish: Christian non-fiction, Christian fiction, and books for younger readers.

### Chapter 1

Maisie

"You are surely not in earnest, Signor? It is impossible. She is only a child, and besides----"

"I do not joke about such a subject," said the tall, serious young Englishman who faced the innkeeper. "Maisie is not happy here, and since I owe my life to her when my horse bolted, the least I can do for her is to take care of her future. I wish you clearly to understand that I am asking the hand of your niece."

"As to that," said the astonished Italian, rapidly and excitedly, "I do not grudge Maisie her good fortune -- the saints forbid! -- but milord surely knows she is but seventeen or eighteen, and a little wild thing like a young child. She has had no bringing up -- no education, except what she gets for herself by reading the books the visitors here leave about."

"I shall charge myself with her intellectual training," said Trevor Mulgrave, stiffly.

"Well, Signor, I have nothing more to say," said the innkeeper, looking somewhat offended. "Of course it will save us money if you choose to marry the girl, for we have kept her since her mother died here -- kept her out of pity, though my wife finds her tiresome enough. And it's only out of pity we call her our niece. She never had any folks of her own that we know of."

"Do you mean to say you really know nothing of her parentage?" asked Mulgrave, his composure suddenly shaken.

"Nothing whatever, Signor. She was three years old when her mother came here one evening, just as ill as she could be, and asked for lodging. The wife saw she was English, and we like the English, for, as milord has heard, we kept a shop for some years near Hyde Park in London.

"The wife saw, too, there was still a little money in the purse she opened, and we gave her a comfortable room and saw to her supper. But she scarcely ate or drank. The next morning she was so faint that we sent for a doctor who said she must have been getting ill for a long time, and she had only strength to last out a few weeks. Weeks, Signor! Three days afterwards she was cold and still, and the little one -- Maisie, as she called herself -- was crying about the place for her mamma.

"All we could find after the mother's death was an old Bible, with some pages lost and the fly-leaf torn, and a bag containing nothing save a few bits of clothes for the child. We buried her in the strangers' quarter, and ever since then we have burdened ourselves with the child -- a fighting, quarrelsome creature. I beg your pardon, milord, I forgot the honour you mean to do her."

"I am sorry I did not know the fact of this obscurity as to her parentage," said Trevor, rather hesitantly. "I imagined she was at least connected with hardworking, respectable people. However, now I have pledged my word to Maisie, I shall not withdraw."

"Noble, excellent Signor," murmured the innkeeper, removing the cloth in search of which he had entered the room, when Mulgrave electrified him by the curt proposal for the girl who had run wild about his inn and vineyard for so many years. At this juncture a carriage was heard driving up to the inn, and the good man departed hastily to welcome the coming guest. Mulgrave sat down by the window, kicked off his boots rather moodily, and gave himself up to thought.

"It strikes me," he meditated, "that the prudence for which the Squire has often praised me has somehow deserted me of late. Many a time he has said, 'You have been too hot-headed and impulsive. Your young shoulders should carry a cool and cautious head.' What will he say when he hears of this marriage? And what will his sister, Miss Stratheyre, say to it? She is, after all, my guardian, and she has great plans for my marriage into society. I somehow wish I had not been quite so hasty. Surely the young woman is a witch! What made her take such a fancy to me? Simply, I suppose, because I treated her with ordinary civility. She is ordered here and ordered there, and scarcely received a kindly word, I do believe, till I praised her for stopping my horse.

"How her great eyes shone like dark, fiery gems as I handed her a gold coin, and how her pretty lips trembled as she said she wanted no money -- she loved to be serving me. Poor little woman! I found out she actually cleaned my boots and polished my floor. I did not know she was a maid-of-all-work in house and stable, and I begged her off some of the drudgery, for I wanted her as a model for my artist studies of heads. How quietly she has sat here hour after hour, to help me in my painting.

"I could scarcely believe her aunt's tale that she used to fight with the other boys and girls. When I questioned her, did she not look pretty that day as she flushed all over and said she only fought as a child, and that was because the others would not love her. She never shook them, she said, without kissing them first to see if they would not love her.

"I think the people here are jealous of her beauty. Madame, with her growing daughters, must dread such a rival as Maisie. There must be some good in her, for every animal in the place idolises her. It is fortunate for me that it is so, for when I lost control over my excitable horse Victor, Maisie dashed in front of him seizing the rein. Instead of trampling her as everyone expected, he stood quiet, trembling all over, willing to endure my unwelcome guidance rather than hurt a hair of her head. Yes, I was certainly bewitched yesterday evening.

"I went to thank her, and I found her crying in the stables. I meant to speak a few cordial words. What made me take her hands and ask her if she were crying because of my approaching departure? And when I drew from her that she was crying because I might have been hurt, what prompted me to kiss her and call her fond names? I suppose people are right when they say love is madness. I never dreamt that I should ever make such an extraordinary alliance, but things may turn out better than I expect. Maisie will always be a splendid artist's model, and it will be interesting to watch her mind develop at Stratheyre Manor. Things must go forward towards the marriage, come what may. None of our race -- the race into which I have been adopted -- ever broke his word. We are loyal to our motto, 'Tenez la foy -- Keep the faith!'"

Meanwhile an agitated scene was going on in the vine-wreathed parlour of the inn. Madame, as everyone called the wife of Lorghetti, was a vivacious Frenchwoman who had been a waitress once in his little restaurant at the West End of London. She was not an unkindly woman, but as Mulgrave suspected, jealousy for her daughters had aroused in her a real dislike for Maisie, and she refused to believe that "the prince" had really arrived, and had overlooked the ruddy charms of Marietta, Julia, and Delphine, choosing to share his good things with the dark-eyed Cinderella.

Loud was her wrath, and bitter was her sarcasm as she seized the dishes which the unfortunate bearer of the news was about to convey to the newly arrived travellers. Telling him it was all his fault for letting that sly Maisie be painted by the young Englishman, she bounced upstairs with supper herself, leaving Lorghetti perplexed and uncomfortable, yet cheered by the thought that his sons and daughters could expect generous gifts from the wealthy Englishman.

The girls, too, were greatly concerned as to the dresses they should wear at the wedding, for of course their Sunday gowns would never do on an occasion so resplendent as the marriage of their young companion with an English "milord," as their father flatteringly termed Trevor Mulgrave, Esq., of Stratheyre Manor, Dorsetshire, England. It was a pity, they thought, that he had no real title, but he had come here from one of the best hotels in Rome, and he had lived at their house regardless of expense. Doubtless his was a great and wealthy family, and Maisie might yet prove the making of them all!

Maisie herself was in the garden at the back of the house, her hands filled with a great bunch of the cyclamen that grew everywhere, her eyes looking beyond the clustering flowers to the gorgeous sunset that was slowly unfolding its canopy of sapphire. She was a brown-tressed maiden with a clear, warm skin, through which every emotion showed some changing tint.

Her temperament seemed like an April day, varying from the dews of sorrow to the flash of sudden gladness. But her soft, dusky hair, her tender, shadowed eyes, and the tremulous beauty of her mouth reminded one more of the autumn time, wherein there is the speechless eloquence of suffering and endurance. She had tended the fowls, fastened the goats, and taken the grain to the manger. Her day's work was not done till the washing up of the supper things, and she was free to dream of the marvellous joy that heaven had granted to her heart -- the consciousness that Trevor Mulgrave, her hero, her idol, the embodiment to her heart of all the poetry she had read and learnt, found her fair and well-pleasing, and had chosen her to be his wife.

Sometimes it seemed as if she would awake and find the vision unreal, and the future filled only with hard words and monotonous employment, jealous sneers from Madame, and impatient orders from the guests. But no, he had held her in his arms, therein she had entered Eden. The merciful Lord had opened the glorious gates to her for ever.

"Brown-haired maid, with witching smile,

Full of love, and free from guile:

God be with thee, brown-haired maid,

In the sunshine or the shade!"

So sang a musical, well-trained voice down the garden, and a hand was gently laid upon her curling hair. Maisie, proud of her English origin, had spared no pains to acquaint herself with her mother's tongue, and spoke and understood English well. Lorghetti had afforded her a course of English lessons, finding his children averse to linguistic efforts, and wishing that one of the young people should be able to converse with his numerous British guests. But she scarcely caught the sense of Trevor's harmonious outburst. It was sufficient for her that his proud face had softened directly he saw her, and that a low, sweet love had been born upon his lips.

"What castles in the air are you picturing, little one?" asked Trevor, casting himself down on a flowery bank beside her. "I fear your visions are too rose-coloured, Maisie. The Squire says I must settle down at the Stratheyre estate now, and you will find ours a very quiet existence. You will soon get tired of spending your time in the studio while I paint."

"Will you let me be there?" she asked, looking reverently up towards her fiancé who addressed her so kindly and graciously.

"Of course. You may bring your lessons there, for I shall want you to study hard and carefully. A well-informed wife is always good company for a man."

"I should like to learn to sing," she said hesitatingly.

"You sing like a bird already," said Trevor, with a slight frown. "I consider yours a wonderful voice, but I do not feel disposed to develop the gift. Such abilities are bad form in our society, except in professionals."

Maisie did not understand, but she crept nearer and nestled her two soft hands into his. "And yours is the gift of art, is it not, Signor? You will become a great painter, and famous like Raphael -- like Angelo."

"I must not disappoint your dreams for me," said the young man, complacently. "I am very fond of using my brush, and I flatter myself my Continental tour has greatly improved my style. What a dear little creature you look, Maisie, in that green dress, with the red flower at your breast! I believe you will turn out a sweet little wife. You have grown out of the childish tempers and waywardness now, have you not, cara mia?" And he extended his arms to her.

"Ah, I was wicked then," she said, shuddering. "1 used to hit Alexis and Delphine in my tempers; but I was so miserable, Signor. Nobody wanted me, and nobody liked me, except the horses and the dogs and the cattle."

"But it is different now," said Trevor, holding her tightly, despite an inner whisper that the powers at Stratheyre would be considerably astonished could they see him now. "You will henceforth be encircled by a husband's love, so let misery and passion be forever forgotten, Maisie. I must be present when the Squire's birthday is celebrated at home this day fortnight. It will suit my plans if we fix the wedding for Tuesday or Wednesday next. Let it be just as quiet as possible. None of Madame's fancy dresses, or Julia's remarkable bodices -- and then we can go on to Venice, as I am anxious to finish the interior of a church that I began when last I was there."

### Chapter 2

A Letter from Venice

Miss Stratheyre came down to breakfast in high good humour. The guests for whom she had striven so long had consented at last to grace Stratheyre Manor, and the plans that she had mentally matured seemed already in visible blossom

"Trevor's career" had been the object of Miss Stratheyre's existence ever since his dying mother -- once her rival in love -- laid him trustfully within her arms. She was proud of the fact that the gentlemanly, well-behaved lad had never caused her a tear of sorrow or a pang of anxiety. He had passed satisfactorily through school and college, not brilliantly enough to be conspicuous, but sufficiently well to satisfy her as his guardian, and satisfy her brother, the good-natured Squire who had adopted Trevor.

It was acknowledged throughout their circle that Trevor had a decided taste for art. His etchings and designs were in great favour with their young lady friends, and Miss Stratheyre confidently expected that the Continental tour, to which she had reluctantly yielded, would result in universal recognition of real genius in her charge.

But one point yet remained to be settled -- the important question of Trevor's marriage. He refused to be satisfied with the pretty, pleasant girls who hovered about Miss Stratheyre, especially of late. The Squire's heir, as his adopted son was known to be, would have plenty of money. What Miss Stratheyre desired for him was social elevation. To this end she had long cultivated the friendship of Lady Granton, the widow of an earl, whose only daughter was decidedly the belle of that part of the county. Unfortunately, owing to circumstances, Trevor himself had not seen her for more than two years.

Lady Granton had many friends, but for some time she had promised a visit to Stratheyre Manor. Perhaps she had some idea of Miss Stratheyre's wishes, but she raised no inward objection, for the wealth of Stratheyre was well known. The family, though untitled, was an old one, and Trevor Mulgrave himself was well born, his father having died in active service as a military officer. Lady Granton's young daughter, Lady Cecily, was tired out with London society, and the doctors recommended purer air. So a dainty little missive found its way to Stratheyre, saying that mother and daughter would with pleasure avail themselves of the kind invitation so often repeated.

The mistress of the Manor was radiant with satisfaction as she descended to the breakfast room, and reflected how surely Lady Cecily's perfection of face and form would captivate Trevor's artist eye, and how, if the young people suited each other as well as she anticipated, a circle of the highest in the land would undoubtedly be drawn around Stratheyre Manor.

"I have not lived in vain," she thought, reflecting on these things. A softer look came to her hard, proud face as she remembered the soldier's grave of her first love, to whose memory she had been true, and the trustfulness of his young wife, who on her deathbed knew she would cherish the boy as her own.

"I have been faithful to my charge," she said to herself. "With my brother Guy's large property, and Cecily's family connections and his own talents, Trevor will become a power in the county."

"I hope the boy is coming home soon," said Squire Stratheyre, as he strode into the breakfast room and tossed, in his impetuous fashion, a letter across to his sister. The Squire prided himself on being of the old school -- a regular "John Bull" -- one of the "fine old English gentleman" species -- but everybody knew by this time that quiet Miss Stratheyre ruled at the Manor, and that the Squire held his sister in awe and reverence. She took his brusqueness calmly enough, knowing that of all the concerns of Stratheyre Manor she held the reins very firmly.

"A letter from Trevor," she said smiling. "Why did not Wheatland bring it up with the others to my room?"

"I don't know," said the Squire, attacking the sirloin, "unless the woman is short-sighted. I found it sticking in the letterbox. Come, Elizabeth, I want my coffee. I have to be off to Byne Abbey about that trespassing case. If Gregory can't keep his people off my land, I'll give him a taste of the law. Good gracious, woman, what's amiss? Don't say the lad is ill, Elizabeth -- I told you so \-- I knew how it would be. Those wretched countries are full of fever and cholera and everything unwholesome and un-English"

"He is well," said Miss Stratheyre, speaking in a voice that alarmed the Squire. "He writes from Venice. He has ruined himself -- that is all!"

"Ruined himself? Don't look like that, Elizabeth. Remember, I said no good could possibly come of his mixing with foreigners. We Stratheyres know too much of foreigners to our cost already. But he is only a lad, Elizabeth. Boys will have their fling, you know, and I've sown my wild oats in my time, like the rest. It cannot be too late to save him. Where's Payne? I want my bag packed."

The butler entered the room just then with the teapot. Miss Stratheyre motioned him away, and he reported downstairs that the mistress was looking as upset as ever he had seen her during the twenty years he had reigned over the pantry.

"It would be useless for you to go to Venice, Guy," said Miss Stratheyre. "Trevor dates his letter thence, but he is coming home by slow stages, and has probably started already. Listen to his words, and you will understand his folly -- his wicked madness.

"'My dear Guardian,

You will doubtless be surprised to receive the news of my marriage, which took place yesterday morning at the Protestant church in the village of San Justo where I have had a very pleasant stay. My wife and her friends have been accustomed to attend this church, and the clergyman's wife has instructed Maisie in the English tongue. I need scarcely say that every legal formality has been observed, and that I am at this present time very happy in the love of one whom I hope soon to introduce to the Squire and yourself.

I have never had any concealments from you, so I will tell you at once that Maisie, whose surname is unknown, is untutored and unsophisticated, having been brought up as an orphan waif by a respectable couple -- innkeepers -- who employed her to help them as she grew older, and to whom I have endeavoured to make some pecuniary return. Maisie is very pretty, and I am sure docile and submissive, and I ask your valuable guidance and training for one who has had so few advantages. I am coming home by slow stages, wishing to improve my style at various galleries yet unvisited; but I hope to see you in the course of nine or ten days, and will communicate further before our arrival. With love to the Squire and to yourself,

I remain, dear Guardian, yours affectionately,

Trevor Percy Mulgrave."

The Squire laid down his knife and fork and looked aghast. "The cool impudence of the fellow!" he said. "Married without consulting those who have brought him up. Married to a little bold-faced wench at an inn! Our young sister Mercy married an Italian. Elizabeth, are those detestable foreigners to crop up at every turn in our family history? Are there not men and women enough of English race without the young folks of Stratheyre casting eyes at benighted macaroni-eaters? But I'll treat him as I served Mercy -- I'll disown him. I'll disinherit him. I'll forbid the doors of Stratheyre Manor to him."

"Gently, Guy," said Miss Stratheyre, who loved her protégé considerably more than she had loved the wayward little sister who ran away in the long past with her Italian singing-master, and of whose death, after years of poverty, vague tidings had reached them. "Let us see this ... this young person first, before we decide the measure of Trevor's disgrace. Remember, he has nothing but the pitiful allowance inherited from his father and the expectation of the small sum I can leave him. Without your continued bounty he must starve."

"He should have thought of that before," said the Squire fiercely. "Every pauper that wants to get married goes and pops the question without giving a thought to the future. Trevor has chosen to saddle himself with a wife not of our choosing, and I am not going to support her. You did not plead for patience and moderation where our sister Mercy was concerned when she married the wrong man, and this seems to me only a repetition of the same thing."

The Squire had always cherished a shrewd idea that Elizabeth's coldness towards their young sister arose from the knowledge that Captain Mulgrave had proposed to the bright little debutante soon after she left school. Perhaps her influence might have availed with him to extend a helping hand to Mercy and her delicate husband in their lifetime, but that influence had never been exerted, and the memory of his sternness towards his dead sister hardened his heart towards Trevor now.

"I have had breakfast enough," he said agitatedly. "Do you suppose I am going to be milder to a fellow past his majority, old enough to know better, and none of my own kith and kin either, than I was to our sister Mercy, who used to be the sunshine of the house? No, I'll have nothing to do with those who cast in their lot with foreigners. I'm an Englishman, bred and born, and I can't and won't stand any alliance with frog-eaters. I shall write and tell Trevor he and his may live as best they can."

For once Miss Elizabeth's self-control forsook her, and for the first time since Trevor's infant arms caressed her, she burst into tears.

"Have a cup of tea," said the Squire, thoroughly alarmed. He hurried to the tray where he overturned the cream jug to the carpet, greatly to the delight of the black Persian cat stretched across the rug. "For goodness' sake don't cry. I've never known you to do such a thing before. Dry your eyes, and tell me what you want. You cannot expect me to receive this girl, picked up at a tavern, with open arms!"

Miss Stratheyre shuddered. It seemed to her too terrible to be true that the career for which she had lived was shattered by the slight hand of a village girl, and at that moment a bitter hatred towards the new-made wife filled her heart and startled her by its vehemence.

"The boy has been infatuated -- bewitched!" she said hysterically. "Your position became known to the innkeeper at San Justo, and this woman set her cap determinately at the poor lad, guileless of scheming wiles. I daresay she is much older than he is, and thinks he is now entirely in her power. But we must have compassion on his youth, Guy, and give him the shelter of our roof. We must show her he has protectors still, and that she has not achieved the absolute success she supposes. I will take care she learns that both of them are eating the bread of bounty. But do not cast him off, Guy. He has been as a child to me so long, and this is not his fault. I know what women can be. Let him come home. He has never known want or inconvenience. He cannot make his own way in the world."

Miss Stratheyre was accustomed to argue with her brother rather than plead, and her beseeching tones, by their very novelty, carried the day.

"Have your will," he said. "Let the lad come, since you yearn for him still. But keep that scheming Italian woman out of my sight as far as possible."

"It may be possible yet," said Miss Stratheyre, compressing her lips, "to set this strange marriage aside, or, failing that, to effect a separation. Oh, to think of all the social advantages my poor Trevor has lost through this nameless girl he has married!" And the tears of bitter disappointment and vexation dimmed those keen, bright eyes again.

<><><><>

"What was the Professor talking to you about, little one?" asked Trevor Mulgrave, looking fondly down on his young wife as she sprang towards him among the flowers that graced the staircase of their Parisian hotel. "You quite monopolised his attention at dinnertime. Come up to our own room now, and tell me what the great man found to say to such a sprite as my wife."

"You won't like it, Trevor," she said, nestling up to him in happy confidence. "He spoke, like the people of Venice, about my voice, and said ... what do you think he said, Trevor? Why, that I should have made my fortune as a concert singer. But your artist's brush will make our fortune, will it not, Trevor?"

"I made my fortune when I obtained my wife," he said gallantly.

It was their honeymoon, and Maisie looked charming in a Parisian costume which in his devotion he had insisted on purchasing for her. "But I hope you gave the Professor to understand, my dear, that your husband is an English country gentleman, and that there can be no possible question of any connection between yourself and the stage. Nothing would hurt me more, Maisie, than for my little wife to become a public character. Fortunately the idea is absurd. Well, did he pay you any more compliments?"

"I don't know," she said, laughing, "but he said my forehead and mouth remind him vividly of an old friend of his, a teacher in England. I wanted to hear more, but dinner was over. He is a nice old man, Trevor, and he gave me this card in case circumstances should ever induce me to require special vocal training. He said he had seen so many ups and downs in life."

"Dear girl, at Stratheyre you will be secure from even the idea of such circumstances as the Professor may have seen. We are a rich family, Maisie, and though I am only one of them by adoption, yet it has come to be almost forgotten that I am not of their blood."

"I don't want the card," said Maisie, tearing it up. "If ever we want to see more of Senor Dura we can do so by inquiring here when we visit Paris again. I do like Paris, Trevor. Everybody looks so happy, Oh, I could not go back to the lonely days at San Justo."

"You never shall, sweetheart. You shall learn what English voices mean when they sing of home, sweet home. Pleasant as is Parisian life, England is the best place -- at least, so we Englishmen think -- to realise home-happiness. Stratheyre Manor will be a real home now my wife is by my side."

"Tell me about your friends," Maisie said wistfully. "I wish you had a mother. I have always wanted a mother."

"My guardian has been to me as a mother," said Trevor. "She is a very superior woman, Maisie -- one of singular sense and ability. The Squire, who is her brother, takes her advice, even in matters concerning the farms and estate. It will be a great advantage to you to be moulded by Miss Stratheyre."

"And, Trevor, is she nice?"

"Nice? What a funny expression, Maisie! What do you mean?"

"I mean ... well, do girls like her, and come to see her; and has she got a dog or cat?"

"Yes, she has a Persian that is quite an empress among cats. My guardian is proud of its size and beauty. And as to the girls, oh, yes, there are always plenty about, so they must like coming to see her. Lady Cecily Granton, who is about your own age, I fancy, is staying at Stratheyre now."

"I am so glad," said Maisie simply. "But, Trevor, I want to ask you something. We are not always to live in the grand castle, are we? Shall we not have a little cottage together, you and I? I would keep it so clean, and take such care of the garden."

"Maisie, when will you remember you are now a lady, by right of your marriage to me? You must not let people see you have ever been a servant. Our friends do not live in cottages, nor keep their houses clean themselves. And you must never let them think you have been accustomed to scrub and polish."

"Why not, Trevor?"

"Of course not, Maisie. That would not do at all. Don't look so proud, little woman. What a funny face yours is. Just now the Professor fancied your likeness to a friend of his, and I declare you remind me of someone I have seen in a painting in a picture gallery. There, the likeness has gone now. Only at that moment when you looked so proud."

"Well, I do not see why I should be ashamed to say I had worked hard for my living, but I promised to obey you, Trevor, and so I will. It won't matter if other people look down on me. You will care for me, always -- always!"

Trevor Stratheyre lifted her gentle face between his hands, and spoke his answer in his eyes. A wonderful feeling had come to him -- all the heart he had to give was in the keeping of this girl-wife with the tremulous mouth and the tender, clasping hands.

The sound of joyous music came from somewhere below, the hum of busy life from the Paris streets, but in that honeymoon hour they seemed deaf to all but the voice of love. They looked neither before nor behind -- they had nothing to dread, since they were evermore together.

### Chapter 3

"Home, Sweet Home"

Trevor Mulgrave was a bad letter writer, and his promise to acquaint his guardian at Stratheyre with his further movements was never fulfilled. He travelled and rested with Maisie at his own sweet will, and at last arrived, without any preceding notice, at Abermere Station five miles from Stratheyre Manor, one autumn afternoon when the light was fast fading and the gas lamps at the little country station were beginning to flicker through the deepening mist.

Maisie, bred in southern air, shivered as she drew her cloak around her. "Is it always cold in England, Trevor?" she asked. "But never mind, it is so cosy to get home when it is chilly outside."

"Yes, dear, they always keep good fires going at Stratheyre Manor, for the location is somewhat exposed. I wish we could have reached here earlier. I wanted you to see our place by daylight. 'Bonnie Stratheyre,' as I called it in the painting I sent up to the Academy. There is a Scottish place of the same name, you know, but it cannot beat my home. Tomorrow you will see the sun shining on the lake and trees, and the moorland beyond. We shall reach in good time for dinner, Maisie. What a nuisance that I forgot to telegraph. Of course there is nothing waiting, but they keep a fly at the railway inn."

There was no fire in the dingy little waiting room, and Maisie tarried there somewhat drearily, comforted sometimes by a vision of Trevor's back as he argued with the stationmaster that there ought to be a refreshment room at Abermere, or at any rate a cup of tea for a much-enduring lady traveller. The stationmaster, however, was a bachelor, and hot water was not easily forthcoming. Trevor did not like to take Maisie to the little inn which was crowded and noisy by reason of market day, and they were mutually relieved when the primitive conveyance came jolting along, warning them of somewhat ungentle treatment along the rough country roads, but giving them good hope of the warmth and hospitality of Stratheyre.

Trevor became excited as he peered out into the darkness, declaring that he could see Chadwell Church and Warley Barrow and sundry other landmarks long familiar to him. Maisie's hand was in his arm, but she sat very quiet, her heart beating fast and nervously as she thought of her new relations and the changes that had rushed so thickly upon her orphaned life.

Trevor was too full of genuine pleasure to notice her unusual silence. He told her that the ancient avenue was the pride of the Stratheyres; that their fern shrubberies were the finest in the county; and their preserves such as to satisfy the Squire himself, keen sportsman as he was. All this Maisie heard as in a dream, but the clasp of her hand tightened as the fly turned a corner of the long avenue, and a vista of lights burst suddenly upon her sight.

"There's no place like home!" exclaimed Trevor. "Especially in such wretched weather as this. Here is your fare, Ben. Put your horse up for a bit, and get a cup of hot coffee or something."

The driver knew his way to the hospitable regions well enough, and turned towards the stables as Trevor rushed up the steps and knocked and rang imperiously.

"Our luggage is in the fly, Payne," he said to the butler, who looked thunderstruck when his young master ushered a girlish figure into the hall. "Have the boxes seen to presently. The driver wants some refreshment. How are you all? My dear, this is Payne, whom I can remember as being here all my life. Mrs. Mulgrave would like to shake hands with you, Payne."

Payne's statuesque demeanour relaxed when a gentle little hand was slipped into his, and Maisie's pretty voice, with its half-foreign accent, inquired, "How do you do, Mr. Payne?"

"I am very well I thank you, your ladyship," was the reply. The title slipped out, much to Trevor's amusement.

"Payne paid you a compliment, Maisie," he whispered as they crossed the hall. "He used to live at the Duke of Redford's, and when he first came here I have heard he was always conferring titles of nobility on the family. There must be something in you that recalled his bygone aristocratic notions to the old man. Miss Stratheyre will be in her own room at afternoon tea, I fancy. This is the way to her sanctum."

As they entered the room, Trevor said, "Guardian, Maisie and I have come home."

Maisie went forward eagerly, her arms a little outstretched, to a buxom, motherly-looking dowager who sat sipping tea and resting in the cosiest of chairs. But the good lady only looked at her as if mystified, and with a certain repressing expression that Maisie's sensitiveness instantly perceived.

"No, no, that is Lady Granton," said Trevor laughing, while trying to speak easily as he, too, became conscious of the frigid atmosphere. "How do you do, Lady Granton?" He turned to the young lady he had known for many years. "And how are you, Lady Cecily? Guardian, this girl is half frozen. She wants a cup of tea to thaw her."

Miss Stratheyre did not attempt to rise from her position beside the teapot. The sudden appearance of the pair caused her to feel faint, and it was a new sensation, after having prepared herself and her guests to meet at some future time a middle-aged, scheming hotel servant, to be confronted by such a young face with eyes of inexpressible beauty, and proud, wilful lips that set her pulses stirring most uncomfortably. What was it that sprang out of the past to her memory with Maisie's face? Something to which she refused to give definite shape, but which was tangible enough to upset and discompose her.

If she had wanted to speak the warmest of welcomes, she could not have found words just then. Why should she think of a little schoolgirl sister, of whom she had once been jealous, and whom she had silently allowed to drift on to a union which she knew would estrange her from her family for ever? There was a vision of the dead before her as Maisie's arms dropped to her side. The girl stood, pained and trembling, too surprised to return Miss Stratheyre's chilling inclination of her head.

Young Cecily Granton, lying on the sofa due to her invalid languor, scarcely opened her eyes to observe the reception. She was one whose aspect seemed wholly unruffled, and who appeared to survey the proceedings of others from a far-removed pinnacle of beauty and greatness. Maisie took in her faultless blonde beauty at a glance, but decided, with a sinking heart, that this young lady, to whose company she had looked forward, was selfish, cold-hearted, pitiless, and proud.

Lady Granton was the first to break the awkward silence. "Your arrival was so sudden, Mr. Mulgrave," she said. "It has given Miss Stratheyre quite a shock. I suppose you have travelled from Dover? Dear me, I hope you had plenty of wraps. Mrs. Mulgrave looks exceedingly chilly."

Trevor assisted Maisie to remove her travelling cloak and hat, and would have liked to take her into his arms and rub some heat into the cold little hands, but his lifelong awe of Miss Stratheyre had its effect, and he only placed a chair for his wife very politely, going over to his guardian to apologise for taking her thus by storm.

"I was never a good letter writer," he said, "but I suppose it is excusable to forget correspondence on one's honeymoon. When shall we see the Squire? I see Arnott has got in for Warley division, Guardian."

Trevor knew very well that he could best conciliate Miss Stratheyre by showing some interest in politics, her dearest wish being to behold him in Parliament. Very little did the art-dreamer care about the affairs of the State, but he knew it to be of the utmost importance to enlist his guardian's sympathies for Maisie if their marriage was to result in happiness.

"I am glad," said Miss Stratheyre Manor, fixing stony eyes on Maisie, to whose dark eyes the tears were welling, not unnoticed by good-natured Lady Granton, "I am glad that amid the escapades of your tour you found time to read the local papers I sent you. Will you take a cup of tea?"

This abrupt question, suddenly pointed at Maisie, had the effect of almost taking away the girl's breath, and she replied so awkwardly that Trevor felt really annoyed, and wondered why she could not be her charming graceful self, and why she grasped her cup, instead of poising it with the graceful way displayed by Lady Cecily.

Presently the dressing bell rang, and Maisie put down her un-tasted tea and followed a housemaid to the new wing of the Manor. Here was situated the suite of rooms -- bedroom, dressing room, smoking den, and studio -- that it had been Miss Stratheyre's delight to prepare for Trevor's possession when he left college.

Fortunately, the servants had orders to keep these rooms in constant readiness, and each of them now had a newly-kindled fire that welcomed Maisie to quiet and rest, and made her long to nestle in the light of the flame for a season. Instead, she was required to array herself for another encounter with her husband's friends, who, she drearily recognised, had armed themselves with weapons of cold courtesy more dreadful to bear than all Madame's scoldings at San Justo.

But she had little time to reflect on these things, for the housemaid informed her that Mr. Mulgrave had bidden her render assistance till Mrs. Mulgrave secured a maid. The housemaid began to unpack the dress trunk, with eyes full of wonder and curiosity, the servants' hall having as yet gained no information about the marriage except a vague idea that such an event had taken place. Fanny longed to obtain some news to share with the lower regions, and as Maisie's childlike face drooped sadly by the fire, forgetful of her presence, she ventured to say: "You will feel better, ma'am, when you have had a little dinner."

"Yes, thank you," said Maisie gently. "I am tired after our long journey."

"And I expect you feel a bit strange among English folks. You come from foreign parts, don't you, ma'am? And Miss Stratheyre, she ain't the sort to make one feel at home."

"I shall wear the brown velvet this evening," said Maisie. "May I trouble you to find the bodice?" She spoke quietly, not meaning to reprove, but with an innate shrinking from discussing Trevor's friends with the maid. Fanny, however, relapsed into startled silence, sullen at first, and only soothed by Maisie's gentle thanks for her services, and sympathy in the matter of a slight burn she had sustained upon her hand.

"I don't believe nothing about her being a servant," said Fanny, downstairs. "She's quite the lady, and have got lovely French dresses that made me open my eyes wide, I can tell you. Lady Cecily Granton's gone down to dinner in a white silk and diamonds, looking like a queen; but Mr. Trevor, he's got no call to be ashamed of Mrs. Mulgrave. I watched her go down in her brown velvet -- pale brown, and shot all over with gold, and just a string of pearls round her neck, -- and, thinks I, I've never been lady's maid before, but I've beaten Lady Granton's duchess of a waiting maid, with all her airs, first time of trying!"

### Chapter 4

Maisie Finds a Friend

The dining room at Stratheyre Manor was not calculated to reassure those who lacked self-possession. The table was of noble proportions, and the little group that met to dine this evening, despite the magnificence of some present, looked out of harmony with the huge dining hall, a relict of the days when a Stratheyre was wont to entertain a little army of retainers.

The footmen were so stately and numerous that Maisie's eyes were fairly bewildered. She had taken the hotel life of her honeymoon contentedly enough, finding everywhere polite and considerate manners around her, even when her natural lack of knowledge of certain details of etiquette slipped out now and then, but it startled her to know that all this was to be the accompaniment of her future home life.

Trevor had told her he was only a simple country gentleman. Would he always dine so grandly, and would inquisitive eyes henceforth be watching her every mouthful? Her very self-consciousness made her suppose that company and servants alike were criticising her. She again and again met her husband's warning glances. Once, when she was forgetfully about to insert her little white teeth into a dinner roll, he pressed her foot so sharply that it was little wonder the nervous crimson rushed to her face.

Fortunately, Maisie had picked up a good deal pertaining to society ways in the short interval since her marriage, and her conduct created no open scandal, though the Squire, who had honoured Trevor's introduction by no more than a nod, stared at her fixedly as though he wondered by what right she sat at the table of an out-and-out Englishman, and Miss Stratheyre sighed conspicuously more than once when Trevor happened to mention San Justo.

"Women get on all right when they are together," thought Trevor, left alone with the Squire who respected his opinion as an expert angler sufficiently to unbend into an argument about some "newfangled" bait. "Before I see Maisie again she will no doubt be hand-and-glove with Lady Cecily. As for my guardian -- well, of course Maisie has a good deal to learn before she gets to be the sort Miss Stratheyre would have chosen for me."

He went on eating nuts complacently, thinking with a good deal of satisfaction about the pretty brown dress and long lashed eyes that had passed from the room, whilst the Squire presently grew pettish over the discovery that his own thoughts were wandering from the bait, and recalling most unaccountably certain scenes in the vanished years that troubled his conscience a little sometimes, especially of late, when stiffness and occasional attacks of gout reminded him that the time of grey hairs was upon him.

In the drawing room, Lady Granton took up some dainty work in silks, intended for the top of a footstool. Young Lady Cecily betook herself at once to a lounge and a novel, and Miss Stratheyre read an agricultural treatise that had arrived by the evening post, having provided Maisie with a photograph album and a copy of "The Ancient Mariner," copiously illustrated. Maisie could make nothing of the "Mariner," and she coloured in shame for her ignorance as she took refuge in the album. There she found Trevor in knickerbockers at nine years old, and her hand wandered to the picture with an unconscious caress, while a quiver of pain and yearning came to her lips.

Was this home \-- was this to be their future? Oh, that he had just been poor and struggling, like so many of the artists who came to San Justo. Hand-in-hand the struggles would have been so sweet.

So she dreamed till a voice, musical in its every tone, startled her suddenly by saying: "What are you crying about?"

"I did not know I was crying," said Maisie, brokenly, swallowing a lump that seemed to rise in her throat, in awe of the violet-eyed young lady who had established herself languidly on an ottoman near her.

Miss Stratheyre was reading aloud at the other side of the fire to Lady Granton, who was inwardly wondering how she could manage to quit, with sufficient courtesy, this dullest of country houses before the time arranged for her visit expired.

"I saw the tears on your cheek," said Lady Cecily, "and you are really very foolish. It is unbecoming to cry, and childish and useless. And, besides, if you are homesick so soon, why did you leave your father and mother and marry an English husband? You knew you must choose between him and them. I should like my maid to copy that skirt in the morning."

Maisie looked astonished at the young lady's change of subject, but Lady Cecily's face was not an expressive one, and its icy composure seemed wholly unaltered, whatever the theme of discourse.

"I could make a skirt for you," said Maisie eagerly. "I want something to do. I cannot be idle."

"There is plenty to do at Stratheyre, I believe," said young Lady Cecily, toying with the bells of her mite of a pug. "Mr. Stratheyre has to keep trespassers away -- there were some children after holly only yesterday -- and Miss Stratheyre keeps quite a library of account books. My maid will manage the skirt, thank you. Are you crying for San Justo?"

"I don't know," said Maisie. "You are so different ... you would not understand. Life seems so puzzling sometimes."

"But not to you," said Lady Cecily, and Maisie fancied a faint rose-tint on the exquisite face. "You are so different. Whatever comes to you, you are side by side with the one you love. Nothing can alter that."

"No, nothing can alter that," said Maisie, a light that was almost a glory in the dark eyes she raised to Lady Cecily's. "But ... but ... I could not bear it if he were ashamed of me."

"You have been a servant, have you not? You look...." Here Lady Cecily stopped, and glanced with a little more interest than she usually displayed at the shapely little figure and pretty hands.

"Yes, I worked for my adopted parents at the inn," said Maisie. "They kept servants, but we girls helped a good deal, and I had to be busy all day. They took care of me when I was left, a stray child, on their hands. I helped about the house, and in the fields and vineyard."

"And why should Mr. Mulgrave be ashamed of you?"

"I know so little," said Maisie. "I cannot even play the piano."

"There are always people present who are equal to that," said Lady Cecily, shrugging her shoulders. "Do not spoil your eyes by crying. You have everything life can want. Your husband has money enough, and to spare. And depend upon it, if he has not been ashamed of you yet, he will not begin in the time to come. Yours is the sort of face that does not show years. That is the worst of being a blonde \-- one goes off so early."

"Are you engaged?" asked Maisie timidly, with girlish reverence for the queenly face that rested against the pale blue cushion of the ottoman.

"Not yet," said Lady Cecily, rather sharply. "I am expected to be before the end of next season. Did you see Marcele's shop in the rue du Palais when you were in Paris? That is where I bought Launcelot's collar. He is a specialist in jewelled dog-collars."

"It is good of Lady Cecily to notice the poor boy's unfortunate choice," said Miss Stratheyre to Lady Granton when they were alone; "but I think, dear Lady Granton, I understand your wish to return home sooner than you at first intended. I did not know Trevor would bring her here so soon. And of course you cannot permit your daughter to make a companion of this deplorable addition to our household."

Lady Granton was in difficulty as to a courteous excuse for leaving, but she was too honest to put the blame of her desertion on Maisie's imputed vulgarity.

"I think newly-married people get on better with a smaller household," she said. "And you and Mrs. Mulgrave, free from guests, will have the opportunity of making acquaintance with each other. The girl, whatever her scheming may have been, is both ladylike and very pretty. Cecily may make friends with her if she chooses. One who has settled herself so advantageously will, doubtless, be able to furnish good advice to others."

"It is quite different with your daughter, Lady Granton. Everyone knows who she is, but this nameless...."

"I hold, Miss Stratheyre, that every woman has a right to make the best marriage she can. Nay, as I tell Cecily, it is only a woman's duty to aim high in this respect, for marriage is a solemn responsibility and has often made or marred a lifetime. For Cecily to think of marriage to a poor man, as I fear she did once, would be madness. Her expensive tastes would ruin him, and she would be miserable, debarred from her accustomed luxuries."

"I can never imagine Lady Cecily as removed from wealthy surroundings," owned Miss Stratheyre. "Fortunately, with her great beauty, she has a choice of eligible suitors."

"Yes and I am thankful to say that she has the good sense herself to dread poverty. That inconsiderate brother of mine had an East End curate called Rupert Dene staying at his house at the same time as ourselves last summer. I began to be quite alarmed lest Cecily should act foolishly, for he was quite the best-looking young man there, and full of those impractical schemes so charming to some girls. He actually dared to ask me if he might propose to Cecily! Fancy his telling me he had two hundred a year private income, and a curacy worth one hundred! I forbade his speaking a word to the girl, but unknown to us both she was in the window-seat. When I suddenly discovered her she came forward as white as a ghost, and told him I had said correctly. She could never live in poverty. Poor child, I believe she was fond of the Mr. Dene, but she rightly intends to count her income by thousands. Here comes Mr. Mulgrave. Dear, dear, how strangely things turn out. Do you remember how well his voice went with Cecily's when they were quite little children?"

Miss Stratheyre remembered very well, and now insisted on their trying a number of duets, to which Maisie listened, well content to hear Trevor's voice, and thinking of the tender, "God be with thee, brown-haired maid!" that had echoed in her heart since he sang to her in the Italian garden.

Presently Lady Cecily played some sonatas of Beethoven, and Maisie was struck with wonder at the brilliancy of the young lady's execution. Her audience seemed spellbound, so perfect was her timing, so correct every intricate passage, but nothing spoke to Maisie's spirit till, in the wistful melody of the Moonlight Sonata, Lady Cecily suddenly lost her individuality and drew from the notes such a passion of appeal that Maisie's own beating heart recognised a life in the soul she had too hastily deemed lifeless.

Lady Granton saw her listening entranced, and was so gratified at the admiration in her face, that despite her ignorance of the piano, she said she felt certain Mrs. Mulgrave could sing, and it would be quite a novelty to hear her voice unaccompanied.

"Do not sing Italian," whispered Trevor, knowing how the Squire disliked the language.

Maisie hesitated an instant, then commenced a little ballad her husband had taught her.

"Oh, ye'll tak the high road,

And I'll tak the low road,

And I'll be in Scotland afore ye;

But me and my true love

Will never meet again

On the bonnie, bonnie banks

o' Loch Lomond."

"My dear Mrs. Mulgrave," exclaimed Lady Granton enthusiastically, "what a glorious voice! What an acquisition you will prove for our parochial concerts. Everyone is bemoaning the lack of a contralto. Cecily, did you notice that lower G?

But Cecily sat with folded hands, borne on the wings of song to the brave one she loved in the East End of London, patient and alone in the shadowed career of his choice; and Miss Stratheyre was thinking, whilst the pleading melody arose, of the green grave of the soldier she had loved so vainly and so long.

Chapter 5

"Whom God Hath Joined Together"

Husband and wife had troubled dreams that night. Maisie felt a little homesick. She could have borne even Madame's scoldings and Julia's jealousies just then to have known she was in the flower-wreathed South, within reach of her old friends in kennel and stable at San Justo. Everybody, everything seemed so chilling here. Even Trevor had changed a little. She must seem to him like a weed in a hothouse here, spoiling the beauty of the scene.

With these morbid reflections, Maisie quietly cried herself to sleep, whilst Trevor had a long interview with his guardian, who made no attempt to conceal her displeasure and disapprobation, and gave him plainly to understand that by his headstrong marriage he had jeopardised his inheritance.

"I hope I have no mercenary notions," said Trevor indignantly. "The Squire may leave his money where he pleases. I can support myself by my brush."

"Nonsense, Trevor. This girl you picked up at San Justo -- it is no use fuming, you know well enough it is a terrible mismatch -- this girl, I say, will hinder your artistic career as much as your social prospects. A young artist, like yourself, should be free and unhampered, wedded to his art and devoted to study, not tied to a mere baby who follows you everywhere with her eyes, and will assuredly tie you to her apron-strings. I am so sorry for you, my poor boy. The Duke of Redford has been asking as to your political views, and you know his influence. But society will have nothing to say to you now that you are the husband of a nameless waiting-maid."

"My wife is not nameless, Miss Stratheyre. Our family name is title enough for her, surely."

"Oh, Trevor, Trevor, how could you drag your father's honoured name down to the mire like this? You, whose prudence has always been my pride! Yes, I repeat, you have dragged it down. Maisie, as you call her, is obscure and uneducated, and such a marriage is simply a disgrace."

"But, Guardian, you will teach Maisie those little points concerning which she is unaware? Your manners are so stately. She could learn so much from you."

Miss Stratheyre was not to be softened by compliments. "Since you wish it, Trevor," she said, "I shall make your wife acquainted with her social defects. But you know, Trevor, we Stratheyres believe in blood. A low-born girl like Maisie must inevitably prove a thorn in your side throughout your career. People will notice her for your sake, as young Lady Cecily did this evening, but behind her back they will talk -- and who can blame them? You have scandalised your name and ours, and the only thing to do is to make the best of it, and teach Maisie at least the first principles of ladylike conduct."

Trevor left his guardian's presence in a white heat of passion, but he respected her opinions and authority too much to attempt further argument. He had looked up to Miss Stratheyre all his life, and now he went away with the consciousness that she did not appreciate Maisie at her full worth, yet feeling her remarks contained sense and justice. He had married rashly and hastily -- he had fettered himself too early in life -- and he might have done a great deal better for himself had not Maisie's pretty eyes come across his path.

Morning brought them more cheerful thoughts. Maisie had to see the studio and admire the studies which appeared to her wonderful productions, and exclaim indignantly against the Academy Committee for rejecting the view of the house and grounds as depicted by Trevor. Young Lady Cecily declared herself too tired to rise, and reclined in her bed in a rose-hued dressing gown, reading novels till her eyes ached, when she sent downstairs for Maisie. To Miss Stratheyre's horror, Maisie sprang upstairs like a gazelle, nearly knocking a gun from the hand of the Squire, who was soberly descending.

"Gently, gently, Mademoiselle!" he said angrily. All foreign women to the Squire were "Mademoiselle." "This gun is loaded, and you might have killed yourself."

"Mrs. Mulgrave has to learn, among other things, that a lady moves with composure," said Miss Stratheyre, in a tone that might have been almost construed as spiteful.

Maisie was too frightened by the encounter with the gun to falter out a reply. She caught her breath, and looked so faint that the Squire forgot his prejudice and told her to run away and enjoy herself

"The gun's safe enough, and so are you," he said. "You must try and get a little British pluck, Mademoiselle. Elizabeth, who's that girl like? Doesn't it strike you----"

"It strikes me that even our maids are better bred than our poor Trevor's wife," she said, in a tone of disgust. "We never hear our servants move about, and she rushes about from place to place like a tomboy!"

"Well, it's good to see something young about the place," sighed the Squire, thinking of the little sister who had once been wont to catch him tumultuously round the neck and embrace him on his return from the hunting field.

"Well, where is the husband?" asked Lady Cecily, giving Maisie a smile of welcome that won the girl's heart as completely.

"Gone out riding. He will be back to lunch."

"Can you not ride?"

"I don't think I ride properly, but I can generally manage a horse. Trevor has ordered a riding costume for me, and he is going to give me some lessons."

"And you will scour the country together, Darby and Joan fashion. Happy pair! Well, I daresay we shall see you sometimes, for Granton is only seven miles distant. Mother and I go home tomorrow,"

"I am so sorry," said Maisie. "I thought you were going to stay quite a long time. I wanted to get to be friends with you -- that is, if you did not mind."

"My dear girl, many besides yourself have wanted to know more of me, and found the labour wasted. There is nothing of me that I am aware of, besides a rather good complexion -- and that you will probably see every week at church."

Maisie laughed, and put her warm fingers on the slim hand on the coverlet. "You will spoil your complexion if you lie in bed, Lady Cecily. It is such a lovely morning, and the best way, Trevor says, to get warm in England is to keep moving."

"Mr. Mulgrave's advice is invaluable, no doubt, but as I am obliged to get up tomorrow, I consider resting today a far more sensible plan. Why should I get up, Maisie? By the way, where did you get that name?"

"I suppose my mother chose it, Lady Cecily. They told me I said as a child my name was Maisie."

"I have only heard it once before. 1 saw a picture of a haughty-looking damsel to whom some bird of ill-omen prophesied speedy death. I hope your fate will be brighter than hers, yet there are some fates darker than death."

"Oh, don't talk so gloomily, Lady Cecily. Let me draw aside the curtain -- there, now you see the sunshine on the hills. Will you not get up and enjoy the morning?"

"There is nothing to get up for, Maisie. I am tired of reading, tired of letter writing. I know all the drives about, and I feel too tired to ride or walk."

"But, surely," said Maisie, with wide open eyes, "you cannot be well, Lady Cecily. Why, at San Justo the days never used to be long enough for all I had to get through. And here, Trevor says I can take charge of his studio because he does not like the servants about there. I have dusted it and arranged it this morning, and Trevor says I am to have music lessons"

"Ah, but I finished those long ago, and nobody needs me to dust a room."

"Lady Cecily, ought not a doctor to see you? Look, I can see the blue veins in your hand. Is it not going very thin? I heard your mother, Lady Granton, say you seem to care nothing for food."

"Yes, I suppose I am in a decline, but that complaint is quite fashionable, you know."

"You are not in a decline at all," said sturdy Maisie. "You only want something to rouse you. I daresay, if Lady Granton were ill, you would exert yourself so much that you would feel quite different."

"Perhaps," said Lady Cecily, "but mother is not delicate." Then, "Maisie," she said, in a changed tone, "I do not know why I should have taken a liking to you -- except that you really look a dear little thing with your great wondering eyes. But there, you get plenty of compliments from your dearly loved, I know. But I certainly like you, Maisie, and I should not care to think your life was wretched as some I know. I am going to speak plainly to you, Maisie. Some friends of Trevor's may not fancy you so well as he does. I have heard it hinted that it may be possible to separate you from him, so I sent for you to say just this. Whatever happens, or seems to happen, let nothing rise between you and him. Keep your heart open to him, and only draw nearer to him, whatever may threaten to part you. Believe me, once you are estranged from the man you love, you have tasted the bitterness of death."

Lady Cecily spoke so animatedly that Maisie feared she was slightly delirious, and paid little heed to her words, beyond saying, soothingly, "Trevor and I could never be parted, you know, because God has joined us together."

Chapter 6

Entering "Society"

Trevor found to his cost that in some respects his guardian had prophesied correctly. Circles to which he had the "Open Sesame" looked coldly on his wife. Mothers who had tried their hardest to cultivate the friendship of the heir of Stratheyre, announced that they had nothing to say against young Mrs. Mulgrave -- she looked unassuming enough, but they would rather "the girls" were not close to her.

"She is a person of whom one knows nothing," was their verdict. "Poor Miss Stratheyre is quite broken-hearted. She has brought up young Mr. Mulgrave from an infant, to see him socially shipwrecked by bringing home some foreign serving-maid as his wife!"

"And really her voice is quite astonishing," said one, who had hitherto been the vocal star at every amateur concert. "I should say she has made a living out of it, though he says nothing as to her having been a professional."

Some of the men interposed at first, and hinted that, whether professional or not, Mrs. Mulgrave by right of her native grace and most musical voice was a decided gain to society. But they found themselves so assailed by indignant argument, that some of them weakly confessed, "Perhaps she is not so very pretty, after all;" and others owned that "Mulgrave seemed to have made a mess of it."

Lady Cecily was actually ill just now, laid up at Granton by a lung attack. The doctors hinted that she required a warmer climate. Had she been stronger, her desire to see Maisie again would have availed much, but as it was, Miss Stratheyre's triumph was complete. Trevor was forced to acknowledge that "society" did not endorse his choice.

"Why cannot they take her on trust till they know her as she is?" he asked angrily of his guardian after an evening which Maisie had spent chiefly in looking at stereoscopic views. "Should I have married her unless she were the sweetest and best of girls? Those girls from the Abbey cannot hold a candle to her. Yet, see the airs they gave themselves when they were introduced to her."

"The fact is, Trevor, your wife has no manners. She is always colouring up in the most awkward fashion, as if conscious of her low origin. I am sure I am always telling her of her social errors, but as I told Mrs. Medwin yesterday, I shall never make a lady of her."

"I should think you might speak a good word for her, sometimes," cried Trevor in despair. "What is done cannot be undone, and I say that, between you all, Maisie is being treated cruelly."

"The cruelty, Trevor, was in bringing her out of her proper position into the full blaze of your rightful sphere. Such ambition as hers always carries with it its own punishment. She expected no doubt to be a society queen, whereas everybody but yourself can see the marriage was a fatal mistake. Probably your own eyes will be open at last."

"Maisie," said the young husband, going up to the music room where his wife, who had just commenced music lessons from the church organist, was diligently practising scales -- to the great annoyance of the Squire's dogs, ill at ease in the corridors. "We have an invitation for the twenty-second, and I want you to make a social conquest. We shall meet the Duke and Duchess of Redford. The Duke took an interest in my education when I was a boy, and you know he is an influential man -- a power in the Government. He can be of immense assistance to me."

"Is he an artist, Trevor?"

"Oh, no. Of course, as to my paintings, I stand or fall alone. Nothing except native talent can really help me there. I must work hard when once this round of entertainments is over, but just now we seem to be always out. I mean that the Duke of Redford can help me if ever I turn my thoughts to politics. Would you not like to see me a great statesman, Maisie?"

"You are sure to be great," she said confidently. "Wherever we go there is nobody like you, Trevor. But tell me, what do you want me to do when I see the Duke?"

"I want you to be thoroughly natural, and therefore irresistible. I do not wish to hurt your feelings, dear, but you look a little awkward sometimes when we are out or when we entertain, and I do not want the Duke and Duchess to be disagreeably impressed. Yesterday you looked most unsociable sitting apart from the others, bending over those views. Why were you not talking and laughing with the other girls?"

Maisie was quiet a minute. She had never once hinted to him of the social agonies she had endured evening after evening. "They were very good views," she said bravely; "and, Trevor, one place was just like the bridge by our house at San Justo."

"I wish you would forget San Justo," he said impatiently. "The people there have benefited by your marriage. Maisie, those days are done with, forever. Did you try to enter into conversation with the other ladies? Surely some subjects of discussion must have been within your grasp. You brightened up a bit when that brainless fop Davis came over to you."

"He isn't brainless, Trevor dear. He talked about Venice, and I love that place. Don't forget, we had our honeymoon there. I did speak once when the ladies were talking about Lady Cecily. I said she had the loveliest face I had ever seen, and then everybody was silent, Trevor. And then the lady of the house gave me those views to look at."

Trevor bit his lip. "They will tire of their impertinence at last," he said. "I will make people understand every slight to you is a personal insult. And next year, when I am in the Academy...."

"Trevor dear, somehow I don't think they are to blame. They think I laid a trap for you, and planned and snared to get to be a lady. Miss Stratheyre does not like me, and she does not understand how little I wanted -- how little I want -- only you."

"Well, you have me, Maisie, so do not look so wistful. Yes, I think my guardian has unconsciously roused a prejudice against you, but her nature is one possessed of very strong feelings, and her judgment is seldom at fault. I think I may truly say I have never known Miss Stratheyre mistaken."

"Then because she thinks me wicked, shall I turn out to be so?"

"No, I do not go so far as that, Maisie. You are young, and there are defects in your early training that annoy my guardian, but there is nothing seriously amiss with you."

"As she supposes and suggests," said Maisie quietly. "Trevor dear, I can't hate her. She was good to you when you were a little child, after the death of your mother."

Trevor was almost frightened by the glow in her dark eyes as she clasped her hands tightly for a second. He did not know, being out for the greater part of every day, the long task of self-repression that the continuous innuendoes, slights and corrections had tried Maisie to the uttermost.

In his presence Miss Stratheyre was at least outwardly civil to his wife, but there were times when her indignation and dislike could not be controlled, and Maisie cried out in her heart that if she had the wings of a dove she would fly away from luxury and grandeur to the flowers of San Justo.

Perhaps, she thought, Miss Stratheyre had some idea that Trevor would soon tire of his boyish fancy, and if Maisie went back to San Justo, a social failure to her own friends, he would become her own again, to be shaped and moulded and guided as though he were still a boy.

"You must not cherish bitterness in your heart," said Trevor, startled by the sudden, transient gleam of passion. "I believe you Southern people are excitable even to danger. I wish you took things calmly and easily, like an English girl. Well, Maisie, if the Duchess of Redford takes you up, society cannot ignore you. Wear your prettiest gown and a touch of red somewhere or other. Nothing becomes you like red. And above all, don't look afraid of your fellow guests. Remember you are the daughter-in-law of an officer who won the Victoria Cross before he died on the field. You are as good as anybody there, Maisie. Show them that you know it. And one thing more. Don't look as if you wanted a second helping of soup."

"But I did want it, Trevor. I care nothing for meat, and yesterday the soup was almost as nice as one of Madame's. But I will never wish for more if it is not right."

"My dear, think how you would feel taking it alone, while the others waited for the next course. Be particular as to these matters, Maisie, and you will soon get into ladylike ways."

Maisie smiled good-humouredly, and followed him with her dark eyes as he passed out of the music room. Then, with her pretty face quivering a little, she patiently resumed the scales.

The Duke of Redford was by no means an alarming individual. In any grade of society he would have been popular, possessing, as he did, a breadth of intellect that commanded respect everywhere, while a vein of dry humour delighted his hearers.

He had met a congenial spirit in the Dean of Wimchurch, a cathedral town distant from Stratheyre about three miles, and he took no notice of Maisie at the much-thought-of dinner, except to remark casually to his neighbour that she was ample apology for Mulgrave's escapade.

The Duchess, however, was really interested in the fresh-looking debutante, and being inquisitive to a degree excusable only in the "dear Duchess" she opened conversational fire at dinnertime upon Maisie, who happened to be near her.

Miss Stratheyre was verbally lamenting the state of Ireland, but she lost no word of the questions and answers, and Trevor beamed upon Maisie, delighted that all the table should witness her singled out for such notice. It must be owned that the Duchess of Redford had received but a vague account of Mr. Mulgrave's marriage, and believed he had run away in a headstrong fashion with some little Italian schoolgirl. She sincerely wished to put the blushing bride at her ease, and spoke of the Italian climate so sympathetically that Maisie felt her heart drawn towards her.

All went well till Major Davis, who had led Maisie in to dinner, happened to mention a violent storm that had once overtaken him near Naples, and the descent of a thunderbolt. A similar experience had once happened to Maisie, and it was such a memorable incident in her life that, ignoring the servant at her side who gently inquired her wishes as to fish, she eagerly proceeded with the narration.

"I was bringing home the cows," she said, "and the herd-boy and I were so dreadfully frightened by the thunderbolt. But what was worse, my best cow was struck by lightning, and though we got her home, she afterwards died from the shock."

The servant beside her looked astonished, but veiled his feelings more successfully than did the Duchess who subsided in alarm, perhaps fearing further disclosures as to the past life of one who she concluded had been a dairymaid. Major Davis said something gallantly enough about thankfulness that her destiny was more fortunate than the golden-tressed heroine of the "Sands of Dee," but Miss Stratheyre was white with annoyance, and poor Trevor turned so scarlet that his looks excited general concern.

Maisie was too much interested in the talk to be conscious of how much she had betrayed her background. She ventured to ask the Duchess if she knew the view of the bridge of San Justo -- so many artists painted it -- but her Grace did not hear the question. She had become absorbed in the discussion of orchids with an important-looking gentleman beside her -- an authority in horticulture -- and he gazed witheringly at Maisie when her timid little question floated, unnoticed, on to the tide of their debate.

At any rate, the Duchess of Redford had spoken to her in a very friendly manner, and Maisie looked for sympathy in her satisfaction towards Trevor, who was disgusted and annoyed, and whose face, too easily read by her quick eyes, spoilt the rest of the dinner for her.

Poor Trevor, the lady he had escorted was an enthusiast on Ruskin, and expected him to enunciate similar sentiments, which at another time would have given him pleasure. But now he was divided between shame and confusion of face -- trouble for Maisie's sudden depression, and burning indignation against good-natured Major Davis, who by pleasantry and anecdote was exerting himself to console her.

Chapter 7

"Am I a Millstone?"

In the drawing room, the ladies gathered into snug little groups for a gossip before the gentlemen joined them. Many were close friends, and had a variety of topics of mutual interest for discussion. There was an animated group around the Duchess of Redford, whose vivacity had only received a temporary check from Maisie's heedless disclosures of cattle.

Maisie, as usual, was out in the cold, half-hidden behind a velvet curtain that hung across a side window. Deeper and deeper she crept within the shadow of the drapery, turning heart-sick from the bright throng wherein she felt so lonely and uncared-for.

Why, she wondered, was she suffering thus? She had been so thankful, so enraptured, brimming over with the joy of first love, satisfied and at rest in the arms that had been held out so fondly towards her. And, suddenly, a cold hand of fear and disappointment had clouded all her sunlight, and threatened to change the tenderness of him to whom she had entrusted her life.

She knew that God was great -- greater than the little daily worries, the vague forebodings which had arisen to trouble her young heart. She put her cold hands together and tried to put herself and her new life into the great care of her heavenly Father, certain that wherever the clouds might be, in Him was no darkness at all.

And just then \-- it seemed to her for a moment like a heavenly messenger -- a hand lifted the velvet curtain, and a voice so low and quiet that Maisie found it inexpressibly soothing, addressed her pleasantly. "Mrs. Mulgrave, I presume? I must introduce myself, on the score of having been a very close friend of your husband's mother. She was brought up with me, and we were as sisters. I take a great interest in your husband and yourself, Mrs. Mulgrave, though owing to my duties I can seldom visit my friends in this neighbourhood. Sit down, my dear. You look very tired. Like myself you are used, perhaps, to a quiet life."

Maisie looked puzzled as the moonlight fell upon features strange to her. She saw an elderly lady with complexion fresh and pink as that of a young girl, and grey curls fastened daintily on either side of her face. Maisie noted the black silk, the lace cap and kerchief, and wondered who this sweet-faced lady could be.

"I came over after dinner," she said, "with my sister, Mrs. Medwin, of Pinewood. I daresay your husband has mentioned my name sometimes. It is Mrs. Graeme."

"Yes, I have heard him speak of you," said Maisie eagerly. "When he was a little boy he sometimes used to stay at your house in Cluny. It was there he learnt to love Scotland and Scottish literature so dearly."

"I am glad he remembers his visits," smiled Mrs. Graeme. "Miss Stratheyre was kind enough to spare him sometimes -- not often, for he is, we all know, very dear to her. My dear husband had the manse at Cluny, and our little ones were round us then." She stopped, and Maisie tried to say something comforting, but found no words, remembering Trevor telling her how, in a short space of time, Mrs. Graeme had lost husband and children.

"But I have a larger family round me now," continued Mrs. Graeme, with a smile. "You must pay me a visit when you come to London where I now live, Mrs. Mulgrave -- that is, if you are not averse to entering a hospital. Some friends of mine are very uncomfortable about visiting me there."

"A hospital! Are you a sick nurse?"

"I am matron of the Children's Hospital in Meadow Place. Just now I am taking a week's holiday with my sister, being a little overdone; but I am longing to get back to the sick children."

"I should like to come very much," said Maisie brightly. "I am sure you are very good to the poor little things, but it must be terrible to see them suffer."

"They are so grateful, my dear, when we try to give them ease. So patient and affectionate. They have taught me so many lessons. The little things cannot understand sometimes why I bandage or treat them, but they are certain I love them and mean to cure them."

Maisie's heart was too full for words, but she longed to know more of this new friend who had sought her out in her solitude, and who lingered beside her as though she cared for her company. Somebody, however, was inquiring loudly for Mrs. Graeme, and it turned out that the Duchess, who was patroness of the hospital, wanted to hear particulars of the little inmate of the Redford cot. Mrs. Graeme was too lovable not to be in general request, and Maisie found herself alone again.

"What has become of little Mrs. Mulgrave?" asked a male voice that seemed very near, and Maisie became conscious that the chairs in front of her curtain had become occupied by two men. She was too nervous to stir. What a sensation it would cause if she suddenly appeared out of the retreat where Mrs. Graeme had sought her, and asked the occupants of the chairs to move.

Maisie had not sufficient self-possession for such a movement. She crouched closely into her corner, as the answer came in the tones of Major Davis. "I don't know. I hope they'll ask her to sing presently. Mulgrave accompanied her very well the other day in a little Italian lyric that she sang to perfection. That girl might have been an operatic star."

"Perhaps such a change may yet come to pass. The Stratheyres don't care about her, and a girl of spirit will not submit to the cold shoulder for ever. Why should she not act independently of them, and go in for the boards?"

"Never! No, she is not the sort. The little woman is devoted to Mulgrave, and I am bound to say he seems fond of her."

"Well, he has been a silly lad. It only needed a brilliant marriage to make his name an important one by and by. People do not care to receive his wife. He will either have to give up society, or to leave her at home."

"Somehow, people have a wrong impression of the lady," said the Major. "My opinion is that she never entrapped the lad at all, beyond looking lovely, which she can no more help than I can help being irritated by Miss Gregory's music."

"She murders Chopin, doesn't she? Well, it is nearly over, Davis. Yes, I agree with you, Mulgrave has secured a pretty wife But a pretty wife, without money or family, is as a millstone around a man's neck to drag him down."

"That is a consoling reflection, doubtless, for us old bachelors," laughed the Major, pleasantly.

The two walked slowly away, and Maisie was left with white, frightened face to reflect over what she had heard. Was it true that in marrying her Trevor had fastened a millstone around his neck to drag him down? She had longed to be such a help to him in his art. Was he finding her already in his way?

Nobody asked for her, nobody sought her, though by and by she crept to an adjacent chair and sat there holding a cabinet-size picture of Cologne Cathedral. Mrs. Graeme was obliged to leave early, and with her departure Maisie felt herself doomed to neglect. It would have been livelier, Maisie reflected, to have been washing the supper dishes at San Justo, and listening to the laughter and chatter of the family.

The drive home, despite the rugs, was bitterly cold, and that may have formed some slight excuse for Trevor's ill temper. He folded his arms in a corner of the carriage and pretended to be asleep, and Maisie would have followed his example, but she was half-afraid to lounge. By Trevor's side sat Miss Stratheyre, upright and dignified.

"Well, I hope you have enjoyed yourselves," said the Squire, as they entered the hall. He cared little for dinner parties, and affected to make light of aristocratic titles, so that his gout had formed a good excuse for his absence. It was not bad enough, however, to keep him from tending a favourite horse, indisposed in the stable, where he had spent the greater part of the evening.

"Is Firefly better, Mr. Stratheyre?" asked Maisie, who had thought a good deal during the festivities of the Squire's horse.

Miss Stratheyre, whose sympathies as to animals did not extend beyond her Persian cat, thought the inquiry another proof of Mrs. Mulgrave's cunning, for the Squire, who had long since given up his disapproval of her, looked pleased, and launched into a description of the particular mash that he had administered to Firefly.

"Did the great folks frighten your wife very much, Trevor?" he asked, good-humouredly. "They are not a bad sort. I suppose they were the life of the evening."

"I fear Maisie did not enjoy herself much," said Trevor gloomily. "I wish 1 could get her to be a little more sociable."

"I daresay it is my fault, dear," she said gently, "but I certainly do not get on in society. You must leave me at home another time, Trevor."

"Nothing of the sort," said the Squire. "Wait till you get my grey hairs, then you can begin to think of eschewing the rest of the world. I daresay dinner parties are slow to you. I like to have a few friends now and then, but I cannot stand taking my dinner in a different house every evening. I remember poor Mercy, my sister, used to be dreadfully bored by dinners."

"Will you come to my room, Trevor," asked Miss Stratheyre, "before you retire? The Duke was talking to you in the fernery, and I should like to hear the advice he gave you on politics."

"He said nothing particular," said Trevor, yawning, "except some anecdote that I have forgotten, about one of the waiters at his club. It had some relation, I suppose, to the ices we were eating, but it has gone out of my head. He did not touch on politics, and I am only fit for bed tonight."

"Poor boy!" murmured Miss Stratheyre, as the Squire looked astonished at his summary departure. "No wonder he is cross. Exposed and disgraced before everybody! How is he to hold up his head in society?"

This was for Maisie's benefit, but with a murmured "Goodnight" she slipped away after Trevor, and found him as she expected in his smoking den. He had intended to give her a marital lecture on her conversational imprudence, but he must have been stony-hearted to resist her face as she looked up at him contritely.

"Trevor, I never meant to speak about the cows. Indeed, I will try to do better another time. I will try to be more thoughtful."

"You put your foot in it nicely today, Maisie, and it has been as wretched an evening as I can remember. But there, don't fret. I suppose I ought to have foreseen all this."

"Trevor, am I really a hindrance to you? Am I a millstone? Am I spoiling your career? Tell me, Trevor, do you wish I were not your wife?"

"I would not have you anybody else's wife," he said, putting the wavy hair back from her brow. "Don't you worry yourself, Maisie. I believe you do your best, and if people will not make friends with you it is their own fault. I am disappointed that the Duchess did not take you up; but as she did not, why, then, I must."

With a gesture of love that her happy eyes saw to be real, he drew her beside him to his easy chair, and that most trying of evenings ended peacefully for them both.

To sunder husband and wife was a harder task than outwardly appeared. Miss Stratheyre, remembering Trevor's ill-temper, believed he was far on the road of repentance for his marriage, whilst in the smoking room Maisie's little fingers had smoothed the frowns from his forehead, and she was listening, nestling beside him, to an account of his visits as a child to the Graemes at Cluny.

Chapter 8

A Welcome Invitation

"What is Mr. Mulgrave doing now?" admiring friends often asked concerning Trevor's work as an artist. Trevor was wont to exhibit in the county exhibition, and Miss Stratheyre looked for the time when his would be far more than a local reputation.

"The fire of genius is exhausting," she said, "and no one can rise to his highest when mentally saddened and disturbed."

Her visitors sympathised, glancing gloomily at Maisie -- evidently the disturbing element at Stratheyre Manor.

It came to the ears of Maisie's new relatives that a celebrated portrait painter, visiting in the district, had been struck by her features and had remarked hers was a "picture-face." Trevor took a sudden notion to paint his wife, and rummaged Miss Stratheyre's wardrobe to find garments quaint and picturesque for the "Nut-brown Mayde," as he called his intended picture.

He brought her downstairs in triumph at last in a huge corn-crowned hat and a flowing red cloak. The Squire met her in the hall and started as if he had seen a ghost, then asked Trevor, angrily, why he had rigged up the child like that.

"Lean on me. You are ill, sir," said Maisie, holding out her strong arm to the Squire.

He put her gently aside, and went on to the study. Trevor told her the cloak and hat must have belonged to the Squire's young sister Mercy. Any reminder of the girl who ran away with her singing-master always upset him.

Miss Stratheyre had spent many an hour in the studio of her adopted son while he painted, and she took her account books up there directly she found he had settled for another picture. But she could not endure the fact that his attention was wholly engrossed by his model, and that his gaze only wandered from the canvas to rest upon her face.

His guardian's prejudice against his wife had gradually deepened to hatred. Thoughts had come to herself as well as to the Squire, which might well have softened her heart towards this new-found inmate of their home, but she resolutely resisted their whisper, and her desires and ideas concentrated themselves on weakening Maisie's influence over Trevor, and sundering, as far as possible, the bond he had so rashly formed without her knowledge or consent.

Those mornings the two spent quietly together were as gall and wormwood to her. Every expression of admiration that occasionally met her ears concerning Maisie increased her dislike. Trevor should understand her judgment of this scheming girl as correct. The opinions to which he had trusted all his life, and this marriage, which she had prophesied as miserable, should teach him a lifelong lesson against impulse and imprudence.

Ceaseless innuendos, little things said by this one and that one, little mannerisms on Maisie's part, noticed by Mrs. or Miss So-and-so, failed for a time in their effect. Nobody knew better than Trevor that his wife could be as charming as she was pretty, and when Miss Stratheyre, with her conscience crying out loudly against her began to hint that Maisie preferred the society of gentlemen to that of ladies, Trevor kept his eyes open, and startled Maisie by appearing suddenly in places where she little looked for him, such as behind columns and plants and statuettes.

Such unlooked-for apparitions were in themselves sufficient to startle and agitate her, sitting in constant fear of transgressing Miss Stratheyre's code of etiquette. But the poison was creeping into the husband's mind, and he inwardly resolved that Maisie should be withdrawn from society if she developed the character, of which there gleamed a possibility from her dusky eyes, of flirt and coquette.

Miss Stratheyre hardly knew whether to be pleased or annoyed when there came one day a letter from Granton, saying that young Lady Cecily was no better, and begging for Mrs. Mulgrave's company for a few days with the girl if she could be spared. Certainly, in Maisie's absence Trevor would seem to Miss Stratheyre to be hers again as in the past, but she did not enjoy the notice Lady Cecily's whimsical taste chose to bestow on Maisie, for Lady Cecily's fancies were apt to become popular and to be considered the fashion.

"You will want me for the picture, will you not, Trevor?" asked Maisie, to whom a brief freedom from Miss Stratheyre seemed absolute relief.

"She does not want to go. She wishes to figure at the fancy ball next week, when all the officers will be over from Wimchurch," decided Trevor mentally.

"I shall give up the picture," he said. "I meant it for the Academy, but on second thoughts I shall not permit my wife to be a public gazing-stock. You can accept the invitation, Maisie. Lady Cecily will be glad of company while she is ill, though you will have to miss the fancy ball. Granton is too far from Pinewood."

"She could come home for a day or two," suggested the Squire, but Trevor had never liked the thought of his beautiful wife figuring publicly in fancy dress, and he said she had better remain for the fortnight specified in the invitation.

"You do not seem very sorry to get rid of me, Trevor," said Maisie, pouting a little as they rode over together to Granton one cold, sharp afternoon.

"Well, I think the quiet of the sickroom will be good for you, Maisie. Too much excess is apt to turn a girl's head."

"Nonsense, Trevor. You are only quoting Miss Stratheyre."

"You need not lose your temper, Maisie, because Miss Stratheyre's opinions are not always your own. She is correct in judging you to be very excitable and emotional, and it would be excusable for your head to be turned by your present life, considering the change that your marriage effected in your existence."

Maisie was silent, but he saw the proud flush in her averted face. "And, as we are talking about excitement, Maisie, I may mention that your conduct with Major Davis last evening annoyed me very much. Your eyes were quite bright and glistening when he fastened your bracelet."

"Trevor, how can I help my eyes being bright?" And Maisie tried to laugh away the impending storm.

"Oh, I daresay you meant nothing by it, Maisie, but English women do not take the licence that foreigners allow themselves in society."

"I am sorry you troubled to ride with me if you mean to insult me," she said, sitting up straight in her saddle, and looking so fair with the rose-flush in her face that an innocent pedestrian turned to look after her, greatly to her husband's indignation.

"There are the gates of Granton," he said. "I shall just come in and see Lady Granton, for I want to know if your luggage is here all right. This day fortnight, Maisie, I shall ride over for you, but I may be backwards and forwards."

He meant this as a warning for her to conduct herself quietly and circumspectly, but Maisie looked so pleased that he relented, and would have undoubtedly made it up with a kiss as he helped her to alight, had not a groom bustled forward.

Lady Granton looked worried and anxious about her daughter, but spoke hopefully of the proposed visit to France as soon as the invalid would exert herself for the journey.

"She is a strange girl," she said, sighing. "Her poor father spoilt her sadly. I believe half her illness is fancy. But she is ruining her prospects, for she is getting the symptoms of consumption, which is purely imaginative. I am sure I suggested twenty names for company to her when she complained of dullness, but nobody would suit her but Mrs. Mulgrave. She said she wanted something pleasant to look at, so that is a compliment to your wife, you see, Mr. Mulgrave. We shall take great care of her."

Trevor rode slowly away, ashamed of his suspicions and wishing the fortnight over. When he reached Stratheyre Manor it seemed to him that there was an unusual air of dullness about the whole place. Some charming girls had taken afternoon tea with Miss Stratheyre, and they and their mother remained to dinner. Their brilliancy, however, could not brighten the dinner table for Trevor that day, and Miss Stratheyre noted with annoyance that the Squire looked uneasily round, as if he, too, missed the childlike face transported to Granton.

Maisie was shocked to perceive that in Lady Cecily there was a real change for the worse. There was a hollow look about her cheeks that her French maid had vainly endeavoured to conceal. Maisie's heart was too kindly, however, for her to hurt mother or daughter by expressing the alarm she felt. She responded warmly to Lady Cecily's welcome, and caused the invalid to look quite lively as she launched into a description of the various experiences through which she had passed since leaving Stratheyre. Lady Granton was relieved to find that her daughter could be cleverly satirical still, as she uttered running comments on the new acquaintances Maisie had made.

"You see, my dear," Lady Granton said to her daughter, "you have given way to low spirits, and shut yourself up too long. Now that Mrs. Mulgrave has come to cheer you up you will soon be ready to take part in a little amusement yourself. Everybody is asking when you will go out again."

"Everybody has survived my absence remarkably well," said Lady Cecily. "The women have had the fancy ball to think about, and men, as a rule, need no consolation beyond a cigarette for the most severe deprivation."

But when Lady Granton had left the room, well pleased to see her more cheerful, Lady Cecily took Maisie's hand and asked her with real anxiety if she were well and happy.

"Oh, yes, I am perfectly well, and Trevor is the best of husbands," said Maisie loyally. "Now you must try to rest, for Lady Granton said you had talked enough. Can I not read you something?"

"Some new novels have come up today," said Lady Cecily. "Please read me A Worm in the Bud. That sounds interesting, if not cheerful."

Maisie commenced the first chapters of the story, which was of a decidedly tragic character; but her own disposition was such an active one that she soon grew impatient with the heroine.

"I think it was very wicked of her to pine away," she said. "There was so much she might have put her hand to and improved. It was almost as bad as suicide."

"But have you not been in love yourself, Maisie?"

"I am in love," said Maisie, dimpling in the lamplight as she thought of Trevor. "But I should not have laid me down to die, like Genevieve, if Trevor had not cared for me. Of course, I should have gone on feeding the goats and chickens on San Justo!"

"Till somebody else consoled you, Maisie?"

"No, I do not believe in that," said the young wife solemnly. "Of course, I cannot judge for other people, but I could not love twice, Lady Cecily."

"Well, well, put the silly book away and tell me what Gladys Medwin is to wear at the fancy ball."

"She is to be 'Night.'"

"Oh, the Medwin diamonds will come in beautifully for dewdrops in the starlight. Did you see Mrs. Medwin's sister, Mrs. Graeme? I know she was a great friend of your husband's mother. I think she has the sweetest face -- over forty -- that I have ever seen! Maisie, do you think two people could exist on five hundred pounds a year, or would you prefer fifteen thousand?"

"I should like Trevor to have fifteen thousand, but without him it would have no value for me. I know Trevor and I could live on five hundred. Oh, it would be beautiful in some dear little villa where I could be busy for him in so many ways!"

"Love in a cottage is all a mistake, nowadays, Maisie."

"Is it? But five hundred a year is not love in a cottage by any means," said Maisie thoughtfully. "Dear Lady Cecily, I don't know that you could have many dinner dresses like your white silk, though. Lady Granton said it cost twenty pounds."

"I daresay it did, but I was not talking about myself."

"Oh, I thought you were."

"Nonsense, Maisie! How could I -- brought up as I have been -- take part in an existence on five hundred a year? Do you suppose I could do without my horses and carriages?"

"You could have a chaise, I believe. That is, if you regulated the pony's food properly. Of course, a deal of food is wasted without management."

"And my maid and my Paris-made dresses, and my Continental trips whenever I feel inclined? How could I give up all these things, and enter upon a quiet humdrum life?"

"What is humdrum, Lady Cecily?"

"Boring."

"Ah, but would it be boring if he were there?"

"Maisie, whom do you mean by he?"

"A curate in London that I know you love," said Maisie softly, looking away from her into the flickering fire.

Lady Cecily did not reply. She looked into the firelight silently, too. Then suddenly the bell rang and the maid asked how much longer Mrs. Mulgrave was to wait after her ride before she had some tea.

### Chapter 9

New Interests for Lady Cecil

At this time there was a Parliamentary vacancy, the member for Wimchurch having become a candidate for the Chiltern Hundreds. Miss Stratheyre had not expected this gentleman to resign for three or four years to come, and her dream had been that Trevor should be triumphantly elected to succeed him in the representation of Wimchurch. Great was her displeasure to find that the Duke of Redford, ignoring Trevor entirely, was advocating the claims of a landed proprietor who had worked his way to the front from the masses.

"It is no use for me to assert my claims as a candidate," said Trevor easily. "Everybody thinks I am too young to represent the people, and the Duke remarked that my political sentiments were, as yet, unhatched."

"I am sure," said Miss Stratheyre despairingly, "we have most pronounced views. If you would only go into the matter, Trevor, you would long, as I do, to have a voice in the great British Parliament."

"I would far rather paint in peace, guardian. But to please you, I should have been willing to write M.P. after my name."

"It is useless to think of it now, Trevor. The Duke's opinions have such weight in the place. This is another consequence of your ill-advised marriage. As a child, you were a favourite of the Duke's. The Squire has often said he frequently noticed you at the meet, but of course he washes his hands of you now you have allied yourself so odiously."

Trevor had too much sense to consider Maisie responsible for his non-appearance as a candidate, but Miss Stratheyre had persuaded herself into the belief that directly Wimchurch was available the seat would be Trevor's, and the election of their neighbour, Mr. Gascoigne, fanned the already raging flame of her inward passion.

The Squire laughed good-humouredly when Trevor continually found excuses not to ride over to Granton, but Miss Stratheyre was in a most irritable frame of mind, and spent nights of wakefulness, wondering if a marriage so imprudent could really be by law established.

"I shall make inquiries," she said one day, impetuously, "as to that church at San Justo. I am not at all sure that the marriage is legal. What a mercy for Trevor if he could be set free!"

"Elizabeth," said the Squire, more firmly than was his wont, "you are speaking wickedly. I was angry myself to receive Trevor's off-hand letter. But whether he knew it or not, he has married a lady, and one whose love for the boy is sincere. As for wishing their marriage illegal, it is a shameful and wicked thing, and I may tell you that you need not trouble yourself to make any investigation. I entrusted all that long since to Craddock and Hume, and the whole thing has been looked into. Trevor and Maisie are, undoubtedly, man and wife."

"You referred the matter to your solicitors -- and secretly? Why did you not tell me, your sister, about it, Guy?"

"I never thought you were as anxious as I was to find everything correct. It would have grieved me, for the child's sake, to discover any legal slip."

"What child, Guy?"

"Little Maisie, of course."

"What nonsense, Guy!" But Miss Stratheyre looked alarmed, for once or twice in his life the Squire had asserted himself vehemently, and if he took a liking to this girl, Miss Stratheyre realised her own reign as housekeeper might be in danger. "How can she be a child at nineteen? And these foreigners are always cunning beyond their years. No wonder I dislike anything Italian, after the wicked duplicity of Signor Metazzi with our sister."

"Signor Metazzi is dead and gone," said the Squire shortly. "And our little sister Mercy is gone, too. If the time could come over again, I'm not sure.... Fact is, Elizabeth, I have never been in love myself, and though I don't understand Mercy's fancy for a mealy-mouthed Italian, I might have been a better brother to our little sister! I don't know what has come over me of late, but I am always fancying her bonny face about the house, and I cannot forget the last time when she came here, looking so ill and tired, pleading for help for the sake of her little ones. I had vowed I would never relieve her, but it was a sinful vow. How many children had she, Elizabeth? Did we not hear they died before the father?"

"Yes, all three -- of malaria," said Miss Stratheyre, sharply. "The Ducies were in Rome at the time, and sent Mercy some help. I suppose the children had wretched constitutions, like Metazzi. He was always delicate. Fancy Mercy accepting charity from the Ducies!"

"Fancy me, her brother, allowing it!" thought the Squire miserably, but he said no more. He went out for a ramble with his dogs, but wherever he looked he seemed to see Mercy, her husband Metazzi, and her little ones beyond the reach of any aid of his, and to hear his young sister's voice ringing mournfully amid the holly trees of her English home, and saying: "Too late! Too late!"

Maisie stayed at Granton considerably beyond the fortnight specified at first. People spoke wonderingly of the friendship between Lady Cecily and herself, but it had grown to be a very warm one. She could not forget that first evening at Stratheyre Manor, when Lady Cecily had come down from her pedestal of coldness, and noticed her with a look of gentleness in her proud, violet eyes. Although Lady Cecily had received plenty of devotion, there was something pleasing to her in the open admiration of this girl, who yet spoke her mind very frankly when their opinions did not coincide.

Maisie talked Lady Cecily into being a little ashamed of her idleness, and Lady Granton opened her eyes in surprise when Maisie asked if they might have the pony chaise, as the invalid had consented to trust her to drive.

"You are the best of doctors, Mrs. Mulgrave," said her hostess. "Cecily will soon be strong enough to travel, and on our return my dear girl will reign supreme, as she did last season. Parks, the pony chaise in half-an-hour, and see there are plenty of easy cushions. I must take care, Mrs. Mulgrave, that Cecily wraps up well. People will scarcely credit it when they see her out."

Very fair and fragile looked Lady Cecily as she leant back on the cushions, drinking in the morning air like a delightful tonic. Maisie had learnt the lesson of unselfishness very early, or she would have delayed the drive that particular morning, when it was likely Trevor would pay a visit to Granton.

"Maisie," said Lady Cecily, rather nervously, "I want to go and see some of our poor people. Do you know what I ought to say to them?"

"Ask after their health, and be interested in what they tell you," said Maisie. "I don't see why you should talk differently from your usual manner when you visit friends."

"Have you ever paid such visits?"

"Oh, yes, there were plenty of dear old women at San Justo. But then I was poor myself. I had no dignity to put by. I just ran in to them when I could spare the time, and took them a little fruit, and made their places tidy."

"I have never been a Lady Bountiful," said Lady Cecily, "and I believe I should be ill if I went where people are sick or dirty. But we have some pretty little model cottages by the park, and I have seen some children with red frocks and white pinafores. I should not mind calling there."

"But, Lady Cecily," said Maisie bluntly, "why do you wish to begin visiting the poor, when you have never done so before?"

"Other people," she said, thoughtfully, "are working among them every day, and I think, Maisie, I should like to be doing some good, like...." She paused. "Well, I should like to learn the ways of district visitors, even though I have laughed at them in the past."

"Miss Stratheyre will not let me visit," said Maisie. "She is afraid of infection, but I believe she knows every cottage family herself."

"Oh, yes," said Lady Cecily. "I have heard, however, that her visitations are most unwelcome, for it is a common thing with her to lift the saucepan lid and find out what the family is to have for dinner, and pass rude comments. Oh, look, there are the children in the red frocks. Stop the pony, Maisie."

"Don't do that," said Maisie, seeing her companion search eagerly for her purse. "Do be careful, Lady Cecily, about money-giving. A lady at San Justo used to come round sometimes with silver for the poor, and her visits only brought about jealousy, hypocrisy and falsehood. Do visit them as a friend, Lady Cecily. They have hearts like you and me, and want kindness and sympathy."

"But what is the good of being rich, Maisie, if we cannot make them presents? I ought to distribute my money. You know I have only two hundred a year of my own, and mother's income is absorbed in our establishment. But Uncle Russell gives me generous cheques every quarter, and he says he will do so till ... till I settle in life. So I have plenty to spare."

"Lady Cecily, I did not know such thoughts were in your mind," said Maisie, suspecting that Lady Cecily is thinking wistfully of a young man working among the poor in the East End of London. "I think it is lovely of you to want to help the poor. Of course you will give away money sometimes, but I mean, you don't know them truly and fairly if you lead them to expect money continually. The pastor of San Justo used to say it needs a great deal of wisdom and tenderness to visit the poor, but I always liked seeing my old women."

Lady Cecily looked a little alarmed, but the red-frocked children were gazing open-mouthed at the ponies, and Maisie, forgetting her doctrine against gifts, slipped a bit of chocolate into each rosy mouth.

The little ones, full of delight, ran to acquaint their mother with the gift, and a tired-looking woman came curtseying to the door, looking awed at the sight of the ladies from Granton.

"I hope they ain't troublesome, my lady. They're running a bit wild, for I've got two of my little lads down with the rheumatics, and I can't look after the girls as I wish."

"Poor children. Rheumatism is so painful," said Maisie, seeing Lady Cecily staring silently at the children.

"Yes, ma'am. All this green over the house keeps it so damp, and the little pond there is very unhealthy, the doctor says."

"The water looks beautiful in the sunlight," said Lady Cecily; "and the ivy is so picturesque."

"Yes, my lady \-- yes, ma'am," said the woman, meekly. "Everyone says as how the house is very pretty, but the water do come up, somehow, through our floor. In one room my man has put planks down, but they floats sometimes, my lady."

"How shocking! I shall get down and look. Barnes ought to see to this," said Lady Cecily decisively.

"He's a-going to, my lady, but we know Mr. Barnes is very busy. Perhaps he would remember if your ladyship asked him," said the woman hopefully.

Lady Cecily and Maisie entered the cottage, as damp within as it was attractive without. No amount of image could have convinced Lady Cecily as did the damp walls and floating planks. Whereas she had approached the house with vague notions of giving good advice and prudent instruction, she left it determined that the bailiff should attend at once to the matters of drying and draining it thoroughly.

Chapter 10

At Wimchurch Town Hall

As Maisie expected, her husband had called in her absence, and had left word that he was obliged to proceed to Wimchurch; but he could not possibly spare her away any longer, and she must arrange to return home on the morrow.

"I shall come and say goodbye to you," said Lady Cecily, "before we start for France and Menton. I suppose I shall meet you in London on our return. Mother wishes to rent a townhouse again, though we should save all that expense if we went to Uncle Russell's in Yorkshire."

"My dear!" exclaimed her mother. "Yorkshire in February or March! And really your aunt and uncle are not sufficiently prudent as to the guests they invite. I cannot consent to another visit to North Moor for some time."

Lady Cecily seemed quite roused from her languor as she discussed the matter of the model cottages, and Lady Granton was so thankful to notice the change that she sent for the bailiff after lunch, and asked him to see that her daughter's wishes were carried out in every respect.

"I hope this is not the beginning of foolishness," thought easy-going Barnes. "I've seen what comes of ladies taking a fancy for poor people before \-- no end of tale-bearing and worry."

But Lady Granton rightly judged that Lady Cecily's philanthropic notions would help her convalescence. Every day she was out in her pony chaise among the cottages, and though her ministrations were somewhat awkward at first, and the mothers were shy of her proud, beautiful face from the day that a sick baby held out its arms to her and she took the little creature and nestled it close to her cloak with a new, strange tenderness stirring at her heart, every mother in the place was won to her devotedly, and rumours of her popularity reached Maisie at Stratheyre.

Maisie had come back brighter in spirits and energy for her visit. She resolved that she would neither see nor pay attention to slights and neglect, and she scolded herself for over-sensitiveness. But not all Madame's grumbling or the jealousy of the girls at San Justo had pained her and sent the passionate blood throbbing through her veins as did Miss Stratheyre's frigidity. She knew too well that she was intentionally lowered in her husband's eyes, and such treatment was almost unbearable to one who coveted Trevor's love and good opinion with unutterable longing.

"But she has been very good to Trevor," said the young wife to herself, again and again, "and she is getting old. My nerves are stronger than hers, and I ought to make allowances for her irritability, and try to like her."

To like Miss Stratheyre, however, was undoubtedly a task requiring the heart of an angel, and Maisie was an impetuous girl, easily swayed by her feelings, and susceptible to kindness.

The Squire did not conceal his pleasure in her return, and quite a procession of dogs followed her to the stable as she went with Trevor to revisit her equine friends. Selim, the Persian, sprang into her lap as soon as she was seated in the dining room, but Miss Stratheyre knew better than the rest the real character of the bright-eyed conqueror, and her features did not relax as she extended a finger in greeting.

No wonder that after a few days of such treatment, Maisie held Trevor's hands one day and entreated him to let them start afresh in a separate home \-- some little place where they could be all in all to each other.

"Am I not all in all to you now?" said Trevor, rather suspiciously. "My dear wife, do be reasonable. It is fitting that I, who shall doubtless own the Stratheyre estate one day, should make this my home. Besides, how could I afford a separate establishment? I have about one hundred and fifty pounds a year of my own, and we should spend that on clothes alone!"

"Oh, no, Trevor. I am so tired of silks and velvets, and you liked me just as well in my cotton and woollen dresses."

"But, Maisie, do you suppose I could settle down to bread and cheese, which would be all the fare we could afford? I should have to paint 'pot-boilers,' and nothing spoils the style like that. Besides, Miss Stratheyre would break her heart if I left her."

"I shall break mine if we stay," thought Maisie, but his eyes were wandering to a picture of Stratheyre Church. He was clearly busy over a background for it, so Maisie left him with a sigh, knowing she must take care that no trouble or worry fastened a drag on his genius.

About this time an amateur concert was arranged for the benefit of Wimchurch Cottage Hospital, and Mr. and Mrs. Mulgrave had promised to sing as a duet one of the Scottish songs in which Trevor delighted, "Down the burn, Davie, lad, And I will follow thee."

The Town Hall was crowded, and Maisie, being unknown to several there, was an object of intense curiosity as she entered the hall on her husband's arm, dressed in white satin, trimmed with dark red leaves. The people of Wimchurch expected that the aristocracy would honour them on these occasions by full dress, and they gazed at Maisie with open admiration as she sat, cloaked, in the portion of the hall reserved for artistes.

"What is this I hear, Mr. Mulgrave?" asked Mr. Medwin, a devoted violinist, and the conductor of the concert, as he bustled up to the pair. "Surely you two are not going to cry off at the last moment?"

"I must ask you to excuse me, Mr. Medwin," said Trevor rather sullenly, for his sore throat ought to have kept him at home, and he was feeling sleepy and uncomfortable. "Somehow or other I have caught a very bad cold. My wife will sing her solo, and the Squire is willing to fill up a gap with 'The Brave Old Oak.'"

"But the duet that Mrs. Mulgrave sings so superbly," said the little man. "We must not miss that duet. We can always fall back upon Major Davis. Mrs. Mulgrave will do him the honour to sing with him, rather than disappoint this crowded room."

"I have always practised it with Trevor," said Maisie nervously. "At least, once Major Davis tried it over with me in the music room."

"Oh, did he?" said Trevor abruptly.

Miss Stratheyre, seated by him, deliberately did not mention it was at her request, and Maisie was too flurried to remember this detail.

"Then shall we settle it in that way?" asked the conductor eagerly, and Trevor growled assent, his ungraciousness leading Mr. Medwin to suppose that his throat must be bad indeed.

"You do not really mind, Trevor?" asked Maisie timidly.

"Oh, dear, no. Davis possesses an exquisite voice," said Trevor coldly, turning to Miss Stratheyre.

But he compressed his lips with a fierceness that rather frightened that lady when Major Davis, with his fair face radiant with good humour and a dainty rose at his buttonhole, came forward to lead Maisie to the platform as the conductor explained the change that had been effected.

The trailing red leaves betrayed Maisie's agitation as her first notes echoed through the hall. She gloried in singing, and was glad to help the charity, but she could not bear to feel that Trevor looked displeased, and Miss Stratheyre was shaking her head. At last the spirit of song mastered every other feeling, and a hush fell upon the audience as she sang softly, clearly, tenderly , "Davie, lad, I will follow thee."

Such power dwelt even in her most subdued notes that the Major's pleasing though rather feeble voice seemed merged and lost in Maisie's.

"How well they go together," said young Charlie Medwin, watching Trevor's darkened face with the delight of tormenting. "If somebody hasn't thrown Mrs. Mulgrave a bouquet!"

Trevor glanced threateningly at the gallery, and Miss Stratheyre declared such proceedings were scandalous, and she had always objected to putting such a girl as Maisie forward. But the offender proved to be none other than the portly wife of the head gardener who kept the lodge at Stratheyre Manor. So Trevor, while angered at her impertinence, excused Maisie's smile of thanks.

Maisie did not return to his side, for her solo was expected soon, and she had a weakness for ices, with which Major Davis was acquainted. He left her enjoying a chocolate ice in company with other performers, and took the vacant chair by Trevor, for he had the kindest of hearts and saw the lad was upset.

Miss Stratheyre had no notion of becoming a theme for gossip, so she entered into amiable converse with the Major, and tried to cover over the fact that Trevor was studying his programme with an expression suggestive in bygone days of duels and pistols.

The Squire roared out "The Brave Old Oak" with an ardour that gratified whilst it deafened his hearers, and then Maisie was escorted once more to the front by Mr. Medwin.

She sang alone a sweet little Italian barcarolle \-- the lullaby of a fisherman's wife to her child. Few understood the words, but every heart was reached by the wistful melody of the refrain, and as the last verse died away the whole audience honoured her by a spellbound silence, saving only Major Davis, who sprang to his feet and cried impulsively, "Bravo -- encore!""

Of course, Maisie had to sing again, and charmed them with "Home, Sweet Home." There were some there who knew she had little experience of home-sweetness, and even as the harmony dropped from her lips, her heart cried out for the humble shelter with Trevor that she had craved in vain.

The townspeople of Wimchurch could not say enough in Maisie's praise that night, and she had made a social advance, for Mrs. Eaton, the wife of the Dean, asked Mrs. Medwin for an introduction and spoke to her for a long time about vocal development, and various systems that Maisie did not understand, but heeded with interest as proceeding from agreeable lips.

Maisie was quite excited and a little overwrought by her success, and she could not understand her husband's tempestuous aspect till she tried in the carriage to bandage his throat more warmly. He turned away with dignity, saying obedience was preferable to over-acted anxiety.

"But, Trevor dear, you did not forbid me to sing with Major Davis. Surely it was not my fault."

"A well-regulated mind would never have scandalised the family," began Miss Stratheyre.

At that moment the Squire aroused from his nap, and asked why they could not let him sleep in peace? So two of the party sulked in silence, whilst Maisie penitently and vainly pressed blackcurrant lozenges into her husband's hand.

### Chapter 11

The Effect of a Valentine

Miss Stratheyre made a point of attending Mrs. Eaton's "At homes," because she there met with the irreproachable clerical and county society in which her soul delighted. She was listening to the discussion of a colonial missionary, her face quite enlivened with sympathy, when Mrs. Eaton took a seat beside her.

As the missionary returned to his teacake, Mrs. Eaton remarked, "I am so vexed I forgot to send a card to Mrs. Mulgrave. Please ask her to dispense with ceremony, and to give us the pleasure of her company on Thursday afternoons when she can spare the time. What a striking face she has, Miss Stratheyre, and such a wonderful voice. Dear Mrs. Graeme interested me in her. I am glad to have made her acquaintance. Of course, she is very shy and unformed, but her beauty and style will mature every year. I predict little Mrs. Mulgrave will take the lead in Wimchurch and Pynechester circles by and by."

Mrs. Eaton rippled on, affecting not to notice Miss Stratheyre's shocked demeanour.

"Dear Mrs. Eaton," Miss Stratheyre said impressively, when she could find voice to reply, "your kindness and hospitality must not be abused, though it is painful to speak of family matters. Mr. Mulgrave was guilty of great folly when he introduced a low-born Italian serving-maid to our household. Yes, it is the truth. She helped the wife of an innkeeper where he lodged. And, of course, she set a bait for our poor boy and secured him. But I fear there is trouble in store for us all. Her nature is very frivolous, and she has no fixed principles."

"Oh, but I am a great judge of character, and I can see that Mrs. Mulgrave has a kindly nature. I read it in her eyes. She is so young, Miss Stratheyre, that if she has had hitherto every disadvantage and is inclined to levity, surely that is all the more reason why we, her seniors, should help her by a little friendly counsel."

"You do not know Maisie, Mrs. Eaton," was the reply. "I am correcting her from morning till night. My advice is thrown away on her. And between ourselves, people do not care to meet her. Hers must always be a very questionable position in society."

"Scarcely, if she is here on my invitation," said Mrs. Eaton, rather shortly. "Mr. Mulgrave often looks in, as you know, and I trust she will accompany him. Under such a roof as Stratheyre there must be much to soften her home-sickness, but I am always sorry for a stranger during the process of acclimatising."

A little while ago Trevor would have been relieved and delighted by the fact that Mrs. Eaton expressly left a card at Stratheyre for his wife, but, fostered with wicked pains by Miss Stratheyre, his jealousy had reached such a height that he could not bear to think of Maisie associating with new acquaintances, even though these might be of the extremely mild type that took tea with Mrs. Eaton.

There was one curate in the neighbourhood -- blond-haired and blue-eyed -- whom Maisie, remembering a picture of Daniel and the lions at Venice, had involuntarily likened to the angel holding the lion's upper jaw with tender care. Trevor owned in his heart that Mr. Mearing was exactly like one of the cherubim therein depicted, but it was unbearable that Maisie's thoughts should suggest such a compliment. If Mr. Mearing was to be at the "At home," perhaps he had better forbid the Deanery to his wife.

Maisie acquiesced at once. She was getting weary and listless, not caring to hold her own in domestic argument, since it was evident her husband had begun to share his guardian's disapproval of her. However, the Squire liked the Eaton family, and insisted that Maisie was to become friends with them.

"It is a pity you brought her to a free country, Trevor," he said privately, "if you wish to shut her away. Stratheyre shall never be a convent during my lifetime. The girl is pining, especially since her one friend, young Cecily Granton, went abroad. It is my special wish that Mrs. Eaton should take her in hand, since she has the good taste to appreciate Maisie."

The Squire said no more, for the ladies came down from marking piles of household linen, and besides being conscious that his support of Maisie made his sister disagreeably irritable, he was Englishman enough to be shocked at the notion of putting disobedient thoughts into the head of a wife. But Trevor felt he could not disregard the Squire's express desire.

"It would be as well for you, Trevor," said Miss Stratheyre, coming to the studio on Thursday morning, "to give Maisie a few words as to her behaviour today. You know the visitors at the Deanery are very particular, and she is ... well, we know she is not very guarded. Her hot-headedness is most deplorable."

"She is just a child herself," thought Trevor, coming a little later upon Maisie intent on dressing a doll for one of the wee ones of the village. "Maisie, I have something particular to say to you," he said. "I feel rather anxious about how you will get on at the Eatons. I wish I could have gone there with you, but I have been engaged ever so long to go over to the annual agricultural lunch, so cannot promise you my support. But I do hope that you will be circumspect at the Deanery."

"Trevor, what is it you are suggesting? What has Miss Stratheyre been hinting?"

"Only that you are a little frivolous, sometimes -- inclined to talk too freely to strangers."

"But if Mrs. Eaton introduces them to me, everyone at her house must be fit to speak to!"

"Maisie, I cannot conceal from you that I observe in you a ... a ... disposition to be admired and to enjoy notice. Your whole face seems to change directly you enter into conversation, and the effect is startling and striking. English ladies keep themselves in the background. Perhaps I do not make my meaning clear, but as Miss Stratheyre remarked, the text last Sunday was very instructive: 'Let your moderation be known unto all men.'"

"The preacher said the right translation was 'gentleness,'" said Maisie quietly. "But it was good of Miss Stratheyre to think of me during the sermon. Trevor, how long is all this to last? How much more of this daily life shall I be able to bear?"

He scarcely heard her rapid exclamation as she turned aside, and her face, convulsed with a bitter tide of feelings, was hidden from him.

"You must not be offended, Maisie. You see, I have my position to keep up here, and my wife must never forget that she is the wife of a Mulgrave, and a Mulgrave of Stratheyre."

"Trevor, I have never for one moment forgotten it!" exclaimed Maisie, so despairingly that a rush of affright came over him lest the yoke had, in truth, become galling to her.

"That's a good girl," he said soothingly. "You will learn English ways by degrees. I know manners are more lax abroad. Keep people at a distance, and I shall be quite content."

"When nobody spoke to me you called me unsociable."

"Don't be sullen, little woman. Come down and hold my paint brushes."

Mrs. Eaton prided herself on reading faces and characters, and she was not at all concerned when her eldest daughter, Katherine, took Maisie in tow and swept her at once into a tide of merry chat. There were some present who looked a little critical at sight of the young wife of whom Miss Stratheyre so strongly disapproved, but they concluded that Mrs. Eaton knew what she was about, and Maisie, given a fair chance for her pretty, witching manners, was not long in shaking the prejudices of many a feminine mind.

As for the gentlemen , even the colonial missionary inquired who was that bright-eyed young lady. And Mr. Mearing looked more cherubic than ever as he sat enthralled by a description she was giving Katherine Eaton of a place she had never forgotten -- St. Mark's Church, Venice.

Despite his mild aspect, Mr. Mearing could talk, and presently he joined in with animation. Katherine confided to Maisie that Mr. Mearing had been a good deal abroad and had actually helped to nurse and tend cholera patients in Palermo in Italy. After this, Maisie regarded the blond whiskers with much more respect, and, unfortunately for Trevor, the agricultural addresses after lunch were over in time enough to bring him to the Deanery just as the curate had drawn his chair up to Maisie's and was pouring a flood of eloquence into her listening ear.

Had Trevor been near enough he would have understood that Mr. Mearing was only detailing a favourite prescription of his own that had benefited several cholera patients, and Maisie, having witnessed cases of this disease, naturally felt some interest in the subject. Her husband, however, only saw the earnest look on both faces, and the green-eyed monster woke indignantly at the sight of the two speaking so closely.

The next morning at breakfast there came to Maisie a valentine, in a dilapidated condition, but with a Cupid and arrow, and the words "I love you" in gilt letters on a rose-coloured heart. Maisie laughed when she opened the packet, but Miss Stratheyre possessed herself of the envelope, and she and Trevor studied the rough, round scribble with agitated faces at the window.

Maisie was a little amused to see Trevor's countenance. Her woman's heart knew well enough he was conjecturing whether the feigned writing came from Major Davis or the cherubic Mr. Mearing.

"Such an impertinent thing. Evidently one of last year's!" he exclaimed, dropping the soiled greeting into the fire with the tongs.

"Maisie, we insist on your making a full confession. Tell me at once who has insulted the family by availing himself of permission that must have been given?"

Miss Stratheyre spoke in her most authoritative tones, awing Trevor and the Squire. No one could have been more astonished than herself when quiet little Maisie rose and left the room, saying: "You will pardon me if I say you forget yourself, Miss Stratheyre."

"She will not speak. Trevor, this is guilt," said his guardian, putting the envelope carefully and rather eagerly into her pocket.

The Squire hesitated a minute, and then went after Maisie, whom he found nervously plucking the scented leaves in the hothouse.

"Maisie, my child, you will make yourself ill unless you cry. Come, cry like other women do, and then tell me who sent the valentine."

Tears were the Squire's aversion, but he almost felt as if his long-lost sister Mercy had come to his arms again when Maisie was sobbing on his shoulder, and telling him in faltering accents that she had presented a wooden horse to the small brother of the housemaid, Fanny, and he had sent her a tender and grateful message, promising a valentine.

"Trevor, you have made a donkey of yourself!" cried the Squire vehemently. "One of the village boys sent that valentine. You ought to be ashamed to look Maisie in the face!"

Trevor went off sulkily to his weeping willows, and Miss Stratheyre to her storeroom, murmuring that these things would be sure to come out, sooner or later.

Chapter 12

"Call me Uncle!"

There had been some idea of visiting London in the spring, but it was abandoned owing to the Squire's ill health. Increasing age made him more liable to the ill effects of damp and exposure, but he would not hear of taking care of himself, and a prolonged bronchial attack was the result of his lack of judgment.

Maisie was grieved for his weakness, but those days of his illness were the calmest she had experienced at Stratheyre Manor. She did not like to think of the future. She sat in the sickroom reading to the old man his daily paper, or the Bible for which he sometimes asked now that the strength of yore had ebbed so low. Sometimes, while he slept, she turned the pages of comfort with wistful eyes, and watched from his window the opening gold of the crocus and the new life of the trees in the avenue.

Miss Stratheyre was satisfied to have her boy to herself again, and he, absorbed in an artistic fit, preferred that Maisie should be safely employed as sick-nurse rather than agitating his anxious mind by attracting others. There could be no doubt that since his suspicion as to the valentine, a gulf had opened between husband and wife.

Miss Stratheyre had laboured to promote estrangement, and she felt satisfied with that now. But her heart was troubled as she noted that Trevor was growing pale and restless. She thought of his glowing face as he proudly led his young bride to their side, and wondered sometimes if it were really for his benefit that her influence had helped to put them asunder. In the part she took there was strong, irresistible personal feeling. She hated Maisie, and could scarcely control her feelings of anger whenever she happened to see husband and wife together.

It was a beautiful morning when the Squire came downstairs for the first time. There was a breath of hyacinths about the house, and Maisie had put near his sofa a glass of dusky violets.

"Now, run away, little woman," he said, fingering his fly-book lovingly. "I shall have plenty to think about, and I want to do a little writing."

"Let me write your letters, Mr. Stratheyre. Nobody else wants me. I cannot practise, because the music room is being cleaned."

"No, no," he smilingly replied, "this letter is private -- not for the eyes of a child like you. Maisie, I had a letter from my lawyer today. He sent me some news. Would you like to hear it?"

"Yes, I always like news," she said lightly, moving up to him a little table with books and papers.

"Ah, well, all in good time. I will tell you when the proof is in my hand, and tell other people likewise, to their astonishment."

"Proof of what, Mr. Stratheyre?"

"Don't be inquisitive, Mademoiselle. You may walk over to Wimchurch if you like, and get yourself a new gown or something. I have never made you a present yet," and he stroked her bonnie face with a banknote.

Maisie never knew what it was to have pocket money, for though Trevor took care that she was well provided as to wardrobe, it had not occurred to him that she might like a little private supply. Maisie had often let the collection bag pass her at church -- with a very red face \-- rather than ask Trevor for money. And now she was the possessor of ten pounds!

"That is for yourself," said the Squire. "I'm beginning to feel, Maisie, as if I had a pretty daughter or niece to rig out. Would you like to give me a kiss, and say, 'Thank you, Uncle Guy'?"

"Thank you, Uncle Guy," she cried, clasping him gratefully round the neck.

"How good he is," she thought, as she ran off gleefully for her hat and jacket. "He knows I have not a relation in the world except Trevor, and it did seem good to call him 'Uncle.' Why, there is Trevor, going down the avenue. Trevor, may I walk with you?"

He turned and beheld her, radiant in her warm cloak. "It may be too far for you to walk to Pynechester, Maisie. I have to choose some colours there."

"I feel as if I could walk to London. I do love the spring," and she nestled her arm in his, much to the concern of Miss Stratheyre who had no time to interfere, for they were soon out of sight and hearing.

Maisie had long wished for such an opportunity of a long, confidential talk with her husband. She had made up her mind, when such arose, to proffer an urgent request. Now that the Squire's convalescence had brought Miss Stratheyre downstairs again she would be continually in contact, and Maisie felt she could not go back to the weeks of domestic misery, the intensity of which no heart but her own understood.

Now, she was too nervous to broach the idea that possessed her, and somehow the voiceless lips of the wild flowers soothed her into calm and patience, and she went on by her husband's side with her dark eyes full of sweet faith and love.

Trevor could not procure at Pynechester the tubes of rose-madder which were his immediate necessity. He had to forward the order to London, and the delay irritated him.

Maisie would have lingered in the High Street, for she longed to spend the first sovereign of her banknote on a present for him, but he hurried her on, saying he had promised to be back to lunch at two.

"Miss Stratheyre's arrangements are like clockwork," he said, "and it would promote the comfort of the family if you would consider her feelings a little more."

"Trevor, you are unjust!" trembled on her lips, but she suppressed the words.

"You have won the Squire's liking," Trevor said. "You have only one more conquest to make, but I do not like your manner to Miss Stratheyre. It seems to me that you deliberately avoid her."

"It is best to do so," said Maisie, "for we make each other uncomfortable. Come, Trevor, we do not often get a walk together. Let us talk of something agreeable."

"I think we had better settle our home affairs once for all, Maisie. I can tell you that the unnatural atmosphere at Stratheyre worries me and cramps my powers."

"It is partly your own fault, Trevor. You do not trust me. I am ashamed to say so, for heaven knows I have in no way forfeited your confidence."

"You are too ... too ... Continental in your manners," said he, quoting his guardian. "The other day, at the Deanery, see how you were chattering, while such girls as Miss Medwin were sipping their tea with a repose of manner it seems vain to ask you to imitate."

"Trevor dear, why did you not marry Miss Medwin?"

"Nonsense, little one. She did not save my life when my horse ran away."

"You wronged me," she said, flushing, "if you married me out of gratitude. Trevor, you are unhappy, and so am I. Let us end this kind of existence. I have wanted to say so for some days."

"How can we alter it, Maisie? I suppose there are faults on both sides, and I must make the best of----"

"Of your mistake," she said quietly, clasping her hands tightly, as was her wont when excited. "Well, even if you can endure this life, I cannot. A loveless marriage is a living death."

He turned, as if trying to read her thoughts, and she went on resolutely, "I meant to ask your permission, Trevor, but you will find my absence a relief, and my mind is made up. I intend to become a professional vocalist. No, Trevor, please don't forbid me. Let us agree to separate. I shall be earning my own living -- free and happy. I can take the advice of the old gentleman at Paris, Signor Dura, as to ways and means. Trevor, I must ... I will leave Stratheyre."

"And who has put these dangerous notions into your head?"

"Nobody -- unless it be Miss Stratheyre, who cannot bear to see me in her home."

"That is all your fancy, Maisie. She would like you well enough if you were a little less frivolous."

"I can read her looks, Trevor. Sometimes it makes me shudder when I meet her eyes. Let me go. I am getting cross and nervous. I cannot live where I am hated. I will not use your name, but I will work hard and earn an honourable name. And, Trevor, perhaps when I am famous and renowned, you will be proud of me and care for me a little."

He did not hear the last few faltering words, but he saw how she had dreamed of winning the laurels of song, and that the vision brought a new light of hope into her eyes.

"This comes of singing at the Town Hall," he said in alarm. "You must be insane, Maisie, to imagine yourself performing as a professional under a feigned name, or in any other way. Have you no self-respect? I begin to think it is true, indeed, that your character lacks stability. I do not know to what lengths your folly may drive you," he went on animatedly, "but should you ever disgrace Stratheyre by separating yourself from me, and appearing in public, understand what I say -- I shall never forgive nor forget it You are no wife of mine from that time. Good gracious, is it your idea, pray, to come backwards and forwards to Stratheyre between the performances?"

"No, no!" she said sadly. "I mean to leave Stratheyre for good. But if ever you want me back in the years to come -- I will come, Trevor, if you really miss me."

"Thank you," he answered, with an effort at sarcasm. "I am glad to have had this peep at your inward thoughts. But matrimony in England is not a child's game of 'hold fast -- let go!' We are bound to each other, Maisie, and it is your duty to obey me when I tell you to put the notion of a professional life out of your mind for ever."

She did not answer. The towers of Stratheyre rose before her in the distance, like a stately prison. One touch of real tenderness had made that avenue to her as Eden, but Trevor had gradually learnt to see her from a new standpoint -- that of a thirsting for conquest, and he would not assume an affection which even to his own mind seemed to have undergone a change.

"I want you, Trevor," said Miss Stratheyre, almost as soon as they entered. "Come into the dining room. Here is a telegram addressed to Maisie. Ought we to give it to her? How do we know who sent it?"

Trevor flung open the door, and called to Maisie who had sought the Squire, but was leaving his study as he was sleeping. "Maisie, who has sent you that telegram?"

She paled a little, a telegram being new in her experience, and handed him the paper with a bewildered look.

FROM LADY GRANTON, NORTH MOORS, NEAR REDCAR.

WE BROUGHT CECILY HERE THREE WEEKS AGO FROM MENTON. SHE IS VERY ILL. TODAY SHE IS MUCH WORSE, AND HAS REPEATEDLY ASKED FOR YOU. I SHALL BE SO GRATEFUL IF YOU WILL START FOR REDCAR IMMEDIATELY ON RECEIPT OF THIS. CARRIAGE WILL MEET YOU AT REDCAR.

"Oh, do let me go, Trevor. Poor, poor Cecily!" pleaded Maisie. "She must be dying for her mother to telegraph thus. Mr. Stratheyre is able to spare me now."

"I believe you are scarcely indispensable to the Squire as yet," said Miss Stratheyre coldly. "I suppose you are willing to oblige Lady Granton, Trevor?"

"It is most inconvenient," he said, "for I meant to study 'Hale's Anatomy' all the afternoon, with a view to the figure under the willows tomorrow. But I must give that up and take Maisie part of the way, at least. I suppose Fanny can go with her to the Russells' house at Redcar?"

Fanny was all excitement as she flew to pack her own things and to help Maisie. A hurried meal was made, and then, as if in a dream, Maisie was whirled away from Stratheyre, the old Squire waving goodbye from the window, and protesting almost as loudly as the retriever on the doorstep against this summary desertion in favour of the distant invalid.

Chapter 13

A Message of Goodbye!

"It will be wretchedly dull for you, Maisie," said Trevor, as they parted on the station platform, "to be cooped up in another sickroom. I should not think North Moors a lively residence, by any means. I have heard of the Russells -- benevolent and well-meaning people, with somewhat strange ideas. A friend of ours who stayed there told us they had ragged-school children one day playing hide-and-seek in the garden."

"What fun!" said Maisie. "But I daresay everything is very quiet there while Lady Cecily is so ill. Trevor, here comes my train. Do you think you are going to miss me, Trevor?"

"Rather!" he answered, holding her hand in a detaining grasp. "Take care of yourself, cara mia. Perhaps things will improve at Stratheyre on your return. You will come back to me, Maisie?"

"Trevor dear, do you think I would run away from you without warning?" She looked at him with her old, fond smile, and despite Fanny and the passengers on the platform, he bent his head for a brief farewell kiss.

"You must never leave me, Maisie. I feel wretched when you are away. Do Lady Cecily all the good you can, but I shall invite myself to North Moors if they detain my wife. It will be cold after sunset, so you must have a foot-warmer."

Despite the foot-warmer and abundant rugs, both Fanny and her mistress found the long train journey cold and wearisome, and they were thankful when, late in the evening, they were seated in Mr. Russell's carriage, bowling along to North Moors. Mr. Russell had come to Redcar to meet them. His good-natured face reminded Maisie of his sister, Lady Granton, but there seemed to her more real kindliness in his voice and expression.

North Moors was a very unpretentious place. Mr. Russell had a fair income, but there were many calls upon it. He had a young family, and he was interested in many charitable projects, in addition to which he frequently helped his sister, whose deceased husband, Earl Granton, had been a sad spendthrift and left Granton encumbered with liabilities that rendered his widow's resources inconveniently moderate.

"It is very kind of you to gratify so promptly Cecily's wish to see you," said Mr. Russell, as they drove along. "The doctor told us to deny her nothing. Lady Granton is in despair, for she says they always say that when hope is over."

"Perhaps the cold here, after the south of France, did her harm," said Maisie shivering.

He put a shawl round her, and replied, "No, she had a serious illness at Menton. She asked them to bring her to 'Uncle Arthur's' to die. She grew more and more resolute in this entreaty, till at last her mother could resist no longer. We have had advice from London, and there is a trained nurse with her now, but I begin to fear our beautiful Cecily is fading. We have been so proud of her, and so thankful to find from her letters that she has been interesting herself in the poor at Granton."

Lady Cecily was sleeping under the influence of a draught when Maisie arrived, and Lady Granton, full of real thankfulness for her sympathy and aid, hurried the traveller off to refreshment and rest. Mrs. Russell was in feeble health, and had already retired, but sent Maisie a message of welcome.

Despite the fact of Lady Cecily's sickness which affected all the household with anxiety, North Moors seemed to Maisie a far brighter home than Stratheyre Manor when she woke up the next morning from the deep slumber of weariness. Mrs. Russell had said that she was to breakfast in bed, and Fanny appeared with a dainty tray which did Maisie good in more ways than one. She had received such scant consideration at Stratheyre that her spirits revived buoyantly in the atmosphere of kindliness. While she breakfasted, she admired the border of honeysuckle that garlanded the wallpaper -- a welcome change from her room at home which was painted in the coldest shade of blue.

Fanny inquired excitedly if she would like to see the babies, and introduced an elderly nurse, bearing the twins -- the latest arrivals -- on either arm. Maisie was enraptured, and when behind the nurse there appeared a little troop eyeing her with friendly glances, and requesting lumps of sugar, Maisie felt there would be comfort amid these little sunny faces. When their eager feet had retired at the nurse's decree, she thanked God in her morning prayer that for a season she was safe in this bright home.

Perhaps if Aunt Dora could have ministered to Lady Cecily, the invalid would not have craved so passionately for Maisie, for Maisie suspected it was her unspoken love for the curate she had met in London that had broken her down. But Lady Granton would not recognise this, and somehow Lady Cecily could not breathe her feelings to her mother.

She had sought North Moors in her weakness, that she might leave with Aunt Dora her dying message for the clergyman she loved. She had long been too weak to pen to Rupert Dene the confession of pride and secret suffering that she would wish him to realise at last. However, on their arrival they found Mrs. Russell laid aside, and she could not soothe and tend her young niece as had been her wont. Then Cecily thought of Maisie, who believed in love, and whose warm heart would convey to Rupert Dene the faltering tenderness of her earthly farewell.

The sick-nurse had been watching all night, and was thankful to leave her patient in Maisie's hands for a while, after explaining the doctor's wishes as to medicine and food.

"Nurse believes in cod-liver oil," said Cecily, with a feeble reflection of her beautiful smile, "but it cannot minister to a mind diseased. Maisie, tell me the truth -- do I look as if I am dying?"

"You never had much colour, Cecily. Now I have come I shall allow no morbid conversation. I expect you took liberties with yourself in the south of France while at Menton."

"No, I sat and dreamed most of the time. Mother declared I was losing flesh and strength, and I had some bad fainting fits. Then a doctor came and told me to lie up. But Maisie, Maisie dear, I am tired of recounting my ailments, and it hurts me to talk much. While I have power I want to ask you to do me a kindness."

"Of course I will do anything and everything for you," said Maisie warmly.

"When I am gone -- no, don't be angry, you know not how feeble I have become \-- I want you to find out this address," and she pressed a card into Maisie's hands, on which these words were printed:

Rev. Rupert Dene

9, Wyndham Terrace, Bow, E.

"He is lodging there," she said. "He preaches at some church there. I think it is a very poor part of London."

"Is he ... the one you dreamed of at Menton?"

"When do I not dream of him?" she asked, a flush rising to her white, fragile face. "Maisie, I know he is not married, for with him such love as his could never die. It will not be wicked to send him a message. You know he proposed for me here at North Moors. He is the son of an old friend of Uncle Arthur's. Oh, Maisie, we were happy that summer! I learnt to love him with my whole heart, but I believed that I could not live without plenty of money and enjoyment, so I let him go. I began to dream of a rich husband and splendid home. I did not know that, losing him, I lost my all. His look as he left me has haunted me ever since. Maisie, I had encouraged his hopes -- I could not help it -- till he spoke of marriage."

"Dearest Cecily, if you talk you will bring back that cruel cough. Indeed, I will find Mr. Dene and tell him of your true feelings; but do not tell me more just now."

"Maisie, I have been silent so long. Mother hopes I have forgotten him. Poor mother, she has been ambitious for her only child. It has been all a mistake. Go to him, Maisie, when all is over, and tell him how I loved him even as I let him go. Say I could not live without him, but that, dying, I remembered his teachings and how he lived in the spirit of them. Ask him to forgive my pride and falsehood, and to think of me gently, tenderly. Tell him I hope some better woman -- no! no! I cannot wish that! Tell him that God is too merciful to keep us apart in His hereafter. Give him this ring from me. Tell him I have worn it for years. Rupert will treasure it." And she took from her finger a simple hoop of pearls.

Maisie's face was quivering as she placed it in her purse. "I will see him, Cecily," she whispered; "but, oh, do not speak of dying."

"Maisie, I am not afraid. God has forgiven me. He is so good -- so good!"

Maisie thought that if Cecily had struggled with spirit and energy at first, she might have been spared to help others to understand the goodness of God. But losing Trevor, what energy would be her own? She kissed the weary face and gave Cecily the prescribed tonic, bidding her rest peacefully, because her request would be carried out.

"What do you think of her?" asked Lady Granton eagerly, by and by.

"I think her nerves and mind are the secret of her illness," said Maisie plainly. "She has fretted herself to this state. Perhaps it is not too late to arouse once more her interest in life."

Lady Granton turned away in displeasure. Not even her daughter's precarious condition could reconcile her to the idea that Cecily regretted the refusal of a man of small means, but she understood the allusion.

"Speak as hopefully to my wife as you can," said Mr. Russell. "If we alarm her as to Cecily she will insist on going to her bedside."

Mrs. Russell was on a sofa in the dressing room, and Maisie saw at once where the little ones had caught the sweet expression of their eyes and lips.

"I hope Cecily will be better soon," said Maisie, in response to Aunt Dora's questioning; and her conscience permitted the hope, for a wild notion had come to her whereby it seemed possible the ebbing of that fair young life might yet be stayed.

It was from Mrs. Russell that Maisie learnt the infinite preciousness of the mother-heart. Patient, self-forgetful, untiring to sympathise and comfort, the mistress of North Moors, even in her weakness, was the pulse of the home. Maisie's motherless life yearned out towards her, and perhaps Mrs. Russell understood her thirst for love, for she gradually drew her young guest into the circle of her sympathies. While careful to avoid intrusive questioning, she soon learnt that there were briars to be trodden by the girlish feet, and that Maisie had need of patience and a vast forbearance.

Mrs. Russell did not imagine that any of the trouble came through the husband, but she had heard of Miss Stratheyre, and she believed that Miss Stratheyre's prejudice had much to do with the depression that possessed her visitor at times. Her lips quoted softly to Maisie many a calming passage from the family Bible.

Mrs. Russell led her, too, by the influence of her own existence to a higher, better Teacher than the woman's heart that had learnt to wait and pray. Those quiet moments in the dressing room grew sweet and sacred to Maisie, and the memory stayed with her, when sore-pressed and heavy-hearted, of the friend whose watchword day by day seemed the quiet whisper, "Comfort ye."

She was a great deal in the company of Lady Cecily, and the doctor and nurse told her what they scarcely made plain to Lady Granton -- that the invalid's lethargy was increasing, and that they feared the worst unless, by a supreme effort, she could be roused.

"Her constitution is highly nervous," said the doctor. "Her health may be said to depend on her nerves. I never knew such a case of utter lassitude and prostration. We must not let her slip through our fingers if we can help it, but she makes no struggle for existence."

A plan, from which she timidly shrank for some time, had gradually unfolded in Maisie's mind -- that of finding Mr. Dene and bringing him to Cecily's side. She started to write several letters to him, but felt she could not write as she would speak, and was afraid they might miscarry. So she tore them up and tried to nerve herself for a solitary journey to London -- the great city which as yet she had never seen. While Cecily was at her worst, Mrs. Russell had to be kept wholly free from agitation by medical orders, so Maisie dared not make her a confidante of her idea.

Mr. Russell had been summoned to Harrow, where his eldest boy had broken a collarbone in a too vigorous game, and Lady Granton would even now have opposed the notion of bringing Mr. Dene into contact with her daughter.

So the hour came when Maisie could no longer stand by Cecily's side and watch the drooping of her life. "Goodbye, darling Cecily," she said, with tear-dimmed eyes. "I am going to London for a day or two, but I shall come back. Look out for me on Wednesday. You must keep your strength up till then."

Cecily looked at her tremblingly, lovingly, but she was too feeble for words. She smiled faintly, and closed her eyes as if satisfied.

Mrs. Russell accepted Maisie's explanation that she must visit London for a day or two, but asked her to take Fanny, whose staid demeanour had won her approval. Maisie was thankful to enter so easily upon her project, and Fanny quite approved of the expedition, convinced that her mistress had been seized with a sudden passion for shopping, and that her own wardrobe would be the gainer by a day or two in Regent Street.

Chapter 14

Rupert Dene

It was well for Maisie that her attendant, Fanny, had often visited relatives in London, for her heart sank as after numerous changes of train they neared the metropolis at last. She had intended staying at the terminus hotel, but the noise and confusion bewildered her, and she turned almost helplessly to Fanny.

"I may be in London one or two days," she said. "I cannot return till ... till my business is completed; but I am frightened of this large hotel. If I could only find some quiet lodging, I should not care how humble. Do you think your friends would know of quiet rooms where we could stay?"

"Well, ma'am, as to that, my people are all at the wrong end of London for you. Still, you could get an omnibus to the West End," said Fanny, charmed at the prospect of seeing her cousins and her aunts, notably one Cousin Charlie, a cabinetmaker.

"It is East London where my business lies," said Maisie, colouring. "I have someone to see who lives at Bow."

"At Bow! Well, if that isn't strange, ma'am," cried Fanny excitedly. "My Aunt Martha keeps a draper's shop at Bow, and she lets the upper floor. They're beautiful, clean rooms, ma'am, though not what you've been used to. Aunt Martha lives in the Denmark Road."

"Do let us go there at once," said Maisie, much relieved. "The afternoon is getting on, so please call a cab, Fanny, and tell the man to drive quickly all the way. Somehow, the noise here makes me nervous. It will be so nice to feel safe under your aunt's roof."

"She will be proud to receive you, ma'am. I have written to her many a time of your kindness to me since you took me on regular as your maid. But you're quite safe, ma'am, I assure you. London is dreadful noisy, but there's lots of police about, and you've got nothing to fear.''

Aunt Martha was as respectable a body as one need wish to see, and her rooms, fortunately not currently occupied, were as clean and precise as her own appearance.

She looked a little disturbed when Fanny spoke of the sudden journey to London, and wondered privately to her niece what business her mistress could have at Bow.

"It's not my affair, Aunt Martha," said Fanny, observant of the tea kettle. "My mistress can come and go as she chooses, I suppose, without folks suspecting harm. When you know her as I do, you'll find out there's ne'er another like her, though they do say she's worked with her own hands at one time, and she's none the worse for that. I thought she were coming to shop at the West End, but whatever she's after, I'll answer for it that my mistress means a kind turn to somebody. Now, if the toast is ready, it is time she put something between her lips."

Cousin Charlie somehow heard the unexpected news of Fanny's arrival, and managed to obtain leave from the shop where he worked. His appearance made the little parlour so agreeable that Fanny was quite contented when Maisie rang for her, and told her she would not be required for some time, as she intended to take a walk.

"But you don't know your way about, begging your pardon, ma'am," said Fanny, hesitating a little. "Aunt Martha is getting a bit of chicken for your dinner, ma'am. Shall I tell her seven o'clock?"
"Yes, I expect to be back by seven. Do not be anxious, Fanny. I can easily ask my way."

But Maisie wished herself back in Fanny's Aunt Martha's best parlour when she found herself in the busy street, crowded by men out of work. There seemed so much poverty around that Maisie was startled by many a gaunt, hungry-looking face, and her heart ached for this sullen throng of labourers. They looked so different to the Italian poor \-- merry, careless, and contented with the free sunlight around them -- or to the villagers at Stratheyre, who certainly never lacked the staff of life, however humble their condition.

Maisie was too quick in her sympathies not to read real need in many a countenance, and she thought caringly of these strong sons of toil, and of their wives and children, heartsick often with hope deferred. These, then, were the people among whom Rupert Dene laboured daily. Was it any wonder he, who faced life's stern realities, should have acquired an earnestness of character that to his self-indulgent acquaintances seemed almost incomprehensible?

"It is a grand work to give a helping hand and word to such," thought Maisie, looking at the men in the street. A church clock struck five, and she was reminded she must waste no time in reverie. A shopkeeper standing at his door directed her to Wyndham Terrace, which she found with some difficulty, as it was quite a quarter of an hour's walk from Denmark Road.

Number 9 was of the usual type of lodging-house, with a dingy look about it as if it had seen better days. Mrs. Skinner, the landlady, a wax-flower maker, had done her best to brighten it with specimens of her skill that would have looked more ornamental had she attended to the matter of dusting them.

"You can't see Mr. Dene," Mrs. Skinner called out, as one of her children opened the door and stared, finger in mouth at Maisie "Not another person shall set eyes on him till he's had a decent meal, as sure as my name is Mary Jane Skinner! Ever since he opened his eyes there's been somebody after him, and I ain't a-going to let him starve, not for all the parish. Ask the body if she wants a coal-ticket, or what she's after, Jacky."

A door opened above. Rupert Dene, seated at his tea, had overheard his landlady's resistance, and he was accustomed to her altercations with his flock on his behalf.

"You wished to see me?" he inquired, putting Jacky gently aside.

"Yes, if you are Mr. Dene," said Maisie falteringly. "I come from North Moors -- from Lady Cecily Granton."

"Do you mind walking upstairs?" he said quietly, but Maisie noticed he had grown white, even to the lips.

Nervous as she was, her woman's eye took in his room at a glance, and a better representation of chaos it would have been hard to find. Books, letters and papers seemed everywhere -- Mrs. Skinner's brooms and brushes nowhere. Mr. Dene, with a busy man's dislike to change, had endured his quarters with resignation. He had made a sort of oasis for himself in the centre, and there was the tea table with a loaf and a pat of butter and a quarter of a pound of ham cut in slices. And there, too, was a little disabled child, scarcely more than a baby, having tea with Mr. Dene.

"It is quieter for him than downstairs in the kitchen," said Mr. Dene, trying to speak easily as he dusted a chair for Maisie with his handkerchief. "He is ill. It hurts him to be moved much. You will not mind his staying?"

Maisie kissed the child's face, then turned to Rupert Dene whose tall figure and grave expression had somehow the effect with her that his presence had with all -- that of soothing and hushing her agitation. She little knew the tension of his nerves as he waited for her words. With his strong nature, suffering was strong, and the love that Cecily had refused still throbbed within him.

"I am a friend of Lady Cecily's," said Maisie. "I have come to you because she is very ill."

"I knew that," he said gently, "when you spoke of yourself as her messenger. I knew when she was dying Cecily would send for me. She is not dead?"

His tones were quiet, but Maisie saw the convulsive grasp of his hand on the small child's chair.

"Oh, no, surely she will not die!" Maisie looked up at him pleadingly. "Mr. Dene, Cecily told me to bring my message when all was over, but I could not stay with her. Her strength has ebbed so low that I dared not let you remain in ignorance. Yours is the only earthly power that can save Cecily now."

"Cecily," he said, looking at her half-blindly.

Maisie felt he could not speak, and her anxiety for Cecily made her strong to proceed. "The power of your love may save her yet," she said. "I can see you care for her. She has missed you so sorely that her health has utterly broken down. She craves your forgiveness for her falsehood to you and to her own heart when she made you believe she thought more of money and position than you, Mr. Dene. She concealed her love from you then, but she told me when the end had come to tell you that her whole heart was full of you, and that God would in His mercy unite you at last. She has sent you this ring in token of a last farewell. I could not wait and see her die. Oh, go to her, Mr. Dene. Your voice will have power, even as she glides away from all the rest. Surely, when all eyes see she is fading, you can ask to see her. Lady Granton will not deny you now. What are all other considerations compared with Cecily's life? Her beautiful eyes will never be satisfied till they see your face."

He had bowed his head on his hands, but there was a light across his countenance as he lifted it to Maisie. "You love her?" he asked, and Maisie's impetuous answer brought him to her side.

"God bless you," he said simply. "It is not everyone who would have cared about two lives sufficiently to seek me out in these shadowed paths of human existence. If Cecily loves me, my place is at her side. You say truly, the hour has come when even Lady Granton must allow my love the right to claim a sight of Cecily. I shall start for Redcar by the next train I can catch. Mrs. Russell always made me welcome, but I have avoided North Moors of late. Whatever the result of my going, I shall never forget your kindness and sympathy. May I know to whom I am indebted?"

"I am Maisie Mulgrave," she said simply. "My husband is Trevor Mulgrave, of Stratheyre, near Wimchurch."

"Then I have heard of you," he said, "from a good friend of mine, Mrs. Graeme, the matron of a hospital in this neighbourhood. She is a distant relative of mine, and has filled a mother's place to me while I have been in London. We had a talk about the people she saw when she was in Dorsetshire, and she was regretting she could see so little of you. You won her heart, Mrs. Mulgrave. Now, can I offer you something to eat? It is not very tempting to a lady, I fear."

"I am lodging at Denmark Road," said Maisie, "and I feel rather tired, so I shall get back there at once. You will take the night train, Mr. Dene?"

"I shall take the next that goes," he said, searching amid the chaos for a Bradshaw timetable. "Do I understand, Mrs. Mulgrave, that you made the journey from North Moors on purpose to see me?"

"It was not very far" she said. "I am returning tomorrow. When I was first married I became accustomed to a great deal of travelling. Mr. Dene, I have done right, have I not? People cannot find fault with me for coming here, can they?"

"I am sure that nobody can or will," he answered warmly. "Your motive was kind and generous, and God will take care of the consequences. I hope you have suitable rooms?"

"At Mrs. Fenn's drapery shop, in Denmark Road. I can stay there, can I not?"

The childlike appeal in the face that had journeyed so far for his sake and Cecily's touched him forcibly. "I am glad you are there, Mrs. Mulgrave. The old lady is one of my parishioners, and I know she will see to your comfort. Now let me get you a cab, for I cannot rest till I have found out a train to the North."

He put her into a cab, the driver of which he knew well, and parted from her with an earnest handshake and looks that spoke such thanks as warmed her heart.

She leaned back in the seat, her bright hopes visioning Cecily as cheered and restored with miraculous suddenness. How glad she felt that nervousness had not hindered her from seeking the fulfilment of her plans.

"I will tell Trevor all about it when I see him," she thought, rather uncomfortably. "If Miss Stratheyre hears of my adventure, I fear she will make Trevor resent my journey to London. But if Trevor will let me tell him all about it, and whisper Cecily's secret to his keeping, I am sure my darling will understand and forgive me."

Chapter 15

Troubled Waters

A sudden jolt and shock startled Maisie from her reverie. She sprang up with a cry of fear, imagining that some terrible accident had befallen the cab. Angry voices increased her dismay, and the cab, being at a standstill, she opened the window with nervous fingers, unfastened the door and jumped tremblingly out.

"Why couldn't you keep off our rails?"

"Why didn't you use your whistle then?"

The cab had not cleared the tramway lines quickly enough to avoid some slight damage, and the driver of the tram was as indignant as the cabman who vainly endeavoured to persuade Maisie to resume her seat.

"That there brewer's cart made the block, ma'am," he said. "'Taint my fault, ma'am, and the parson, he paid me for to drive you all the way to the Denmark Road."

"I would rather walk," Maisie said hastily, turning away with limbs that seemed cold and faint. She could not understand what had come to her of late. At San Justo she was vigorous and daring as a country maid need be, and now there were times when even the opening of a door made her full of shuddering dread. She was just beginning to find out that she had not passed through domestic trial at Stratheyre without real cost to her constitution.

There was some excuse now for her alarm. She was alone in London, and could by no means recognise the shops that she was passing.

"I do not think I came this way," she meditated. "How dark it is getting, and how disagreeably those people stared at me just now. I wish I could see a policeman to direct me."

Just then she hesitantly turned a corner, thinking she would enter a chemist's shop, the lamps of which attracted her notice, and ask her way to Denmark Road. A gentleman was approaching her, and she came into contact with the cape of his overcoat.

"Mrs. Mulgrave -- it is not possible!"

"Oh, Major Davis! How glad I am. Do please tell me my way to Denmark Road."

Maisie was so overdone with travelling, excitement and alarm that she could have burst into tears of relief as she saw the Major's good-natured face. Just now, however, he looked exceedingly perturbed, for he had parted within the last ten minutes from Miss Stratheyre, and heard from her that Maisie was staying at North Moors.

He felt he had no right to ask the question that hovered on his lips -- whether Mr. Mulgrave knew she was in town. He had met Miss Stratheyre in Bow, whither he had journeyed to stand by the sickbed of a faithful soldier who had once been his orderly, and who had besought in his delirium that they would fetch "the Major." Miss Stratheyre told him that when in town she always called on a good woman who had been their cook for many years, but who was now married and settled at Bow. She and Trevor were staying at the Langham, but he had gone to an artistic friend at Chiswick till tomorrow. Being alone, Miss Stratheyre had availed herself of an omnibus to visit her old servant.

"I daresay I shall stay an hour or two," Miss Stratheyre had said, "and then take a cab back all the way. The omnibus has shaken me most uncomfortably. No, Major, thank you, I shall not need any assistance. I know London very well, and can manage for myself. Yes, thank you, Trevor is very well. He is in town with a view to getting his fine picture, 'Willows at Noon,' into the Helicon Art Gallery. You know the Exhibition opens next month. Thank you, Mrs. Mulgrave is well. She is with Lady Granton and the Russells at North Moors."

And here was Maisie, white-faced and alone, amid the tumult of a highway in East London!

Major Davis was more troubled than his kindly voice betrayed as he said, "Allow me to accompany you to your destination, Mrs. Mulgrave. No wonder you are bewildered. I believe this is your first visit to London. Are you one of those benevolent spirits who interest themselves in the needy here? I am glad to say there are some brave workers engaged hereabouts for the good of their fellow-creatures."

He was so anxious and disturbed that he scarcely knew what passed his lips; but Maisie, full of reverent admiration for Mr. Dene, replied, "Yes, I have just been speaking to a gentleman -- a curate -- who is spending his life in labouring for their help."

"Ah, then, she is connected with some kind of district work here," thought the Major, fairly puzzled. "Denmark Road, did you say, Mrs. Mulgrave? The name is over that draper's shop."

"Why, this is where I am lodging. I must have been close by, after all, when the cab pulled up. Thank you very, very much, Major Davis. There is Fanny on the doorstep, and -- oh, no! That cannot be Miss Stratheyre!"

Such accents of pain touched the Major to the heart. There could be no question as to Fanny's defiant aspect and Miss Stratheyre's gaze of horror. He could not leave Maisie alone in her distress, so put her hand upon his arm, and walked up to Trevor's guardian.

"Perhaps you will come upstairs, both of you," said Miss Stratheyre, in a voice wherein observant ears might have detected a ring of delight. "I presume that some explanation is forthcoming to me on Mr. Mulgrave's behalf. I happen to visit Fanny Fielding's aunt, formerly cook at Stratheyre, and find not only Mrs. Mulgrave's confidential maid, supposed to be in Yorkshire, but I actually hear that Mrs. Mulgrave herself is out visiting in Bow. And presently you escort her home, Major Davis. I presume Mrs. Mulgrave will make the position of affairs clear to me."

"My mistress can come and go as she likes," began Fanny, who was removing Maisie's cloak with tender hands, but a look from Maisie sent her downstairs to her aunt with a parting toss of her head in the direction of Miss Stratheyre, who was not, as a rule, greatly beloved by the younger domestics.

"As far as I am concerned, madam," said the Major, with some dignity, "I can only enlighten you so far as to say that I met Mrs. Mulgrave within a few yards of this house, and that the crowd and noise had rendered her so timid that I naturally escorted her back. Mrs. Mulgrave looks to me very agitated and unwell. If I may presume to advise, I should counsel the postponement of any further excitement till tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," said Miss Stratheyre, "her husband will institute inquiries for himself. At present, I have a few questions with which, despite the fatigue you mention, I must beg leave to trouble Mrs. Mulgrave."

"I do not think we need detain you, Major Davis," said Maisie, rather haughtily, but her dignity broke down as she met the kindly grasp of his hand, and the easy-going old bachelor went away, uncomfortably haunted by the quiver of the beautiful lips.

"Why can't the woman let her alone?" he grumbled to himself. "A man would listen to reason. I'll see Trevor tomorrow morning, and perhaps I can throw oil on the troubled waters, for that woman will upset the lad dreadfully. They say it is a mistake to interfere between man and wife, but I've known Trevor since he was in knickerbockers, and I will bear a little irritability of temper if I can induce him to be reasonable. Miss Stratheyre won't make much of little Mrs. Mulgrave, but it is my belief she would tell the whole facts of the case to her husband, if he will only listen."

Left alone, Miss Stratheyre turned triumphant eyes on Maisie, and opened her investigation. "Does Mrs. Russell know you are in town?"

"She does."

"When did you come?"

"Early this morning."

"When did you meet Major Davis?"

"He has answered that question already."

"Rudeness will only make matters worse," said Miss Stratheyre. "I assure you they seem dark enough already. At least, I fear poor Trevor will think so. Now, I must ask you to inform me the reason why you are absent from North Moors. Do you not hear me, Mrs. Mulgrave? Why are you here in London? I ask you as Trevor's nearest connection."

"I believe," said Maisie, with a little, sad smile, "that position -- of nearest to Trevor -- may be said to be my own. But I am too tired to argue, Miss Stratheyre. It is natural you should be surprised to see me here, but I have no explanation to offer you."

Looking at the cold face and glittering grey eyes, it was impossible for her to spread Cecily's tender secret before Miss Stratheyre, to whom love was surely but a name. Maisie did not know that even now, in the heart that cordially disliked her, there was a grave kept green by unrequited, ever-living love.

"You have no explanation to offer?" said Miss Stratheyre, slowly. "I am obliged to you for your candour. Will you tell me, please, if your maid is acquainted with the object of your journey to town? In Trevor's interests I am prepared to undertake even the unpleasant task of questioning Fanny. It is exceedingly important that such a mystery as this should be cleared up."

"Fanny is as much in the dark as ... as you are," said Maisie, with a little feminine appreciation of the hopelessness of Miss Stratheyre's endeavour to solve the enigma. "May I mention, Miss Stratheyre, that I am wearied out with the long journey today? I have engaged these apartments, and----"

"You turn me out of your rooms? I am going, Mrs. Mulgrave, but I must ask you to remain here till I can furnish your address to Trevor, who will join me here tomorrow. You will not rid yourself so easily of his company and inquiries. He has a right to insist upon a full disclosure."

"My husband," said Maisie, "will be welcome at any time, and I shall remain here to see him -- at any rate, till Wednesday morning. I promised to be at North Moors on Wednesday. I am willing and prepared to acquaint my husband with the reason of my journey and my proceedings in London."

"He must judge for himself," said Miss Stratheyre, "if the reasons you offer for this strange and secret conduct be satisfactory to the family. Charles Fielding, fetch me a cab, and take the driver's number in case of incivility or overcharge," and Miss Stratheyre swept down the little staircase, leaving Maisie, too bewildered for tears, to pass a sleepless night, half dreading, half longing for the morrow which would bring with it her husband's face. Bright or clouded, that face was the light of her life.

Fears grew calm at last as she listened in the morning for his footstep. However their meeting might end, she would be near to him for a season, and she dreamed of the gentle ways and tender words of old.

Chapter 16

A Husband's Decree

The long hours wore away, and it was midday before Maisie heard her husband's voice in the shop below, and then she rushed to the top of the stairs. It had not occurred to her that he would be accompanied in his visit by Miss Stratheyre, but that lady's bonnet, with its trimming of black grapes and jet, became visible before Trevor himself appeared. A cold hand seemed laid on Maisie's heart, chilling the impulsive welcome that had sprung to her lips.

"That is well," said Miss Stratheyre. "She has kept her word. I am glad to find, Mrs. Mulgrave, you waited for our arrival. We have been delayed by an obstruction in the streets. Otherwise, as you may suppose, poor Trevor would have looked into this matter earlier. Trevor, it may be that solitary meditation has convinced your wife her only hope is in speaking out."

"What do you mean?" asked Maisie, facing Miss Stratheyre. "You speak as if I had been greatly to blame. That is for my husband to decide. I will speak to him alone."

But Trevor was rather afraid of a private conversation. He felt fiercely angry with Maisie at present, but he doubted in his heart whether if left alone to her power she might not put a hollow gloss upon her actions, and talk him over into weakly condoning them.

"Miss Stratheyre is here at my request," he said, sternly. "If you are not ashamed of your conduct, you can offer an open explanation. I have a right to insist upon one. Little did I dream that my wife was careering about East London alone, when I imagined her safe with the Russells. And what is this Major Davis hints about your visiting someone connected with Church work?"

"Major Davis tried to pacify us with some such tale today," said Miss Stratheyre, "and I am bound to confess we cannot doubt the Major's word."

"However much you may question mine," said Maisie indignantly.

"The Major is an old acquaintance," said Miss Stratheyre shortly. "Come, Trevor, we cannot waste our time in beating about the bush."

"Who is it that is mixed up with this secret journey?" asked Trevor, in tones that did not seem his own. "Who is this person?"

"Trevor, whatever be your right to question me, you have none to insult me. I am weary of your jealous suspicions. Why could you not come to me with the love of old, and give me rest from all this trouble?"

They did not hear the sound of tears in the last cry of her tenderness, and when Miss Stratheyre asked sharply, "What trouble?" there was no reply.

"I am not to be played with," said Trevor, approaching her with compressed lips. "There is some secret on your mind, and if you wish to maintain your position as my wife, that secret must be explained."

"Not till every inquiry has been made and satisfactorily adjusted, will you be reinstated in the position your recklessness has forfeited," said Miss Stratheyre, rather eagerly. "We have talked matters over. While our inquiries are being made, Trevor will arrange for you to board with maiden friends of ours in Canonbury, where your movements cannot be as erratic as at North Moors."

"I am obliged to you both," said Maisie. "I have yet to learn that I have lost my freedom of choice and action."

"Freedom! It is the most outrageous laxity!" said Trevor, pacing the little room violently. "Come, speak, or I shall lose my patience. Tell me with whom you share your secret!"

He withdrew from her a little, startled by the passion that surged into her face. The hot Southern blood, kept down by brave effort so long, leaped up and asserted itself. Her dark eyes for a moment blazed into his face till he became a little frightened. He had heard of Maisie as a child as being of almost ungovernable temper. He began to see that he had held the reins of a spirit over which he had lost the power.

"You have come here, both of you," Maisie said, "simply to pour out words of dislike, tyranny and suspicion. You can think what you like, both of you. My lips are sealed. I will never tell you why I came to London, or where I went."

"I told you so, Trevor. I knew it would come to this, sooner or later. How can she return to Stratheyre?"

"I never will!" said Maisie. "Never! I have been told again and again that I could earn my bread as a vocalist. I shall go to Paris and support myself by helping Signor Dura at his concerts."

"Paris!" said Miss Stratheyre. "A very suitable field for your abilities. But if you adopt a professional life -- to which we strongly object -- you can have no claim upon Mr. Mulgrave's purse."

"Let me speak," said Trevor, in tones that through many a day echoed in Maisie's heart. "Miss Stratheyre is right in saying you cannot come back to me with this journey unexplained."

"I want no love that cannot trust me," said Maisie passionately. "I tell you, I refuse to explain in front of Miss Stratheyre."

"I repeat, Miss Stratheyre is here at my request. I demand you explain now, to the satisfaction of both of us, why you are here in London."

Maisie stayed silent.

"Very well, when you like to cast yourself on my forgiveness, with a full account of yesterday's doings, I may reconsider my decision," said Trevor; "but meanwhile I am willing to make you a provision through our solicitor. My means are small, but I can give you enough to keep you off the stage. Understand me plainly, if I hear of you as a public singer, our separation is final. That I will never forgive. So you choose absolutely between me and a professional life."

"Then I choose a professional life," said Maisie. "I will not touch a penny of your money. I am glad it is over and settled now. I was miserable at Stratheyre. I shall bid them farewell at North Moors, and then start for Paris."

She spoke so passionately that some would have understood the bitter pain at her heart. Every word was torture to Trevor. Was she really passing out of his life for ever? He half turned to her, but there came before his eyes an undefined shadow -- the secret which she evidently shared with another.

"I shall send you," said Miss Stratheyre, "the addresses of some select boarding-houses. It will scandalise the family terribly if you become a singer, but I know you cannot stay long at North Moors, for it is our duty to explain how matters stand to Mrs. Russell."

"Maisie," said Trevor angrily, "you are too young, too pretty to wander about the world. I cannot count you my wife if you appear in public. Good heavens, your photographs will actually be getting in the shop windows, to be stared at by every lounger! If you care for my feelings at all, you will make matters right immediately by an explanation."

"That will not set them right," she said. "All my life I shall be mistrusted and suspected. You are prejudiced against me, Trevor, and I cannot come back to the daily insults at Stratheyre. Two women cannot be first in a man's life. You gave me the second place, and you and I are better apart."

"You are wandering from the subject," said Miss Stratheyre, moving towards the door. "Trevor, it seems useless to prolong this interview. Once more, Mrs. Mulgrave, what is your object in coming to town?"

"I have no intention of disclosing it," was the curt reply. A legion of evil seemed at war in the troubled young heart, and beneath the keen, triumphant regard of the cold black brows, Maisie's better nature was crucified.

"Then," said Trevor, "we must say goodbye."

Maisie made no answer. She turned away from them both to the window.

"Come away, Trevor. This is utter heartlessness," she heard Miss Stratheyre say indignantly.

Maisie caught sight of her husband's face, stern yet suffering as the two went down into the street below. She heard them drive away, and then indeed she realised that she had lost the one dearest to her in all the world -- lost him -- how long? Would he never forgive her? Was it a lifelong severance? She turned her wedding ring slowly round, wondering how she was to pass through the lonely years before she grew old. Still the tears did not come. Her heart seemed like rock, and the healing waters were frozen at their fount by the agony of that parting.

A sound of plates and dishes broke the stillness. The good landlady had sent up a lunch of minced chicken and mashed potatoes, and Fanny knocked at the bedroom door to tell her mistress that it was served.

"Don't, ma'am. Don't take on so!" she burst out, unable to bear the sight of the suffering face. "It isn't for me to forget my place, but there's some as would try the tempers of angels themselves, and a very good riddance, too, ma'am. They ain't worth fretting over. There's some as call themselves ladies."

"Fanny, come in and shut the door. I have something to say to you, and it makes me very sad. You know I took a liking to you, and chose you as my maid"

"Yes, ma'am. I was conceited that day -- and so they told me at Stratheyre -- when you decided to keep me on. You ain't going to take no foreigner instead?"

"No, Fanny, but I shall not be able to keep a maid just at present. I shall have no settled home. I shall never go back to Stratheyre."

"Dear, dear, and what will the Squire do, I wonder?"

Maisie thought sorrowfully of the kindly old gentleman who had bidden her call him Uncle, and her lips trembled as she answered, "Everything is changed now. I have to earn my living. I am going to Paris for musical instruction, and then I shall try to support myself as a concert singer."

"It were lovely at Wimchurch Town Hall that night you sung to them, ma'am. Mr. Payne, he's heard Patti, but he thinks a deal of your lower notes, ma'am. He talked about them all supper time."

"I am telling you this, Fanny, so you may understand why I ask you to look out for a position. I hope you will be suited very comfortably. Perhaps Miss Stratheyre has room for you still."

"Perhaps she won't ask," said Fanny curtly. "Why, dear me, ma'am, all these grand concert singers has maids of their own. You'll want me more than ever to pack your fine concert dresses when you travel."

"When I travel! Why, Fanny, it may be years and years before I can earn anything but just my daily bread."

"Well, ma'am, I've got some savings in the Post Office, and Cousin Charlie ... he won't be ready for many a year to come. He's younger than I am, ma'am, and I ain't going to decide nothing in a hurry. Begging your pardon, ma'am, I couldn't abear to leave you. I don't want no wages to tend you a bit, seeing as folks don't put upon you in them frog-eating parts. The Squire, he never had no opinion of them benighted French. So don't send me away, ma'am. You don't know what a little I can live on. I was hungry many a time when I was a little girl, and I learnt to do without."

Fanny burst out crying, and a short time afterwards Maisie found her own tears flowing in sympathy. She was too touched to make any definite reply, but mistress and maid clasped hands, and it was understood that henceforth wherever Maisie's wandering steps might lead, there would be one from Stratheyre at her side, in the loyal and capable person of resolute Fanny.

Chapter 17

In the Hour of Extremity

Scarcely had Maisie left Wyndham Terrace, before a child came entreating Rupert Dene to visit her grandmother who had been taken suddenly ill. He could not refuse the plea of the little one who knew no other friend, and he was detained some time by the sickbed, soothing the frightened child, comforting the old lady, arranging for the help of a neighbour, and administering spoonfuls of bread and milk whilst he waited for the parish doctor for whom he had sent.

Then he hurried back to his lodgings, just in time to meet his most dreaded acquaintance, old Miss Lilley, who was always in great difficulties about Biblical prophecy, and always coming for solution to the curate. Mrs. Skinner waged warfare with Miss Lilley in vain. Here she was guarding the doorstep, but here stood the invader, biding her time till Mr. Dene could make clear to her the signs of the times as connecting prophecy with Russia.

Miss Lilley was a maiden lady, retired from the china shop round the corner, and she had many excellent qualities; but Mr. Dene must have been more than human not to regard the blue of her familiar bonnet with strong disfavour just then.

"I am sorry I cannot ask you in, Miss Lilley," he said hastily. "The fact is, I am just off for Yorkshire. My bag is packed"

This sudden desertion of her favourite counsellor entirely turned Miss Lilley's thoughts from prophecy and the empire of the Czar. She now questioned him as to Yorkshire, but there was no obtaining information from Mr. Dene. Mrs. Skinner was equally curious as to the sudden journey, and in virtue of the mystery an amnesty was declared upon the doorstep between the two ladies. The curate passed out at last in the midst of their wondering whispers and conjectures.

Mrs. Skinner was of opinion that he must be going courting. "Folks don't know when they is well off with a landlady who studies their little comforts and conveniences. I've taken that care of Mr. Dene, and I couldn't abear to see him make no mistake at this time of life."

But Miss Lilley opined that Mr. Dene was by no means that sort of young man. "He has never been one as you might call susceptible like," she said. "He's an excellent young man. You needn't be afraid of anything of that sort, Mrs. Skinner."

Cabs, omnibuses, and trains, with the perversity that seizes upon them at times, seemed to conspire against the impetuous progress which Rupert Dene had contemplated. It was eleven a.m. next day when, jaded and anxious, he came in sight of the lodge at the entrance to North Moors.

It was hard to keep calm and restful whilst Cecily might be dying. All the love he had tried to trample down was surging within him as he tried to falter a question to the children at the lodge gates. What a relief it was to see his old friend, Mr. Russell, coming down the path, his cheery face always reflecting the heart-sunshine within.

"Well done, Rupert!" he said, beaming welcome on his visitor. "I thought we were never to see you again. I can see your hard work has utterly knocked you up, and you have come here, like a good lad, to convalesce at North Moors. It is fortunate that I did not miss you. I only came home last night. Jocelyn is laid up at school, but I am thankful to say he has turned the corner now, and he is coming home when he can to be pulled together a bit. Have you been ill, Rupert? You have been getting wretchedly thin, my lad."

"I am all right, Mr. Russell. I have heard about Cecily. She is alive?"

"I forgot," said Mr. Russell, looking at the young man pityingly. "So you have not awakened from that unfortunate dream yet, Rupert? It is useless, my boy. Even if Lady Granton showed you favour, our poor Cecily is close to that Land where there is neither marriage nor giving in marriage. She is seriously ill, Rupert. I have just seen her, and she did not know me. I hear she has been insensible for hours."

"I must speak to her," said Rupert, "before the end. Mr. Russell, I must see her. I must look on my darling before all hope is over. Plead for me with Lady Granton. Surely she will not keep us apart at the last?"

Mr. Russell turned and walked back with him to the house. Lady Cecily had suffered so much within the last few days through struggles with such overpowering faintness that her uncle shrank from the idea of agitating her further. It seemed to him sometimes that it would be a merciful hour which removed her weary frame to rest. But the pleading in her young eyes of love touched his heart. Ringing for some refreshment for Rupert, he went in search of his sister.

He found her as he had left her, weeping hysterically in the anteroom leading to the chamber of sickness.

"Have you fetched the clergyman for my poor Cecily?" she asked reproachfully. "I am sure you have not had time to carry out my request."

"There is a clergyman in the house," said Mr. Russell, a bright idea striking him. "I wish you would compose yourself, Isabel, and come down and talk to him."

"Who is it? Dear Mr. Telford from St. Michael's?" Lady Granton gave a touch to her morning cap quite unconsciously, for her heart was sincerely absorbed in the danger of her child.

"It is an old friend of ours -- Rupert Dene. My dear Isabel, whatever may have been your views for our Cecily, ambition can have no place in such an hour as this. Young Dene loves her, I am convinced, with a love that exists but rarely nowadays. All he asks is that you will grant him admission to her side and let him see her once more."

"Certainly not!" said Lady Granton. "If Cecily were conscious, I should still forbid such an idea, for the doctor says she is not to be agitated or worried. As my child is insensible -- comatose, the doctor calls it -- no advantage could be gained by such a proceeding. Mr. Dene and my daughter have been strangers ever since his most obtrusive conduct at North Moors. I certainly think his presence here at such a time is a great liberty."

"Isabel, you too have loved. You have looked the last on your dear one. Why, if Dora were slipping from me, how could I be absent from her side?"

"That is very right and proper. You are married, and so was I when poor Granton was taken. It is quite different in this case. No sentimental story shall get about that my Cecily, the queen of the county, was embraced at the last by a penniless curate. I will not have my daughter made the heroine of a society romance. You cannot make such a disturbance here, Arthur. Nurse expressly asked that this room might be quiet."

Mr. Russell went down dejectedly to his guest, who was sitting, white and nervous in the window of the morning room. "You cannot go up just yet, my boy," he said kindly. "After all, Lady Granton, as Cecily's mother, has the right to decide this matter. My sympathies are with you, but Cecily is not my child. She is no worse, Rupert. You know that you are welcome beneath my roof. Stay as long as you please, and perhaps Lady Granton may yield at last to your personal pleading. But, easy-going and good-natured as she is as a rule, she has a way of tenaciously maintaining her own opinions at times.'

Rupert managed to waylay the doctor when he hurried away for a while to other patients, and his verdict did not tend to reassure the inquirer. Bitter feelings rose against Lady Granton in his heart, and a dreary feeling of dislike and personal wrong found a place in his thoughts for a few minutes. But Mr. Russell's youngest but two fell down the lowest steps and bumped his head. While consoling the loudly-lamenting lad, Mr. Dene gradually surrounded himself with Master Tom Russell's sympathising brothers and sisters, who jubilantly recognising their old ally gave him no further opportunity of darkly brooding as to his trying position.

Lady Granton lunched upstairs, and Rupert Dene did not see her till the afternoon. He was with Mr. Russell in the study, gravely discussing some of the problems concerning the poor in city and country, when Lady Granton entered trembling, so much that both gentlemen assisted her to a chair.

"She is worse," she said. "Arthur, don't tell poor Dora, but the doctor says my Cecily is not rallying as he hoped. I know the worst now. I shall lose my Cecily, my only child. This is a judgment for my ambition. Arthur, I idolised her, and she is going from me. The doctor says she must be roused, she must lay hold on life, but I cannot get her to open her eyes, to speak, or swallow food. Oh, if only Maisie were here. She loves Maisie. She would recognise her."

"She will recognise me" said Rupert, bending down to the sorrowing mother. "Let me go to her, Lady Granton. Who can tell if God will not give her back to us, even yet?"

Lady Granton did not protest against the tone of proprietorship, as her brother half expected. A sudden gleam of hope came to her face as she looked at the one Cecily loved. "Tell her to speak to me -- to open her eyes," she said. "I cannot let her go. Oh, Rupert Dene, if you cannot save her, none can. Ask her if she does not know her mother?"

The three went up together to that still, hushed room, where doctor and nurse were watching their quiet patient -- so quiet and almost breathless that sometimes they bent closely down, endeavouring to administer restoratives or to satisfy themselves that the fragile sleeper was still trembling upon the borderland.

For a moment Rupert Dene drew back, shuddering at the reality of his fears. When last he had seen Lady Cecily she had stood before him in all the flush of health and her imperial loveliness, and now she looked as if her fading life had passed.

Was this last silence the end of the mother's plans, the daughter's pride, his love and prayers? A great cry to heaven rose up in his soul as he drew near to the bed and sank on his knees beside it, covering his face with his hands.

"Oh, that I had been sent for long ago," he thought, in yearning. "Grant I may not have come back to her too late."

"There is a change!" said Lady Granton, eagerly. "Nurse, I see it! I see a stirring of the lashes!"

Perhaps she was right. Perhaps their spirits were knit so tenderly that even before he touched her she knew that he had come.

"Cecily, my darling!" He had scarcely strength to speak above a whisper, but her lips parted as if she heard. "Cecily, I have come back to you. Don't you know me, love? Give me some sign, beloved, that you can hear my voice."

The others scarcely caught his low-breathed accents nor the passionate words he whispered to her, when presently those shadowy lashes stirred, and the violet eyes looked quietly, restfully into his face.

"She knows him," said the doctor, pressing forward. "Lady Granton, if your daughter can struggle out of this stupor I am hopeful even now. Thank God you were here, Mr. Dene. No, no, my dear young lady, you must really wake up now. You have had a nice long sleep. Mr. Dene, she must not be allowed to relapse into unconsciousness."

For a space, the doctor vainly tried to pass a cordial between those gently parted lips. Then she fell back again, and Rupert bent his face to Cecily's and took her fragile weight into the clasp of his strong arms. Then there came to the face the quiver of new life, and across the deadly whiteness passed the blossoming of hope.

### Chapter 18

An Unopened Letter

Into the midst of a glad and thankful circle, Maisie returned to North Moors on Wednesday evening. Everyone welcomed her heartily, and in Rupert Dene's happy face she read the thanks for which words seemed to him inadequate. It was natural that Cecily's sudden turn for the better, and evident accession of strength, should fill the thoughts of her friends. She was not yet out of danger, should she again sink in her weakness into prolonged stupor, but the doctor and nurse were most hopeful, and Cecily herself said, tremblingly, she was feeling better.

It was natural that those who loved her should bring each other constant bulletins of her condition, and that Maisie's constraint and depression should pass unnoticed. Loud objections were raised to Maisie's resolution of leaving the following week, but she held to her appointed time. "I came to do Cecily good," she said, "but now she has a physician whose influence is beyond all others."

Cecily would grope for her hand, too feeble to say what she felt -- that the presence of that physician was due to Maisie's love and friendship; for Mr. Russell, surrounded by many duties and cares, had really forgotten the curate's bygone attachment, and Lady Granton would never have summoned him to North Moors; whilst his Aunt Dora had been ignorant all along of Cecily's extreme peril.

One morning Maisie saw upon Mrs. Russell's breakfast tray an envelope with the Stratheyre postmark, and she was therefore prepared to be summoned to the side of her hostess before long. Mrs. Russell lay on the couch in her dressing room in a pretty flowered wrapper. Her room, as usual, was fragrant with violets that grew richly around the garden and a bunch of her favourite flowers was fastened into her gown. So sweet, so kindly she looked, that Maisie could not bear the idea that this gentle spirit should think hard things of her.

"I suppose Miss Stratheyre has asked you to turn me out," she said bitterly, sinking wearily into the cosy chair that Mrs. Russell drew up beside her.

"We are not likely to turn you out, dear child, but I am sure you will tell me the particulars of your visit to London." Mrs. Russell handed Maisie the letter that had reached her that morning:

Stratheyre.

Dear Mrs. Russell,

I should have communicated with you before this, but we are in great trouble here. Mr. Mulgrave and myself were summoned from London unexpectedly to the bedside of my brother who has had a kind of stroke, partaking I fancy of the nature of apoplexy and paralysis. The Squire has always been very highly strung, and has suffered much at times with his head. He has had a great deal of worry with the farms of late, and he has not been quite well for some time. I felt it my duty to let him know that Mr. Mulgrave's wife could not possibly return to Stratheyre, having grossly scandalised the family. It seems that he became much agitated on the receipt of my letter. However, he rode over to Wimchurch and did some business, and he was coming downstairs to lunch when he fell suddenly and heavily, striking his head as he fell. We are all very anxious about him, for though able to eat and to speak somewhat inarticulately, we cannot understand him, and our medical man says he may linger on like this for months, or be taken from us suddenly. There is little hope, in any case, of immediate improvement.

My time is occupied with him, but it is my duty to let you know that this stroke is only another result of Mrs. Mulgrave's deplorable behaviour, and I hope she may be granted a spirit of true contrition and repentance. I cannot say what excuse she invented to Mr. Russell and yourself for her journey to London, but late in the afternoon I found her in the East End, wholly unable or unwilling to render a satisfactory explanation, even when requested to do so by her husband. We have made allowances for a great deal that is thoughtless and un-English in Mrs. Mulgrave, but her husband cannot overlook that mysterious visit to Bow. Until she takes the right course of dutiful explanation, he declines to receive her here. I need not say he is willing to support her, so that her idea of a professional life is wholly unnecessary. I am summoned to the Squire, so must draw to a close, but I cannot help regretting that your niece, Lady Cecily Granton, should have formed a friendship with one whom I am bound to say has disgraced us, and abused your hospitality. Trusting you are better, I remain, very truly yours,

Elizabeth Stratheyre.

Maisie finished reading the letter. "Mrs. Russell, do you think the Squire is in danger?"

"There is always danger connected with a stroke, Maisie dear, but let us hope he may yet rally. I have known paralysed persons survive for years and get back the partial use of their faculties."

"I hope so," said Maisie, shuddering. "I know he wants me -- he misses me now. I love the Squire. It is cruel of Trevor to forbid Stratheyre to me now the Squire is ill. I had grown to love him like a father. Trevor did not even write to tell me about the stroke. I might as well have no husband!"

"My dear, think of a wife's duty as well as a husband's. Mr. Mulgrave had certainly a right to know why you were in town, and your refusal of an explanation has naturally offended him. I ought to have ascertained your destination, Maisie, but I was suffering a good deal when you went, and I was content to know you took Fanny. A young lady guest of mine once took a similar flight to London, and I offended her very much by close inquiry. However, her mother had left her in my charge. She confided to me at last that she was bringing out a book anonymously, and an interview with her publisher was imperative just then. Somehow I fancied you, too, might indulge in secret authorship. But you will tell us the truth, Maisie, or at any rate tell your husband. I am sure that the object of your visit was a worthy and satisfactory one."

"I will tell you," said Maisie, with tears in her troubled dark eyes, "and I was ready to tell Trevor. But he would not speak to me alone, and my lips seemed sealed before Miss Stratheyre. She has tried to infect my husband with her prejudice and suspicion."

"I do not wish to intrude upon your family affairs, dear child, but I would counsel patience and forbearance. For Trevor's sake, whom I know you love, do nothing rash or imprudent. Take your pen now -- here is paper -- and write him, in wifely tenderness, an account of your London journey. I fancy, myself, a mountain has been made out of a molehill."

"That is exactly the case," said Maisie impetuously. "Mr. Russell said he told you yesterday that Cecily had been in danger"

"Yes, and I was grieved my dear husband had kept it from me, though I know he did so in love."

"Ah, she is getting on beautifully now, but I believe the sight of Mr. Dene effected her cure. She rallied from the moment she was conscious of his presence."

"So Mr. Russell said. I am thankful Rupert Dene came here. I was certain Cecily really cared for him, even when they parted. I wonder how he knew our poor child was so ill."

"Mrs. Russell, this is Cecily's secret, and that is the reason Mr. Dene has not told you the cause of his visit. He knew nothing of her illness till I went to his London parish in Bow. Cecily had trusted me with her last farewell for him, but I believed his presence could save her, and the reason of my visit was only to bring him to Cecily. Perhaps I was too hasty and impulsive, but Cecily's weakness frightened me. And remember, Mr. Russell was absent, and you were suffering, so I had to decide for myself."

"It was certainly an impulsive, romantic notion, Maisie, but I cannot blame you. I believe our dear one has been saved through your actions. I have never seen any strong objection to that attachment. Cecily has a small income of her own, and Granton must be hers eventually, when perhaps it will be less heavily encumbered than at present. I believe the young folks could be very happy together, and Rupert Dene will help her upward. He is a splendid character. Maisie, I am thankful you told me. Now, at the risk of exciting your indignation, I must beg you to confide in Trevor. Think what a relief it will be to him to find the solution of the mystery so simple. Of course I shall write to Miss Stratheyre, but you are bound, as a true and loving wife, to explain the case to your husband, and, shall I add, to tell him you are sorry if your refusal caused him pain. Maisie, I have heard your husband is far from strong. It may be an inexpressible comfort by and by to remember that you acted like a true woman and set your love before your pride."

The remembrance came to Maisie of Trevor's look of misery when they parted at Bow, and her indignation and stubbornness broke down before the picture. Once she held the pen, it was infinite comfort to pour out to her husband her longing to see him once more, and her sorrow for the Squire; to tell him in confidence the story of her self-imposed mission to Bow, and to beg him to let her come back and share in the nursing of Mr. Stratheyre.

Her hostess also wrote to Miss Stratheyre, giving full particulars of the journey, and expressing her gladness that Maisie had confided all to her husband.

Both letters reached Miss Stratheyre when she was feeling irritated and uncomfortable. Trevor's low spirits and moodiness were scarcely less trying to her than her brother's helplessness. The time had been when her presence in the house was sufficient to them both, but she was conscious that they grievously missed the fair young life that had made sunshine about the stately dwelling. The Squire's valet was devoted to him, and scarcely ever left his side, but the stricken man's eyes looked round again and again for someone whose absence sorely distressed him.

"Who is she, this chit of a girl, that people should be taken by her baby-face and forget her low origin and obscurity?" Miss Stratheyre asked herself angrily.

The many inquiries from the Eatons and others as to Maisie annoyed her. She triumphed still in the knowledge that to the one she hated, the gates of Stratheyre were shut. Under these circumstances, Mrs. Russell's letter was so unwelcome that she could only wreak her displeasure on an unoffending kitchen maid who happened to be near, and who was rebuked as a loitering good-for-nothing. Having sent the girl tearfully to the lower regions, Miss Stratheyre went to her own room, locked the door and threw the letter from Mrs. Russell into the smouldering fire.

But what about Maisie's letter to Trevor? No doubt the whole story was a fabrication, else why could she not have spoken out in the rooms at Bow? Whether Miss Stratheyre believed the tale or not, she inwardly argued that at any cost Trevor must be saved from his wife's injurious influence. Surely she must know what was best for the boy she had reared from a baby. As Maisie had said, two women could not rule his life, and who could do better for him than the guardian who had trained him?

No, Maisie must not return to Stratheyre. It was, of course, natural she should strive to do so. "She knows which side her bread is buttered too well not to swallow humble pie," said Miss Stratheyre aloud, more forcibly than elegantly.

Within her desk there lay an unused envelope, addressed by Trevor to his wife at North Moors, but thrown aside by him because a little ink had been spilt upon it. Miss Stratheyre had found that envelope lying among his papers a day or two ago. Why did she transfer it to her own possession? Perhaps she suspected that if Maisie appealed to her husband by letter, that envelope would be of use. The temptation had come to her sooner than she expected, and though she could not bring herself to yield to it at once, the idea was maturing in her mind. So Trevor on his return from his ride heard nothing of any communication from North Moors.

Two days later, Maisie came to Mrs. Russell with a scarlet spot burning in her cheeks and her lips angrily compressed.

"He has returned to me my letter," she said. "He shall have no opportunity to repeat the insult. Mrs. Russell, do not seek to detain me. I will make no further overtures to Mr. Mulgrave. I shall take my life into my own hands, now."

Mrs. Russell was indignant enough with Trevor to sympathise in the young wife's agitation, but she was troubled to find that no words of hers could soften Maisie's resentment. Then she tried to solve the problem of the future career. Could not Maisie remain at North Moors? Or if she must leave England, why not revisit San Justo, writing first to the wife of the English chaplain who had rendered her so familiar with the English tongue, and to whose company Maisie doubtless owed much of the refinement that had distinguished her from her so-called cousins?

This lady had taken such interest in her that assuredly she would offer a home or counsel now. But to speak the truth, Mrs. Wench had not approved of the hasty marriage, deeming a little village maiden and a highly educated squire ill-matched, and Maisie did not mean her to know that her warnings had been too well-founded. No, she must go to Paris, to Signor Dura. He had prophesied success for her, and he would train her voice.

To her surprise, Mrs. Russell exclaimed, in evident relief, "My dear, you could not do better. I know the Dura family well. The Signora is a French lady, my dear old governess, and I have been delighted to hear of her husband's professional success. They are excellent people, and you shall go to them as a friend for whom I care very deeply. You need not inquire at any hotel. I have my old friend's private address."

Mrs. Russell was firm in keeping Maisie beneath her roof till the Duras had promised her welcome and safe shelter. The Signor had not forgotten her voice, and if she would help him with some juvenile pupils who came to his wife's establishment, he would undertake her vocal education, certain of success. Moreover, the Signor had business in England, and would undertake to be her escort.

All things seemed to point to Paris. As Mrs. Russell said to her husband, "We cannot interfere with Mr. Mulgrave's shameful repudiation of his wife, but it is a relief to know she has a peaceful home, and that I am aware of her address should her husband come to his senses and endeavour to effect a reconciliation."

Chapter 19

With the Duras

Maisie had the joy, before leaving North Moors, of seeing Lady Cecily on the evident road to recovery, and of witnessing the peace and happiness of the pair whenever Mr. Dene was allowed to sit with the invalid for a season. Lady Cecily could scarcely believe that he was by her side unopposed, but Lady Granton had not the heart to dwell further on her personal desires for her daughter.

"I cannot understand Cecily's attraction for a man with empty pockets," she confessed. "But since her heart is bound up in him, I shall not try to separate them. Her poor father made a sad mistake in always accustoming Cecily to having her own way."

The more Lady Granton saw of Mr. Dene, however, the less she regretted her decision. She had never had a son, and she began to feel almost proud of her daughter's choice as he surrounded her with various little chivalrous attentions, which were evidences to her of his thoughtfulness and kindly nature. He was willing to abide by her decision as to the duration of the engagement.

It was arranged that Cecily was to start on a cruise in the Mediterranean, and that on her return some definite arrangement should be made. Promising to return in a few days, Rupert Dene went back with his heart overflowing with gladness to his imperative duties in London. By the same train Maisie started upon the first stage of her journey to Paris, in company with Signor Dura who had spent Saturday to Monday at North Moors.

Maisie was delighted with the old gentleman. He was so lively, so gallant, so hopeful, that the buoyancy of youth began to reassert itself in her heart, and she almost looked forward to seeing once more the fair city in which she had been so happy. But Fanny was miserably ill on the crossing, and sitting beside her under the depressing circumstances of uncomfortable weather, melancholy marked Maisie decisively for its own.

Maisie realised that now, indeed, the waters were rolling between her husband and herself, and that she had entered on the career he had forbidden. How strictly he had prohibited it, she had not ventured to make Mrs. Russell understand. But unless she took a situation as servant she could see no other road to independence, and she felt as if money from him would be insult added to injury. Mrs. Russell, at her request, had written rather curtly to Miss Stratheyre, simply saying Maisie was in Paris with friends of her own, the Duras, and utterly declined pecuniary assistance.

Rupert Dene could not comprehend Maisie's departure to Paris, but he saw she was in domestic trouble, and his last words had been, alluding as much to her sorrow as to the weather "It is cloudy now, but there is a fair sky ahead. The light will break by and by, if we are only patient."

The light seemed dawning directly Signor Dura handed over the wearied travellers to the guardianship of his wife. The dear old lady was just as fussy over the young people as an English housekeeper could have been, and Maisie forgot her fatigue in surveying the perfection of the Signora's dress. She looked like a grandmamma doll out of the Arcade, with her muslin kerchief and her dainty slippers, and the silver curls peeping from the lace of her cap. Signora Dura had no children of her own, yet she seemed to count her family by hundreds.

She was always writing to her "children" in England -- the grown-up boys and girls whom she had trained long ago. And she had a large day school now, added to which the children of the poor seemed always arriving for assistance and instruction in her odd moments, and the crèche in the next street would not have endured her absence for two days together.

The Signora had been an accomplished pianist in her time, and had received sincere compliments and ovations, but she always said that the prettiest compliment she remembered came to her in old age, when a little maiden ran up to her in the street holding up her rosebud lips, and saying, "I'll let you kiss me, grandmamma."

"I am not your grandmamma, my pretty one," said the Signora, kissing the rosy cheeks.

"Well, you are somebody's grandmamma -- I thought you looked like it -- I know you are," and the child trotted off, nodding her head with decision.

Maisie thought that the dear old Frenchwoman had implanted much of her own nature in Mrs. Russell while her governess. There were tones and manners in the Signora that reminded her of the friend she loved, and she felt quite at home when once she had reached the portals of the lime-shadowed house in the rue St. Servan.

Fanny was not so well satisfied. As the days went on, she missed the substantial joints of meat which were ever to the fore at Stratheyre and North Moors, and the Signora's potages were resentfully neglected by her till hunger asserted itself. She condescended to taste the vegetable soups, which she acknowledged might have been worse, and sensibly set to work to obtain the recipes.

Both Maisie and her "maid," as Fanny resolutely called herself, settled down into busy grooves in that industrious hive. Fanny undertook the sewing and a considerable portion of housework, for though the language around her bewildered and annoyed her, she loyally protested that it was a most delightful change, and she would not be back in England for the world! She was glad that "wherever she went, she knew how to thread a needle and handle a brush."

But she kept a sharp eye on Maisie, and was always on the alert for symptoms of overwork in her young mistress who talked English and Italian with the girls, the girls falling captive at once to her fairness and kindly looks.

Maisie felt she was honestly earning the instruction which the Signor gave whenever he found opportunity. The old couple delighted in her voice, and Signor Dura was too talkative to hide the fact that he had a marvellous debutante in training, so that Maisie felt she was regarded on all sides with interest, and that the Signor's popularity would be greatly in her favour when she eventually appeared in public.

Signora Dura had the wit to discern very soon that Maisie had received a most basic education, and with great tact she managed to interest her in certain books in the library, till Maisie found herself launched upon a course of general study in which she had always the well-formed mind of the Signora to fall back upon.

"Why do you take such trouble about me?" she asked one day, when with a smile the old lady had cleared up a geographical difficulty. "I seem to have learnt so much here. No one could live with you and not improve; but why do you take so much pains with my progress, dear Signora?"

"Because, my child, Dora Russell cares for you, and because I care for you, little one. Do you not know that faces like yours have a way of winning people's hearts? And I know that you are parted from Monsieur le mari----. But all that will come right, dear child. Learn and practise, and grow up into a sweet, wise woman, and Monsieur will be very proud of you in the years to come."

Such words were very comforting to Maisie, and she began to feel her lack of education as never before. She set herself eagerly to learn, feeling that every item of knowledge she acquired brought her nearer to her clever, college-educated husband. Her woman's heart was yet so full of him that she could not believe she had lost him for ever, though she tried to persuade herself that she was content with such an ending. Some day surely he would find he could not live without his wife -- some day he would seek her -- and she would forgive even the returned letter if he craved her pardon with the fond look of old in his eyes.

"Miss Stratheyre has not answered my letter," wrote Mrs. Russell, "but I hear from friends that the Squire, though physically stronger, is still seriously ill. He makes great demands, no doubt, on Mr. Mulgrave's time and attention. It must be a dreary existence for a young man, unless he finds consolation in his art. Even that must be a poor substitute for the happiness he has rashly flung from him. Maisie dear, Mr. Russell is going to Granton shortly to manage some sales for his sister, and I am so much better that my doctor advises a change. I hope to be able to accompany my husband, and who knows whether I shall not see Mr. Mulgrave and give him a little bit of my mind as to his returning your letter!"

Maisie was in a fever of suspense to know if Mrs. Russell had gone to Granton, and if the interview took place. She knew that Trevor frequently rode in that direction, and that he had sufficient acquaintance with the Russells to enter into conversation if they met. Would not some lingering thoughts of her draw him into Mrs. Russell's vicinity, and if so, would that lady's pleadings cause him to think more gently, more tenderly of his wife?

But Maisie's daydreams were occupied by another subject just now. The Signor's pupils were uniting to give the old man a benefit concert. Sufficient tickets to fill a spacious building had already been bought, for Signor Dura was a great favourite, and though his own voice was going off he always took care at this annual concert to secure some well-known musical star.

The great contralto, Madame Malo, had promised to sing for her early master. She was at present in Berlin, but telegraphed her consent to his request and her agreement to undertake two songs, as she would be visiting Paris before the date fixed for the concert. Then came a letter from the lady saying she must delay her visit, for she had to sing at a State concert, and also before a private audience of the Imperial family by Royal command. Signor Dura was in despair, for the tickets had been taken in the full expectation of her presence among the artistes.

"Why do you not let your quiet little pupil introduce herself with one of her Italian village songs?" asked a fellow-professor. "Introduce her simply as a pupil. Expectants will not comprehend the beauty of her notes till she opens her mouth."

Maisie refused decisively when asked to take part at the concert. She pitied the Signor's perplexity in his dilemma, but she said it was too presumptuous for her to stand up in place of Madame Mala. She was not really nervous, for in the spirit of song she forgot her audience and her own identity, but she had looked forward to years of waiting before she sang to the Paris public, and her heart shrank, almost in agony, now the time had come, from disobeying Trevor.

The Signor did not press her, but it came to pass that several of his force deserted at the last moment, and he was so troubled, that Maisie's gratitude to himself and to his wife induced her to seek him and offer to do her best.

Fanny hovered round her mistress open-eyed as she put the finishing touches to her dress that evening. Maisie wore one of the dinner dresses Trevor had chosen for her in the days that seemed so long ago. It was a simple costume of white plush, with faintly blushing heath in her hair and at her breast; but she had chiefly kept to her serge and woollen dresses at the quiet school, and the Signor and Signora admired her as much as even Fanny desired.

"That child reminds me continually of my old friend Metazzi," said the Signor to his wife. "She has just the same proud, brave expression in her dark eyes. I cannot help thinking she must be some relation of my poor old friend. He is long since dead, and I lost sight of him when he went to England. But come, good Fanny, put the cloak around the lady, and let her pass to her triumph."

Carefully shawling his wife, he led the way in the best of spirits to the carriage, confident that his pupil's voice would in nowise contradict the good impression that would be made when she came forward in her youth and beauty to sing the pretty Italian songs of her girlhood in a strange land.

Chapter 20

Mrs. Medwin's News

Miss Stratheyre's state of mind was not to be envied just now. Her brother, of whose vigour and prowess she had long been proud, seemed almost spent, and Trevor's studio, which to her was the gem of Stratheyre, was given over to the housemaid's broom.

"I can't paint," Trevor said irritably. "The fact is I am out of sorts. Stratheyre is unbearable at this time of year. If the Squire were in a less precarious state I should like a run on the Continent, but I do not like to leave him in his helplessness."

Trevor's much-enduring guardian, loving him with a love surpassing that of many a mother, could have wept as she heard his words. Had she not stained her conscience for the sake of keeping her boy to herself, and was he already yearning for change?

Then came the news that the Russells were at Granton, and she actually met Mrs. Russell at Mrs. Eaton's "At home" the following week. How would it be possible to keep Trevor from contact with her? He must not know of the letter he had never seen. Miss Stratheyre despised her own conduct in that matter too deeply to think with indifference of anyone else ever becoming aware of it

"I do think the Squire could spare you for a few days, Trevor," she said nervously, the day after her visit to the Deanery. "You look so pale. Why not join young Medwin at Brighton, and try the effect of sea breezes?"

"The Squire is beginning to know me again," said Trevor. "He actually reminded me of a book on trout fishing that he commissioned me to buy when we went up to London -- that time you and I stopped at the Langham. I believe his mind is getting clearer, and I am certain the old gentleman likes me near him. Dr. Stevens said his speech and intelligence might return."

"Yes, but Dr. Stevens believes that in such a case the end will not be far distant. You do not remember Mrs. Eaton's father. He was blind and asthmatic, but he became quite free from cough, and he actually saw during the last days of his existence. For my own part, if my poor brother's faculties return I shall consider we have received a warning."

"We have one or two old folks on the estate," said Trevor, "who have recovered in great measure from strokes of paralysis."

"The Squire's is a most complicated case," was the reply. "The brain vessels are disordered, and I cannot be hopeful concerning him. It will not be very long, Trevor, before you are called upon to undertake the responsibilities of master here, and, believing this, I am satisfied your domestic troubles have been for the best, for Stratheyre demands a gentlewoman as mistress."

Trevor pushed away his plate, and looked at her with some indignation. "It is no use pursuing that unfortunate subject," he said, "and I hope and believe I shall not be Squire for very many years to come. But as there is an evident change in Mr. Stratheyre, I would rather not go to Brighton. If you will excuse me now, I think Merlin is saddled."

As usual, Miss Stratheyre spent a morning of dread, lest Trevor's ride should take him in the vicinity of Granton, and she knew at once that her fears were realised when at lunch he returned in an unusual state of agitation, and directed glances of annoyance at Payne who was fidgeting at the sideboard.

"We shall require nothing more till I ring," said Miss Stratheyre, nerving herself for the interview, and feeling as if, in a letter from her friend, Mrs. Medwin, she still held the trump card in the struggle.

"I have been talking to Mrs. Russell, of North Moors, today," said Trevor. "What a splendid woman she is. I have heard her praised on all sides, but I had no idea she possessed such charming manners. I thought the Russells were uncomfortably strait-laced. She was at Granton Rectory, and I went in to see the rector about getting little Arnott a place as under-gardener. I cannot hear of one round here."

Miss Stratheyre was fully conscious that the attraction to Granton was Mrs. Russell's connection with the young wife who had been her guest, but she waited with unmoved countenance for further disclosures.

"I left Merlin at the Rectory, and walked to Granton with Mrs. Russell. I find she is much attached to my poor little wife. Oh, you cannot think what a relief it is to hear my darling praised! I love that woman! I would do anything to show my gratitude to Mrs. Russell. Do you know she has cleared up the whole secret of my wife's journey to town? Maisie only went to summon a dear friend of Lady Cecily's to what was believed to be her deathbed. How foolishly, how wickedly I have judged my wife!"

"If that be really the case, Trevor, how was it she could not candidly confide in you?"

"I tried her too far," said Trevor honestly, remembering some very plain observations which Mrs. Russell had made as to the desirability of husband and wife being alone at such a crisis of explanation. "And, besides, Mrs. Russell said she did write to me and tell me all. And the letter went back to her in an envelope directed by myself! I said plainly this was the first I had heard of it. Did any such letter come here to your knowledge?"

"I did my duty, Trevor," said Miss Stratheyre, in a hard, inflexible voice that betrayed no sign of conscious wrong. "This girl has duped Mrs. Russell, Mrs. Eaton, and others, but she cannot dupe me. Directly she heard of the Squire's peril she left no stone unturned to ensure her return here as mistress. Yes, on second thoughts, she did write to you, and I was resolved to shelter you from her scheming ways."

"I am over age, I believe," said Trevor, with white lips, "and can claim some freedom of judgment and action. At any rate, I will brook no interference with my private correspondence. I shall find another home for Maisie, and she and I will make another start alone and free from prejudice."

"And how will you live? On your hundred and fifty pounds, or on Maisie's earnings as a public vocalist? Nonsense, Trevor, I did it for your good. I have thought of nothing else but your good for many a long year past. I do not consider Maisie a suitable mistress for Stratheyre, and I honestly confess I stretched a point to frustrate her ambition when I returned her letter in a castaway envelope of yours. Dear me, Trevor, if she cared about you, would she so utterly disregard your wishes as to parade herself in a white dress on the stage before all Paris?"

"What do you mean?" cried Trevor. "She is living quietly with Mrs. Russell's old governess, and I am going there to fetch her home. It will be new life to the Squire."

"I received this letter from Mrs. Medwin by the midday post," said Miss Stratheyre, producing a long epistle from her pocket. "This will give you some idea how much Maisie cares about your objections to a public career.

We only reached Paris on Tuesday, and we rested all Wednesday morning, but dear Lady Mildred insisted on taking us to a concert in the evening, and there a most remarkable surprise awaited us. In the rue St. Servan is a spacious hall, used as the musical conservatoire. This was thronged to excess, Malo being expected, and the tickets were selling at fancy prices, for though many had heard of Malo's detention in Berlin, some wonderful debutante was expected -- a rich contralto. My dear Miss Stratheyre, imagine our excitement when who should appear but young Mrs. Mulgrave in a most becoming white dress, looking prettier than ever, as the flowers cast by eager hands fell around her. She did not seem nervous. I conclude that family reasons have induced her to adopt the profession. She took all hearts by storm, and her marvellous voice will, Mr. Medwin thinks, ensure her a place eventually at our own Opera House. Of course all this is in confidence, for since there is evidently a separation, such an account as I have given would be painful to your adopted son. Poor fellow, he would better have settled down happily, as you so earnestly wished, with some quiet English girl."

Miss Stratheyre read the extract aloud, and then handed the letter to Trevor who forgot his rising indignation against her as he pictured his wife \-- his little village flower -- entering upon a vocalist's career in defiance of his prohibition. Was it possible that a night or two ago she had stood up in a crowded concert room, the centre of all eyes?

"She has decided her destiny," he cried bitterly. "She has thrown my love and my wishes to the winds. That appearance on the Parisian stage I will neither forgive nor forget."

Miss Stratheyre heard him seek his smoking room, and she sat down miserably to a solitary lunch when he dashed off to the village Post Office. She longed to see what he had written to Maisie, but she rightly believed that Mrs. Medwin's letter had completely undone Mrs. Russell's earnest efforts at reconciliation.

"Never mention her to me again," said Trevor on his return. "Let me forget her, save when I see her posed as a celebrity among the rest in the shop windows!"

Signor Dura gave a little reception in honour of his pupil's success, and if Maisie's thoughts had not hovered wistfully around the studio at Stratheyre Manor she must have been intoxicated at the prophecies uttered by critics and musicians concerning her future. But she heard the surrounding praises with a sad, fleeting smile, and listened to violin, violoncello, and flute as the Signor's friends singly or together filled the echoing rooms with harmony.

She longed for the time when she could ascend to her chamber near the stars, and, sleeping, forget the opening vista of publicity in her dreams of Trevor. While Handel's "Largo" hovered around her as a violin solo, pleading like a human voice, Fanny slipped into the room with an excited look on her face, for she recognised the writing on the letter which she delivered to her mistress.

Maisie clasped it, feeling the room swim round her, yet she spoke laughingly of going to seek lemonade, and made her escape into a dimly-lighted classroom. She never heard that "Largo" again without some sense of the wounds which pierced her heart as she read the words her husband had penned.

Mrs. Russell has told me the reason of your journey to London, and also the fact that you wrote to me from North Moors. Miss Stratheyre, judging your feelings at their true value, returned that letter to you, unknown to me. I cannot think now that the circumstance matters much. I have heard of your debut as a vocalist \-- a step forbidden by me. I now wish you success in your profession, and give you to understand that no correspondence or protestations will obliterate your defiance of my will from my memory. This last step I shall never pardon, nor consider a public singer a suitable mistress for Stratheyre.

"Nor will I pardon such a letter as this," said Maisie, tearing into pieces the words her husband had penned in the white heat of passion. Then she gathered up the morsels of paper and pressed them hungrily to her lips.

"What is fame? What is even my daily bread, compared with him?" cried out her woman's heart. "I must give up the dream of becoming one of the great singers of the earth. I must give up my calm life here, for in this musical circle they will never hear of my refusing to repeat my first success. I shall have to sing if I stay here. Dear old lime-shadowed walls, I must quit your refuge if I give up the one hope to which I turned in my homelessness. I am weary of wandering, of suspense and of disappointment. I know how the heart was feeling that cried out long ago to have the wings of a dove and flee away from all, and be at rest!"

Chapter 21

In Meadow Place

All that night Maisie lay awake, shedding few tears, but wondering how much more of loneliness and trial life would hold for her before the end. Her very desolation seemed as a prayer in the sight of God, for with the dawn there came to her a comforting thought of the friend who had loved Trevor's mother, and who had drawn near to her side when others, in the first weeks of her introduction to society, held doubtfully aloof.

In the children's hospital in London, managed by Mrs. Graeme, might there not be some humble place where she could serve in lowliness, earning food and shelter by the tasks to which she had been trained at San Justo? It was hard to relinquish the dream of reaching fair heights through her glorious gift of song, but her ambition bowed down to her love, and she determined to become even a servant rather than take another step in the career her husband disliked.

"I wonder what the pride of Stratheyre will say to my cleaning and dusting," she thought rather bitterly. "But that has never been forbidden. At least I am not defying Trevor's wishes in seeking such a post. Poor Fanny, I hope she will believe at last that we must say goodbye to each other."

The Duras indignantly resented her withdrawal from the list of candidates for public favour, and they reasoned and pleaded with earnestness against Maisie's notion of working with her hands, whilst such a talent had been entrusted to her. All she could say was, "I cannot oppose my husband," and the old lady was silenced then, for she believed implicitly in the sacred obligations of the marriage tie.

Maisie received a reply to her letter to Mrs. Graeme, and read it several times with great pleasure.

I have heard of your absence from Stratheyre Manor, and have been anxious and distressed concerning you. I always regretted my ill health when in your neighbourhood prevented my seeing more of you. Certainly, come to me, dear. There is plenty of work in this hospital, but should you find it too irksome, I have no doubt I can hear of suitable employment among my friends. I admire the spirit and affection of your attendant in refusing to leave you. It is not often nowadays we hear of maids so loyal and faithful. Perhaps this may be the fault of their mistresses in great measure, however. Our hospital storekeeper is leaving us shortly. I wonder if Fanny would care to try her hand at managing that department. Tell me when I can expect both of you. I have rooms of my own here, and shall enjoy receiving a guest, so be sure that you do not disappoint me.

Mrs. Graeme's interest in Maisie, for the sake of Trevor's mother, had been greatly deepened by quiet talks with Rupert Dene, who had caught the Russells' enthusiasm for the gentle, wistful-faced young wife. She had never sided with Miss Stratheyre who had disapproved of Trevor's early visits to her home in Perthshire, and she was disposed to think young Mrs. Mulgrave could by no means be wholly in the wrong. Many a story of want and trouble had been breathed into her pitying ear, and she had sympathy enough to spare for the girl whose forlorn letter had pleaded for employment, even as a domestic. "I have worked hard before in San Justo," said Maisie, "and I am ready and willing to work so long as I have health and strength."

Mrs. Graeme knew there was always work in the home over which she presided, and the nature of the employment was such as to wean the heart from morbid broodings and subdue the asserting tyranny of self. Who could move among those tiny beds, those infant cots, and tend the little sufferers without a sense of patience yet unlearnt, bearing with it a touch of healing balm?

Even if Maisie proved to be of no help, Mrs. Graeme knew she could gratify her wish to receive her, for she was by no means dependent upon her post as to income, and she had the wherewithal to indulge the promptings of her hospitality. She rightly judged that before long the fair young nurse would prove invaluable, and that she would be a sure and certain comforter.

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"I feel quite rich in friends," said Maisie thankfully, when for some weeks she had worn the grey gown of soft material, and the neat white cap of a probationer. "I get long letters from Mrs. Russell and Signora Dura. I wonder why they should take such an interest in me, for I fear I showed this hot temper of mine to both of them at times. Then I have you, Mrs. Graeme, finding me just the very corner in life that is sweetest and best for the lonely and despairing. I have Fanny, delighted to leave foreign surroundings for the society of English people, and determined that your hospital stores shall be ordered to the point of perfection. And besides, I have all these little ones, who I really believe are just overflowing with love and gratitude. Do you know, since my troubles began, I have never felt so really happy as in the dead of last night, when little Katie Bryan, passing to the angels, held her wee arms on high and whispered my name, 'Sister Maisie.' Mrs. Graeme, do you think that dying child was pleading for me? Surely such guileless prayers must be answered."

"I am quite sure, dear, that the love of every little child holds in it a wealth of infinite blessing, and that our wee patients are influencing all those around them. You appear to me already far brighter, calmer, and even milder than when you came. I always say our nurses reflect some of our little ones' sweetness."

"If you begin to pay compliments," said Maisie, colouring and laughing, "I shall retaliate. But, seriously, the children are really doing me good. I think if all the world could love with their warmth and simplicity, heaven would exist below, despite weakness and pain."

Maisie went to comfort a poor boy, irritable through suffering, who presently dropped asleep with his tear-stained face upon her breast. Mrs. Graeme wished Maisie's husband could see her then. Would he doubt her power of tenderness as she bent above the frail morsel of humanity?

"This is better than the laurels of fame," whispered Maisie to her friend, who thought of the fadeless crown, and smiled as she passed to her labours.

Rupert Dene was often in and out among the small, red-jacketed tribe. He was full of sweet, comforting stories, cheery greetings, and congratulations for the convalescent wards. His pockets were sure to contain cards and boxes of shells, and scrapbooks collected from loving well-wishers. Even the children noticed how happy he looked at this time, and that his step was lighter and more gladsome than of yore.

All the hospital rejoiced to hear that there was every prospect of his curacy being changed for the living of his parish, his untiring labours having won the regard of all, and that before Lady Cecily returned from her cruise he would probably inhabit in London a large, spreading house, with a garden that blossomed out into old-fashioned flowers and shrubs -- even in the midst of surrounding factories and chimneys.

"I have been offered a country living," he told Maisie, "but my dear one longs to labour among the London poor, and if we both keep well I cannot believe I am called to leave my people."

The time came when Mrs. Graeme and Maisie went over the old house, with a view to suggesting a few modern comforts for the expected bride. Maisie was able to write to Lady Cecily a full account of the large, rambling rooms, "so useful for parish work," as Rupert Dene exclaimed rapturously, and to describe the large, walled garden which some little ones close by would no longer view as a forbidden Eden.

Thinking with interest of so many, Maisie's own cup of trial became less grievous to her, though there were times when she would have bartered years of life for one love-word from her husband. One tender touch of his hand.

One day Mrs. Graeme came to her with a grave face, and showed her, in the Times, the announcement of the death of "Guy Harold Stratheyre, Esq., of the Manor House, Stratheyre, Dorsetshire, aged sixty-seven."

Maisie had prepared herself to hear of this event at any time, but death in any form always comes suddenly to our consciousness at the last, and she could scarcely believe the kindly old Squire had ceased to be. She did not reflect upon the vast difference to her husband's position now, nor the incongruity of her hard work as compared with his wealth. She only thought that she would have liked to bid a last farewell to the old gentleman whose hand had often touched her hair in lingering blessing. A few tears dropped upon the pillow of her little charge, who inquired the cause, and told her severely she "did ought to be glad, 'cause peoples always gets quite well after they're gone to God."

Two or three days later she was sitting in the midst of the ward, with a small convalescent child on her knee and a huge baby doll on his, singing to the children. Her face had glowed when in Paris floral tributes fell around her, but they did not warm her heart as did the restful looks of the little ones who turned towards her from every bed, drinking in the little hymn that floated down the ward:

"Gracious Saviour, gentle Shepherd,

Little ones are dear to Thee;

Gathered with Thine arms, and carried

In Thy bosom may we be."

"Maisie," said Mrs. Graeme gently, though with rather an excited face, "a gentleman is waiting for you below. No, dear," as the girl turned white and faint, "not Trevor. It is Mr. Craddock, the family solicitor of the Stratheyres. He wishes you to catch the next train at Waterloo. It is the day of the funeral, and the poor Squire expressly desired, long before his illness, that you should be present when his will is read."

"But I cannot go to Stratheyre. Trevor will not receive me," faltered Maisie.

"Mr. Craddock undertakes the responsibility, my dear. Come, slip off your grey dress and put on the black cashmere I altered for you. I meant you to wear it on Sunday, but it is now ready."

Maisie obeyed as one in a dream, and went down, bewildered, to Mr. Craddock who had traced her through Lady Granton of whose affairs he had charge, and who had often lamented to him the "unfortunate estrangement between the Mulgraves."

Mr. Craddock had never seen her, and he was somewhat anxious as to the sort of lady he had undertaken to escort to Stratheyre. Judging from Miss Stratheyre's description, he had imagined a strong-minded-looking young woman, with a self-assertive, dictatorial air, or an affected, coquettish manner, which would, as a bachelor, have annoyed him unspeakably during the journey. But Maisie came in, pale and subdued, looking quietly dignified, yet almost childlike in her black dress and hat.

"That child is the living image of her mother," said the old gentleman to himself, and his thoughts went back to a fair little damsel who had bewitched all hearts around Stratheyre in the years gone by.

Maisie clung to Mrs. Graeme, shrinking from the painful interview before her, and promising to be back again at the hospital before long. She almost wished the Squire had not desired her presence at Stratheyre on this sad occasion. It seemed to her so unnecessary, but her heart was moved when Mr. Craddock spoke of the old man's last moments, when he seemed to recognise those around him, murmured gently of "little Maisie," and then called softly, "Mercy ... love ... forgive," as if, indeed, he saw his favourite and long-lost sister as he passed beyond the veil.

"You do not mind complying with the wish he expressed to me when in health?" asked Mr. Craddock, seeing how Maisie trembled.

"No, I would not refuse on any account; but ... but ... perhaps Miss Stratheyre...."

"You need not be alarmed, dear madam. Do not agitate yourself in the slightest degree. Miss Stratheyre did indeed object to my journey to London for this purpose, but she acknowledged before I came that you have a family right to be present this afternoon, for I informed her and proved to her that you are a very close connection of the late Squire's."

"You say I am?"

"Yes, Mrs. Mulgrave. He had promised himself to make this disclosure public when certain of it, but when the final proof came, you and your husband and Miss Stratheyre were away from home. I scarcely knew whether to speak or to be silent, hoping the Squire would recover. But when Miss Stratheyre raised objections, I saw it was time to anticipate events a little and speak out. Nobody can refuse you a place at Stratheyre today, seeing you are the one lineal descendant of the family, the only surviving child of Mercy Stratheyre, married to Victor Metazzi, and consequently niece to my lamented client, and to his sister, Miss Elizabeth Stratheyre. Come, here is our train."

Chapter 22

The Reading of the Will

Maisie sat speechless with the solicitor in the otherwise empty railway carriage as she absorbed the disclosure made so calmly by her quiet companion. He fancied that she hardly understood his meaning, so he proceeded to give fuller particulars.

"Even before you came to Stratheyre," he said, "we could see the Squire was greatly troubled at times in memory of his former harshness to his sister Mercy. We knew him well enough to understand that he could forgive Signor Metazzi's poverty, but not his foreign origin, for the Squire had set his heart on marrying his young sister to a gentleman whose estates joined his own, but who has since married and settled in Australia.

"Miss Mercy Stratheyre had many suitors, but from them all she chose Signor Metazzi, your father. I remember him well. He was delicate-looking, rather aloof and sad, but undeniably handsome and possessed of a sweet tenor voice. As you have no doubt heard, they married in opposition to the wishes of the Squire and Miss Stratheyre, and I fear they struggled on in great financial difficulties.

"After a time they drifted out of the knowledge of the family, though friends living abroad sent word that the Signor was dead and their little children likewise. You reminded the Squire so vividly of his sister when you came to Stratheyre that he came to us one day in great agitation, and begged us to investigate the circumstances of your own marriage at San Justo, and of your mother's history after her last vain appeal to him. We found, of course, that Mr. Mulgrave had arranged everything quite correctly with the English chaplain at San Justo concerning the marriage, and then with infinite difficulty we set ourselves to trace the life of your poor mother."

"She lies in the little graveyard there," said Maisie. "But there is no name on the stone," she added brokenly. "Only the words 'In Te, Domine, speravi.' I think it means 'In Thee, Lord, I have hoped.' Mrs. Wench promised to put flowers upon the grave sometimes. I always kept some there."

"Do you not hear from San Justo, Mrs. Mulgrave?"

"Mrs. Wench is so busy she can seldom write, and my other friends have long been silent." She might have added that her "cousins" only wrote when she forwarded them gifts, which of late she had been unable to afford.

"When they write again they will doubtless tell you that a neat marble monument is raised to your mother's memory, with both her married and maiden names upon it. The very day he was first taken ill, the Squire asked us to have this put in hand, for my partner was still in San Justo where he had been personally collecting links in the chain of proofs. If it be any consolation to you, I can assure you that your father was of noble blood, descended from an old Roman family, but troubled by political struggles.

"We found that his death was correctly reported, and that three children died of fever while he lay ill. But you were the youngest, and you remained with your mother. Making inquiries in the outlying villages, we found several places at which she had rested before reaching San Justo. She was travelling to Venice, having heard that an English governess was needed there in an American family, and hoping they would let her keep her child with her if she asked but a trifling salary. However, as you know, her strength failed and she died at San Justo, leaving you nameless and alone."

"I suppose," said Maisie, smiling faintly, "my name is also Mercy, only I mispronounced it as a child. But still, I cannot see how you are sure my mother, who died at San Justo, was really the Mercy Stratheyre who married Signor Metazzi."

"Do you not remember an old English Bible that you left behind you as a gift to Mrs. Wench's English nurse?"

"Yes, Madame often told me it was all my mother left me. She said it had been her own since she was ten, and she wished it to be her child's. I gave it to Nurse in a fit of gratitude because she came over every day to tend me when I fell from a swing and broke my collarbone. But I have often wished I had not been quite so hasty, for I ought to have kept my mother's legacy."

"You little knew what that Bible really contained, Mrs. Mulgrave. You remember it had a velvet cover?"

"Yes, very old and worn."

"That cover had been fitted over the original morocco cover of the Bible, but on examination and removal it was found to be lined with silk, and between the silk and velvet were Miss Stratheyre's marriage certificate, several old letters from her husband, her sister, and the Squire, and a letter to her brother, the Squire, committing her little daughter to his charge. We were nearly certain of your identity before we found these papers, but they reached the hands of the Squire while he was alone at Stratheyre, and he told us he must journey to North Moors for the purpose of bringing you back in triumph to your mother's home.

"He was very much affected when he read the words his young sister, Mercy, had penned concerning you. I suppose she thought the papers would be found when she was gone. Strange that nobody but my partner thought of examining the Bible. The good woman who brought you up says that your mother's mind seemed full of the book, but it was supposed she only wished to impress upon them in her incoherent murmurings that it was to belong to her child."

Maisie made no reply, and the entrance of passengers prevented further explanations on the subject. It was an overwhelming revelation to her that she really possessed relatives; but she was conscious, amid her disturbed thoughts, chiefly of sorrowful, yearning regret that the one hand which would have cared to claim and welcome her had suddenly become helpless, and now was forever still.

She felt it was right for her to take her place among the mourners. She had found her uncle, only to realise what his love and protection would have been to her had he lived to grant them. It was strange how persistently she put her husband out of her thoughts. She would have to meet him, to endure his coldness, but the dread of that experience was too sharp a pain for reflection, and she sat thinking of the quiet grave at San Justo, and of her father's gift of song, and what Fanny would say when she learnt that her mistress was really a Stratheyre. Her faithful handmaid had been away on a holiday at Bow when she left the hospital, else she would doubtless have insisted on journeying to Dorsetshire, too, lest Mrs. Mulgrave might require her services.

"Dear me," said Mr. Craddock, looking at his watch, "how many more times shall we pull up, I wonder? We have no right to be delayed at these little local stations. Guard, is there a stoppage anywhere? Yes, Mrs. Mulgrave, the signals are against us. We shall be too late for the funeral," he added in an undertone.

The train indeed made slow progress, and Maisie would have felt nervous as to a probable accident had she not been in that strained condition of mind which seems so full of trouble as to be oblivious of physical danger. At last the porters shouted "Abermere," for which station the Waterloo train had suited better than Wimchurch, and there at Mr. Craddock's request was a carriage from Stratheyre with the servants in mourning livery. The blinds were up at the Manor House as they came in sight of the long line of windows. The mourners had returned from the funeral, and Payne told Mr. Craddock they were then taking refreshment in the dining room.

"I have missed the funeral," whispered Maisie sorrowfully. "There is no reason----"

But just then Miss Stratheyre appeared in a dress that seemed composed of crape flounces, and touched Maisie's hand, simply for the sake of appearances before the solicitor. She had long dimly imagined a probability that Trevor's wife was Mercy's child, but though this gave her a family right to mourn for the Squire it did not condone the enormity of her ensnaring Trevor, nor secure her anything but a temporary footing at Stratheyre.

Maisie felt a chill strike through her as she touched the extended finger. Was this her aunt, a little more than kin and less than kind? She thought of the old man who, when she left Stratheyre, had waved to her affectionately and bidden her hasten her return. Then she remembered the flock of little children who would rejoice at the sight of her face, and she longed to be back again in London with the only ones who were left to warm her heart with tenderness.

"Will you take anything?" asked Miss Stratheyre, "or will you proceed at once to the library? Our friends have gathered there by this time."

Mr. Craddock had been lunching at intervals through the journey, and Maisie, though nearly fainting, would not have accepted a crust of Stratheyre hospitality. So with faltering steps she followed the solicitor to the library where she was conscious of a mute, solemn-faced assemblage. There were the confidential upper servants, some of whom had lived from childhood with the Squire. There were the doctor and the rector of the parish, also Mr. Medwin, who was executor, together with Mr. Craddock, and various distant relatives of the Stratheyres, whom Maisie did not know by sight.

And there was the heir, standing by the mantelpiece, looking gloomily out to the garden. All eyes were upon him as Maisie entered, and he came forward courteously to find her a chair, believing, as did Miss Stratheyre, that her relationship to the Squire had probably secured her some remembrance in his will.

"The date of this will," said Mr. Craddock, "is the 15th of last February."

Maisie scarcely heard, for she was longing to find courage to glance round at her husband. She must see if he looked strong and well, or if he had suffered in part something of her own lonely heartache.

Trevor's eyes were on her as she removed her hat, and the soft waves of dark hair curled round her brow. He had known of his expected inheritance from childhood. The reading of the will was of no personal moment to him. On the mind of Miss Stratheyre, however, the mention of the date had a different effect.

"My brother's last will," she said hastily, "was executed when Mr. Mulgrave came of age."

"This is a later document," said Mr. Craddock politely, "executed at our offices in Wimchurch, and signed on the very morning of the Squire's stroke. It is witnessed by John Hammond, bank manager, and Eli Wilson, our chief clerk."

Miss Stratheyre was silent, but her breath came and went excitedly as she understood her brother had by no means confided all his ideas and feelings to herself.

There was a comfortable addition to her own income, together with the use of the Dower House and its furniture for life. There were legacies to the servants and old friends, and generous remembrances of distant relatives. There was affectionate mention of Trevor, as provided for by his marriage to "my dear niece and heiress," and then followed the bequest of all the testator's real and personal estate to "my niece Maisie, or Mercy Mulgrave, daughter of the late Victor Metazzi and his wife Mercy, _née_ Stratheyre, and wife of Trevor Mulgrave above mentioned."

After that came a labyrinth of legal technicalities to which nobody listened. Already a hum of whispering had arisen, and a feminine cousin had crossed to the seat where Miss Stratheyre was sitting, pale and rigid. Miss Stratheyre and Cousin Alberta found each other mutually objectionable, and the spinster cousin's sympathy was an added drop of bitterness in Miss Stratheyre's overflowing cup.

"It is disappointing for Trevor," she said, "but, after all, he is no connection of the family. Had not Mercy's child survived -- and a pretty creature she is, not at all what I have been led to expect \-- I always said the proper heir was my brother James. These old estates should descend to kindred in reality. Adoption is only a matter of sentiment. And then, as Trevor has married Mercy's child, it is the same thing for him as inheriting personally."

Miss Stratheyre turned impatiently aside, and said in a determined voice, "I shall contest that will, Mr. Craddock. The Squire has often spoken to myself and others of Mr. Trevor Mulgrave as his heir, and Mr. Mulgrave has been trained in expectation of a more just will than this."

"Up to the time it occurred to him that a Metazzi might have survived," said the solicitor, "I believe the Squire fully maintained the intentions you mention. When he was absolutely certain that Mrs. Mulgrave was his niece, we suggested to him some specific legacy to Mr. Mulgrave; but he remarked that in providing for the one, he provided for the other, and he wished to make public reparation for former sternness to his sister, Mercy. He expressed himself, likewise, as being greatly attached to his newly-found niece."

"Well, I shall dispute the will," said Miss Stratheyre. "My brother's brain must have been already disordered when he gave instructions for it, and signed it."

"He appeared perfectly himself," said Mr. Craddock, "and had just transacted important business at the bank. However, you will, of course, act as you please. I will now ask you to excuse me, having an appointment in Wimchurch this evening. I hope to call tomorrow to settle a few necessary matters with Mrs. Mulgrave ... and her husband," he added politely, including Trevor in his general bow.

Family connections pressed round Maisie, exclaiming, questioning, paying respect for the Squire, and congratulating her, as it seemed, in one breath. She only knew that she was rich, and that all she had belonged to Trevor.

Trevor Stratheyre pursed his lips, determined never to end the estrangement that he had sealed with his letter to Paris, lest it should ever be said he had softened to her for the sake of her money. He passed her with uplifted head, and supported from the room poor Miss Stratheyre who was absolutely broken down with disappointment and vain resentment.

However Miss Stratheyre might view the fact, the bitter certainty remained that Trevor's road to prosperity lay through reconciliation to the baby-faced girl who was henceforth mistress of Stratheyre.

Chapter 23

Aunt and Niece

The visitors had dined and departed, and Maisie, finding herself unable to escape from their midst without discourtesy, had missed the last London train. She stood lonely and perplexed in the drawing room, oppressed by the stillness of the great rooms where the presence of death seemed to have left a solemn influence, longing for Mrs. Russell or Mrs. Graeme to stand beside her at this time of her desolation, when Payne brought her a note in the clear bold writing of Miss Stratheyre.

"Matters cannot be settled too soon. I shall leave Stratheyre Manor tomorrow. If you can find time amid your triumphant meditations to come up to my room, I wish to speak to you about him."

For them both there was but one "him" in all the world. Would he be with Miss Stratheyre, Maisie wondered, taking heart a little as she glanced at the tall mirror at her side. She was too true a woman not to realise something of her beauty. Would not the face he loved appeal even now to his heart, despite his written vow never to forgive her?

She had not ventured yet to the upper regions, feeling almost an intruder in the house that her husband had forbidden to her. She could not understand how in a short space of time she now had indisputable right to the whole of that old mansion. As she passed the studio, she could not resist the inclination to see the well-remembered room. Perhaps he might be resting there before the easel in his favourite chair. She peeped in timidly. The gas was lighted, but there were no half-finished studies or pictures to be seen. The chairs were put rigidly back against the walls, and the low seat she had been wont to use had been removed.

Never before had Maisie entered Miss Stratheyre's dressing room, a comfortable apartment where Trevor had taken many a lecture and accepted much. She held up her head high as she went in, but her heart smote her as she saw her aunt's look of real illness. It was not customary for Miss Stratheyre to lean back in an easy chair. Looking at her exhausted aspect, Maisie remembered she must sorely miss the brother with whom she had lived so long, and gentler thoughts came to the young heart that had learnt many a tender lesson of meekness among the little children.

"Shut the door," said Miss Stratheyre shortly. "I suppose you know he has gone?"

"Gone?" Maisie's beating heart had been expecting an interview with her husband ever since the guests disappeared. It had not entered her mind that he would take a hasty departure. Gone? Was her presence then so unbearable to him that he could not breathe beneath the same roof as herself?

"Yes, gone, and I cannot wonder at it. He has been brought up as heir of Stratheyre, and a few hundreds are all he can depend upon in future."

"But ... but ..." hesitated Maisie, "he is surely master of any money left to me?"

"All is tied up to you very securely I find. I cannot speak harshly of my poor brother, but my poor boy has been most unjustly treated."

"But he must know ... he does know it is all his still. He is my husband, and what wife cares for money except to give it to her husband?"

"You speak like a child," said Miss Stratheyre, smiling sadly despite her vexation at the light that had kindled in the dark eyes. "Sentiment and business have nothing to do with each other. Trevor's position as master of Stratheyre would have been very different from his simply sharing your inheritance. But you seem to forget that yours are not the ordinary relations of husband and wife. Nothing that I can say will induce him to hear of a reconciliation. He would rather starve than end this estrangement."

"It is very good of you to plead for peace," said Maisie, with heightened colour, "but of course he can please himself, and there is no necessity for him to starve. Even his own income will assuredly prevent such a fate. Then I am to understand that he quite declines to share my home, and that I am the obstacle to his presence at Stratheyre?"

Miss Stratheyre, thinking as usual of her boy's prosperity and comfort, had a hard time between her prejudice against Maisie and her anxiety not to offend the mistress of the house.

"It is his pride," Miss Stratheyre said. "I sincerely wish the past could be altered now, but your very wealth will keep you apart. He would never have it said he sought to be reconciled when you came into property. He scarcely remained here an hour after the reading of the will. He tells me he is going to depend on his artist's brush, but of course he will always have a home with me at the Dower House."

Maisie shook her head in disbelief. Surely Trevor would not insult her by staying there, within the very grounds of Stratheyre Manor! What would the neighbourhood say, and the servants? How could she hold up her head against such a slight?

"The steward's mother lives in the Dower House," said Miss Stratheyre, "and keeps it in excellent order. I shall pack up my things and go there tomorrow. Of course I always expected to make it my home when Trevor was master here, but I thought the old days of Stratheyre's prosperity would return, and that he and his wife would be among the leaders of society in the county. All my dreams, all my plans have fallen to the ground like withered leaves."

"Yes, ever since our marriage," said Maisie miserably. "For your sake, for everyone's sake, I wish it could be undone. But, Miss Stratheyre ... aunt ... why need you go? Surely there is room enough for both of us here. Stay in your old home. You need not see me unless you wish, but do not leave me in this great, gloomy house all alone. You don't know how frightened I felt in the drawing room just now."

"You are like your mother, Maisie. You give way too much to nerves. There is nothing to make you timid, but I have been thinking you are really too young to be quite alone here. Of course Stratheyre cannot entertain for some time to come, yet even now company will be better for you."

"Then you will stay, aunt?" Maisie cried bluntly. "I am not so bad as you think. At least I will try not to be. I could not help loving Trevor, but of course that is all over now. I will only live for the sick, and the poor, and the afflicted, and you will stay and help me care for them. Perhaps, in loving them, we shall get to love each other. I hope so. It is hard to be all alone."

The girl was thirsting for love, and Miss Stratheyre, whose natural disposition rendered her unable to understand the existence of such a vital need, was yet touched by her appeal. The more so that the fair face turned to her was decidedly a Stratheyre's. The likeness to her sister was growing upon her consciousness more and more.

"I hope you do not mean to turn the place into a hospital, child. I hear that hospital nursing was your last romantic scheme. Certainly it was better than concert singing abroad. No, Maisie, I cannot stay. I cannot know the Manor House without my brother, and I must not forsake my boy. While I live, there will always be a shelter for his wanderings. You little know how all my affections and ambitions have centred in poor Trevor."

Maisie said nothing, but turned her face silently to her husband's portrait that hung on the wall.

"Lady Granton and her daughter are back in England, and staying at Mrs. Eaton's, as I daresay you know," said Miss Stratheyre. "Granton is let for some time, and it occurred to me as I sat here that it might be a mutual convenience if you asked them over. Their name is quite sufficient to shelter you from scandal. Trevor's continued absence might otherwise make it awkward for you, though it is well known that there has been some disagreement."

Maisie understood only too well that the scandal which might have enwrapped her, earning her living far away, must not be allowed to reach the walls of Stratheyre Manor. She understood she was already somewhat changed, by virtue of her inheritance, in her aunt's eyes, and she sighed a little as she acquiesced in the arrangement.

"But at least stop till they come," she said. "You are really not fit to leave tomorrow."

When the morning dawned, Miss Stratheyre was too exhausted to think of packing, and nearly a fortnight elapsed before she was able to undertake the removal. Meanwhile, Mr. Craddock had been backwards and forwards, and Maisie was beginning to understand the nature and extent of her possessions, and to feel a little frightened sometimes at the notion of such solitary grandeur.

The old steward came up frequently to ask for "Master Trevor." He had no notion of feminine sway in business matters, and was dissatisfied when Maisie, with her young face flushed painfully, referred him to Mr. Craddock.

"And when will the young Squire be home, my lady?" asked many a one on the estate. Maisie told herself she must get used to such little unconscious stings. It would surely be no more than a "nine days' wonder," and people would become accustomed to her husband's absence and cease to inquire for him. But then, if he appeared at the Dower House, she was too sensitive not to dread the tide of talk that would thus be set flowing. She almost wished she had remained out of the neighbourhood, instead of being compelled to dwell in the midst of county society where food for gossip is scarce, and a well-known family like the Stratheyres could not fail to be observed by curious eyes.

To Maisie fell the painful task of packing Trevor's pictures, for he had sent word that they must be packed with the greatest care, and Miss Stratheyre was far too unwell to attend to them as she wished.

"She will never be the same, now the Squire has gone," said some, noticing that an added shade of grey was certainly visible upon Miss Stratheyre's locks. Maisie pitied her sorely, bereft of brother, bereft of her adopted son, for the hurried lines he sent were written from Antwerp.

Many a tear from Maisie dropped over the clothes, books and pictures that were sent to the Dower House. But those secret teardrops seemed the last of the storm, for she rose up calm and composed for the task, resolved to fret no longer over the inevitable, but to forget her sorrows in the interests of others.

Lady Cecily grew dearer to her than ever at this time. Lady Cecily's love for Rupert Dene had sweetened her inexpressibly, and her fragile loveliness held the new charm of tenderness and sympathy. The happy, eager bride-to-be returned from her cruise in health beyond the hopes of her delighted mother, and seemed to understand Maisie's yearnings.

So the days passed on, and at last Miss Stratheyre bestowed her first kiss -- the kiss of parting -- on her niece, and wended her way to the old house among the chestnuts where the birds built under the eaves. Maisie was left with her visitors as sovereign of Stratheyre, but she envied her aunt that humbler dwelling in its old-fashioned rose garden, seeing that sooner or later that roof was to shelter the husband she tried to forget, but who she knew was dearer to her soul than her own.

Chapter 24

Juvenile Visitors

Stratheyre was deserted for a while in the summer. The Russells would not hear of Maisie's absence when, at the old ivied church of North Moors, Rupert Dene and Lady Cecily were made one. Mr. Dene had taken a well-earned holiday, and the young couple started off for the Highlands, the bride in a simple serge that astonished many of her friends, remembering the superb garments of old.

"But she looked better than in the days gone by," they all agreed. "Certainly happiness has a wonderful effect on good looks. It is not much of a match for her, however. With such a face as hers she might have done much better."

They did not see Lady Cecily's look as her husband drew her to his side in the carriage that bore them away to the station, nor the gesture of supreme content with which she laid her hands in his, realising that their paths, widely diverging so long, were henceforth one for ever.

But Maisie saw her friend's happy tears as she left North Moors, and read the quiet, earnest face of Rupert Dene aright. She knew they were all in all to each other. His was no passing fancy as Trevor's had been, she told herself, shivering in the warm, fragrant air.

Poor Lady Granton missed her daughter sadly, and was only too glad to return with Maisie to Stratheyre. She explained she must before long commence a round of visits, but she still delayed her departure. Nowhere would she feel more at home than at quiet Stratheyre, and now that her dream of a society husband for her child had proved useless, she began to realise that at her age a season of rest was by no means to be despised.

Mr. Dene and Lady Cecily wrote in glowing terms of heather, moorland, mountain and stream, and Maisie was reminded of Trevor's enthusiasm for Scotland, and Mrs. Graeme's fond reminiscences of her beloved Cluny as she read her friend's poetic descriptions of many a wild scene of Nature, shining with ever-varied hues and crowned with richest luxuriance.

"I feel almost ashamed of my beautiful little rooms," Lady Cecily wrote to Maisie on her move to London after the honeymoon, "when I look around and see how some of my husband's parishioners live. But I do really mean to show them that I care about them, and that my sympathy is not only verbal, but practical. With Rupert they seem quite at home. Somehow, they appear to consider me as belonging to another world. I hope I shall be able to show them that rich and poor alike have human hearts and souls. Rupert let me visit a poor widow yesterday, and I have been taking care of some little children today as their mother is so ill. I have started a branch of the Flower Mission among the surrounding houses, and I have asked Rupert to let some of the factory girls into our garden when their work is done. I want to know them individually, and I think they will be less shy of me among the flowers. I used to shrink from contact with the poor, feeling constrained and timid among them, but the timidity was selfishness. Oh, Maisie, my dear one has taught me by his daily life the blessedness of forgetting self, and stretching out pitying hands to others."

"She was always full of strange ideas," said Lady Granton. "I wonder how long this idea of mingling with the poor will last. It became quite fashionable at one time to take up soup kitchens and free meals and visitation of the poor, but I know many who soon grew tired of it. It is ridiculous to suppose a girl of Cecily's education and refinement will continue to be satisfied with the career of a district visitor. Go on with her letter, Maisie. I hope she opposes your notion of filling Stratheyre Manor with wild city urchins."

"On the contrary," said Maisie, smiling as she glanced at the end of the letter. "Mr. Dene has promised to find me ten little children to whom fresh air and nourishment will be a godsend. I shall keep them three weeks, and then change them for another consignment. Mrs. Skinner's invalid child is to come from Bow, and a few of Mrs. Graeme's convalescents from the hospital. What will the children think of the birds and lawns and flowers? Oh, dear, I wish next Tuesday would come. Lady Granton. The children shall not annoy you in the slightest degree. I shall be answerable for that, but to some of them such a flight to the country will be like entering heaven."

"It will only make their daily lives seem more miserable afterwards."

"I don't know that. I suppose no glory, however brief, ever shone into our lives without leaving for ever some lingering radiance."

Lady Granton did not follow the girl's thoughts as Maisie leant out from the casement and laid her fingers on a branch of climbing rosebuds. She only remarked to Maisie that she had always found her servants troublesome and dissatisfied after a single day's holiday.

Though Miss Stratheyre had withdrawn herself to the Dower House, the affairs of the Manor were still Maisie's intimate concern. Her own sufferings were deep enough to make her very pitiful for others, and she went again and again to cheer the lonely lady by asking her guidance and advice in domestic matters.

The household took their tone from Maisie, and when Miss Stratheyre came to take a cup of tea with Lady Granton there was nothing to remind her she did not still possess the dominant authority at Stratheyre.

"The girl has changed very much," she said to Lady Granton. "She is sweeter in disposition than her poor mother. I must say, since her return here as mistress, her manner towards myself has been far more respectful than in the days when her footing here was uncertain. I cannot understand it, but the fact remains. Poor Trevor, I wish I could persuade him to hear of a reconciliation, but the money stands between them now. I asked him if he never meant to make overtures of peace, and he said 'never -- unless I become a famous painter, and the world can see I am no fortune-hunter.'"

"I think Maisie is still fond of him," said Lady Granton. "It is absurd for such false pride to keep husband and wife apart."

"I am thankful you could prolong your visit," said Miss Stratheyre. "It is such an advantage for the girl to have you here, for I never know when my poor boy may arrive. I must not be long absent from the Dower House."

"Mrs. Eaton will look after Maisie," said Lady Granton. "The Eatons have taken a fancy to her, and her welcome at the Deanery will stay any breath of scandal. Still, it is provoking of Trevor. For my own part, I cannot understand how such a serious misunderstanding ever arose between them."

Miss Stratheyre did not enlighten her. Her conscience was sore and troubled. She had thought to do good to Trevor by parting him from his wife, and it turned out that her interference had been the means of casting him adrift from the easy, luxurious existence in which he had been reared.

Maisie had tactfully interrupted her faltering explanation about the returned letter with a declaration that "Aunt looks too tired to talk, and must lie down."

The roses were blowing on breezy hedges, and the thrushes were "calling, cooing, and wooing," when Maisie's first party of London children came down to Dorsetshire to realise there was room for everyone in this beautiful, sunny world. It was difficult to say who looked most radiant -- the enraptured children themselves, their young hostess, or their devoted chaperone, Fanny. She was infinitely prouder of Mrs. Mulgrave's heiress-ship than that lady was herself, and had by no means forgotten her little hospital friends and the needs of their kind.

Even Lady Granton's kindly nature became interested in the development of roses upon the children's cheeks, and when Miss Stratheyre found they were awestruck at the beauty of Stratheyre Manor, and would have deemed it sacrilegious to carry out her fears by scratching the furniture or tearing the curtains, she relented so far as to give them all strawberries and cream one day at the Dower House, and to wish "poor Trevor" were there to picture the happiness of the bairns thus lifted for a season to the delights of the countryside.

One golden noontide Maisie was the centre of a rejoicing throng, bearing a harvest of flowers to the almshouses. Two little girls held her by either hand, and not only was her tiny terrier barking gleefully in the rear, but Miss Stratheyre's Selim, that refused to desert its habitation at the Manor, gravely brought up the procession in some uncertainty as to whether the usual morning visit to the dairy might not, perchance, prove personally advantageous to a cat.

A pretty troop they looked, and Maisie in her black and white print and shady hat seemed almost as childlike and simple as the young ones who frolicked around her. They passed the little iron gate leading to the garden of the Dower House, and there the children hung back, saying "There's a strange man in the lady's garden."

"Only the gardener, children," said Maisie, smiling. "Don't you remember kind Benson who gathered the strawberries for you?"

But even as she spoke she became conscious that it was not Benson there. She lifted startled eyes to see Trevor leaning on the gate, his straw hat tilted back from his sunburnt brow.

Maisie's voice deserted her. She felt as if she were clinging for support to the children at her side. Her first impulse was to hurry to him, but the distant manner in which he raised his hat reminded her how distasteful must be her proximity to him. She returned his bow, but not a word passed between them.

"How ridiculous!" she exclaimed to herself when she was out of sight of the gate. "How foolish of me to meet him like this, after longing, as I have done, for a sight of his face! Though I have lost his love, surely it is within my power to win it back again. At any rate, he shall not leave Stratheyre before I make a last effort to reach my husband's heart once more."

Chapter 25

"I Live for Fame"

When Maisie returned home she found a note from Miss Stratheyre telling her of Trevor's arrival, and begging her to come to the Dower House. "The boy is working so hard," she wrote, "that I am sure he will make himself ill. He is determined to win fame and fortune by his brush. Maisie, prove your wifely love by forgetting the past, and show poor Trevor there is no need for him to kill himself by such devoted labours."

Maisie shrank from being seen to take the initiative in seeking a reconciliation. Was it not by Trevor's own will and choice that he had parted so resolutely his life from hers? Would she not be wanting in self-respect if she held out an appealing hand? Maisie resolved to be guided by circumstances, but it was impossible for her to rest quietly at Stratheyre Manor while he was so near.

She arranged a basket of fruit for Miss Stratheyre, and fastened a cluster of rosebuds at the throat of her black dress. Miss Stratheyre was alone when she entered, and her eyes looked as if she had been crying. Certainly she had not the strength of old, and an argument with the stubborn young man had tried her painfully, especially as it was an uncomfortable task to alter her former position and persuade him to make overtures to the wife she had hitherto wilfully misjudged and misrepresented.

"It is useless, Maisie," she said wearily. "It was all in vain. I told Trevor about your singing in the Conservatoire simply out of gratitude to the Duras, and about your immediately quitting Paris and assisting Mrs. Graeme in her charitable work. I said everything I could think of in your praise. I told him of your generosity to those people in Italy who brought you up, but did not treat you very tenderly by all accounts, and how they have left the inn and taken a flourishing farm. I told him of your liberal gifts through Mr. Wench to the poor at San Justo, and of your self-denial in receiving all these London children down here.

"I cannot say whether I moved his heart towards you, but my words seemed to make no impression whatever. Trevor, with all my brother's property at his command, has condemned himself to a toiling life like that of a friendless, penniless artist. I could make allowances for his feelings at first. I was disappointed, likewise, at the will. But that will must stand, and Trevor should make the best of matters and secure his position as squire here by treating you properly."

Maisie's face burnt as she listened. She would almost have preferred that Miss Stratheyre had misrepresented her as of old, rather than persistently sung her praises in a deaf and unwilling ear. Trevor must be tired of hearing her name, and as to his seeking peace for the sake of Stratheyre, the idea was unworthy of both of them. Miss Stratheyre must be breaking down, indeed, if this were the only reason for reconciliation that her mind could entertain.

"Does he care for me?" was the one thought that Maisie could not quiet. If he did, no painful memories, no amount of wealth would be able to keep them apart.

Trevor had been out with his dog, but he returned unexpectedly with some letters for Miss Stratheyre, having met the postman. Miss Stratheyre rose in real agitation directly husband and wife were together, and quitted the room saying she must read Mrs. Medwin's long communication quietly. Trevor remarked something about the weather being warm, and would have followed her, but Maisie went over to the door, and set her determined figure against it.

"Trevor, don't you think you are treating me cruelly, walking about this neighbourhood and making everyone wonder why you are not at Stratheyre?"

She scarcely knew what she said, but it was an unfortunate opening, leaving the impression on her husband's mind that his presence was desirable solely to silence the gossips.

"I shall not 'walk about' this neighbourhood beyond today," he said coldly. "I came entirely in answer to Miss Stratheyre's entreaty, and to make arrangements in London for selling my new picture which will be finished in the course of a few months. Everett is to show it in his gallery where there is a good chance of purchase. I assure you it is not as a matter of pleasure that I am in England at all. As for the Stratheyre estate, I shall always keep as far from it as possible."

"Because you resent my uncle's will?"

"No. You were nearer to him than I am, and you have more right to his property. But I believe I communicated to you some time ago that our roads must lie apart, and I am not given to changing my mind."

"But, Trevor, I could not help singing at that concert, and I never repeated the occasion of annoyance to you. It is hard if you really mean to continue so unforgiving. You could not speak and act like this unless the love of old had died in your heart."

"With love," he said, "I have nothing to do. I live for fame. It shall never be said I came back to you penitently directly the money was in your hands. You have always managed to amuse and occupy yourself, I believe, and I have no doubt you will find plenty of society to make up for the loss of mine."

"Then I am to understand that you cast me off entirely? Perhaps you would wish a deed of separation to be executed between us?"

"Maisie, I believe ever since we married we have mutually tortured each other. Our lives are not compatible, and I could not endure the notion of what people would say who know very well we are parted, and are expecting me to eat humble pie now Stratheyre is yours. I should very much prefer that you enjoyed your property alone."

"Very well, I have nothing more to say. The opinion of others would have no weight with you if you loved me. I can see we are better parted. The time may come, perhaps, when you will need me, for you loved me once. Come back to me then, Trevor, unless my heart is broken first."

She passed from his sight, and Trevor understood his decree had been accepted. His pride was content, but his heart went after her to Stratheyre. Did she really want him, or was she simply hungering for adoration, as Miss Stratheyre had often said was the case with a true flirt?

"No good can come of discussing the matter," Trevor decided. "She keeps the money, and I go my way alone, poor, and lacking influence and sympathy." He repeated the words as if he rather enjoyed the sensation of making such a brave struggle against fate. "We shall see now if my painting 'Choristers on Easter Day' will not raise me from the level of amateurs to the front ranks of the artistic world, and perhaps when it is out of the power of the world to consider me socially inferior to my wife, I may go to her then with the laurels that I have won."

Trevor Mulgrave felt a very heroic martyr as he took his farewell look at the towers of Stratheyre, but his heart was a little sore when his foot trod in the hall of the Dower House on a withered white rosebud that he had noticed at Maisie's neck.

Miss Stratheyre was, for once, thoroughly angry with him. "It will be your own fault," she said, "if your wife now learns to do without you. There is no reason for you to avoid her. Both Lady Granton and myself notice that her manners have acquired grace and finish -- perhaps under the Duras at Paris -- and she makes good impressions everywhere. You are exiling yourself simply for a fantasy. Other men besides yourself manage to tolerate rich wives."

"You must not fret," he answered. "I shall have earned a name before I see you again -- a name that will entitle me to feel I am in no wise inferior to the position held by my wife. I tell you plainly I will meet her no more until I do so on equal ground. Take care of her, won't you? I leave her in your hands."

"Who would deal with a spoilt child?" asked Miss Stratheyre despairingly. "Really, if I were Maisie, and my husband deserted me in such ridiculous pride, refusing to accept a favour at my hands, I should almost feel inclined to forget all about him and let him take his own course unhindered."

Maisie's mourning garb was sufficient excuse for her quiet life, but she was often at the Deanery, and there it was noticed how grave and sad had become the bright young face. The Dean warned his daughters against too hasty marriages, bidding them make their decision with much circumspection and deliberation; and Mrs. Eaton expressed her thankfulness that her boys were never likely to turn out as moody, self-willed, proud and opinionated as Trevor Mulgrave.

"Miss Stratheyre led Trevor Mulgrave to believe that he was the one person in the world," Mrs. Eaton said. "I should think little Maisie must be tired of his moods and vagaries -- that is, if a wife's patience can ever tire."

When Lady Granton departed for the Duke of Redford's, Mrs. Graeme came to stay at Stratheyre, and this brought the Medwins about the house again, bright and merry from their travels, and rather impatient that Maisie hid herself away, as they said, "Like a mouse."

"I think you are right, my dear," said Mrs. Medwin. "You will go about more when Trevor comes home. I should think he must nearly have exhausted the lions of Antwerp by this time."

In the autumn, Miss Stratheyre had an attack of bronchitis and frightened herself with the notion that she was fast following her brother to the tomb. Maisie insisted on her coming to be cared for at the Manor, and in the fall of the year the two women who had once very cordially disliked each other, drew near together as they sat side by side and talked of the Squire and Maisie's lost mother, and the generations of Stratheyres whose histories had become traditional. But one unspoken, unforgotten name trembled in both their hearts.

Chapter 26

A Meeting in Town

"Your nerves are disordered, and a complete change is imperative," said the country doctor in whose hands Miss Stratheyre had reluctantly remained for many months, after losing her spirits and appetite and suffering painfully from sleeplessness.

"Nerves! I never had any," answered that lady disdainfully, but she told her niece it was evident the poor man had come to an end of his remedies, so she journeyed to London for the purpose of consulting a higher authority. To her surprise, he confirmed the former opinion. The nerves, of which she had been so long unconscious, had at last asserted themselves, and Dr. Ranyard bade her for a time utterly change her mode of life, suggesting a sojourn in London as likely to enliven her after her long seclusion from society.

There was nothing Miss Stratheyre secretly dreaded so much as paralysis, and she accepted the idea of a change as a reasonable one. At any rate, after paying her two guineas, it would not do to disregard the physician's remedy. So a furnished house was taken in Lanark Gardens, South Kensington, and Maisie and her aunt shortly found themselves the centre of quite a lively little inner circle, for the Stratheyres had several family connections in town.

One by one they called upon their kinswomen, privately deciding that they ought to cultivate young Mrs. Mulgrave who would undoubtedly be highly popular before long. In this belief they were not mistaken. Mrs. Medwin was in town, and Maisie went with her aunt to one of their large dinner parties where everybody seemed present, and where she made many new acquaintances.

No one would have guessed how Maisie's heart was aching as she went with her aunt from one dazzling scene to another, anxious that Miss Stratheyre should be cheered and amused, but always conscious of a sensitive dread lest some mention of her husband should provoke queries and wondering observations.

"He has no right to expose me to such suffering," she thought indignantly, coming home with a bad headache from an encounter with her old friend, Major Davis, who had cordially inquired for Trevor whom he had seen only yesterday, and offered to send cards for a private concert to the three of them.

"I wonder where the Major has been that he does not know of our estrangement?" she thought. "I remember, now, he told me he had had a trip to Madeira. But what did he mean by saying he saw Trevor yesterday? When I told him my husband was on the Continent, he stared at me, and said, 'I caught a glimpse of him at the Grosvenor last evening.' He saw at once that I knew really nothing of my husband's movements. I felt the blood rush to my face, though he turned the subject with his usual consideration. But of course he made quite a mistake as to having seen Trevor in town."

"You must not miss Lady Hammond's ball," said Mrs. Medwin to her friends from Stratheyre. "You will be amused at Mora House, for Lady Hammond prides herself on collecting all the celebrities of the day, full fledged and otherwise. She is always on the lookout for hidden talent. Mora House is a Paradise for aspiring but impecunious genius, and chaperones are extra watchful there, I assure you. The girls think the Mora House balls 'too delightful,' and we cannot help being a little anxious as to their partners."

Miss Stratheyre had known Lady Hammond of old, and consented to be present on this occasion as a finale to their London ball, for she declared that both she and Maisie had seen enough of London by this time to make them long for Stratheyre. Her tall, dignified figure looked well in a costume of black silk and tulle, relieved by falling white lilies.

Maisie had elected to wear white crepe, with a touch of myrtle and stephanotis here and there. Lady Cecily had visited her in the morning, and arranged her flowers with dainty hands. Persistent invitations found their way to the East End vicarage, but Lady Cecily said she was indulging herself with time to appreciate the delights of home. The beauty of motherhood had fallen around her now, and Arthur Granton Dene, aged three months, had become the unwearied topic of her who had once been an acknowledged leader of fashion.

"I have never seen you looking so well in my life," said Miss Stratheyre. "You were never strong enough for late hours and excitement, Cecily. I believe they are harming Maisie. I am glad you have induced Lady Granton to visit you, and that she finds the vicarage so much better than her fears. Tell her we hope to drive over tomorrow and see her grandson once more."

Maisie danced very little as a rule, for though she enjoyed the exercise it soon wearied her. But for fear of making Miss Stratheyre more nervous, she would have admitted she did not feel so vigorous and robust as of yore. At Mora House, however, the music was so witching and delicious, and the scene so bright and fair, that she became carried away by her surroundings.

Her dark eyes beamed with enjoyment as she floated along to the air of "Erste Liebe." A group of gentlemen stood by the door, and one of them touched the arm of a young man who sauntered languidly into the room.

"Mulgrave, is that goddess any connection of yours? Do introduce us, out of charity. Stanton here says he is dying to paint her."

"Where is your ideal goddess, Stanton?" asked Trevor Mulgrave, elevating his eyeglass. "Horrid crush here. I only came because somebody told me Hickson, the art critic, was to be present, and it is safer to know that man."

"Oh, he does not come here. Lady Hammond objects to him now because he criticised young Wilsden, one of her favourites of whom she prophesied wonders. There is the little widow. She looks like a child sometimes, but no other woman present understands the art of dressing like Mrs. Mulgrave."

Maisie did not see her husband. Her young heart was full of the joyous melody to which her feet kept motion as she glided by with her host, Sir Peyton Hammond. But what a shock for Trevor Stratheyre who had believed her still living the life of a recluse at Stratheyre! He had never seen her look brighter or more fairylike, and his first feeling was one of indignation that in his absence she could thus enjoy herself and promote the enjoyment of others.

Trevor had always pictured a time when, flushed with success, he would cheer and comfort her seclusion with his presence, and read in her face, as of old, thankful appreciation of his restored favour. The reality was so different, that an ill-tempered exclamation rose to his lips, and eager inquiries were in progress among his friends when he caught sight of Miss Stratheyre, and made for her side impatiently.

"The bewitching widow has proved too much for Mulgrave's equanimity," said Stanton. "Here comes Davis. He is in everyone's set, and he can enlighten our perplexity. Major, is Trevor Mulgrave related to Mrs. Medwin's friend of the same name, the dark-eyed lady now dancing with Hammond?"

"Very closely related," said Major Davis, shortly. "He is her husband. A foolish report of her widowhood has somehow got about. A most mistaken and annoying notion. Why, Stanton, did you not know Trevor Mulgrave was married?"

"Not I. He is a most reserved fellow. I made his acquaintance at Antwerp, but he spoke very seldom of his English friends. Is it a case of love waxed cold between the pair?"

"I should say certainly not. They were a very devoted couple when I had the pleasure of knowing the family intimately. I have just returned from Madeira," said Major Davis, "but I hear you intend forging the nuptial chain yourself, Stanton. Then you will understand the ways of wedded lovers better than I can pretend to do."

Miss Stratheyre was even more startled than Trevor when he touched her arm, and asked her what on earth she was doing in South Kensington. Her pallor created quite a commotion amongst those nearest to her, and knowing she must not be agitated, Maisie came up suddenly and with one proud, independent glance at Trevor, she carried off her aunt to a cool recess.

"I insist," said Trevor huskily, "on knowing what you two are doing up in town? I heard that Miss Stratheyre was unwell, and here I find her rigged out for a ball."

"You did not come to see me at Stratheyre, Trevor," said Miss Stratheyre, faintly. "I have been ill, indeed, and Maisie has been my only nurse. How could you hide the fact of your return to England from me?"

"If you wish to know the reason, I did not want a repetition of your continual money offers, for I am on the road to personal affluence, and I have been a burden to you long enough. You would only have pressed me to stay at the Dower House, and I do not mean to visit Stratheyre yet awhile."

"You are foolishly, obstinately proud, but do not make a scene here. Will you not come and see me tomorrow, at 15, Lanark Gardens? My dearest boy, I can see you have been giving yourself no rest. Do not build too much on your picture, Trevor. You are wearing yourself out over it."

"Oh, that is all right. It is all but finished. I am working in a studio at Chelsea now, and keeping hard at it. The picture is coming on all right."

"But, Trevor dearest, you will surely come to Lanark Gardens tomorrow? If you only knew how very ill I have been."

"I am going to the Crystal Palace with the Medwins tomorrow," said Maisie, coldly. She had stood by her aunt's chair, wondering in vain when Trevor intended to favour her with a glance. Perhaps he knew that too close observation of the one he meant for the present to hold at arm's length would be fatal to his peace of mind.

He had made many dreamy, idle sketches of his wife while away from her, but he was astonished at the development of her loveliness. Her ripening womanhood was amply fulfilling Lady Cecily's bygone prediction that she would become a leading beauty.

"It is quite time you went home," he said, facing her suddenly. "There is rather a promiscuous set here. I do not wish you to stay to supper."

"Very well," she said, without meeting his eyes. "Aunt is quite unfit to remain longer. I fancied she would be tired, and have ordered the carriage at half-past eleven."

Trevor found their shawls, escorted them downstairs and shut them into the carriage, receiving a quiet reminder from Maisie of her absence from Lanark Gardens on the morrow, and promising to spend a few hours with Miss Stratheyre.

Chapter 27

The Claims of Art

The Medwin party soon returned from Sydenham, where nothing out of the ordinary was going on that day. They had country friends with them who felt it imperative to visit the popular Crystal Palace. Maisie had declined the excursion, having changed her mind simply to be out of her husband's way. She nervously shrank from going home, and stayed to dinner with Mrs. Medwin to give Miss Stratheyre the benefit of her loved one's society, without annoying that decidedly trying young gentleman by her presence.

Meanwhile, Trevor, who did not put in an appearance till six o'clock, fidgeted with Miss Stratheyre's lace work and settled himself for a cosy evening, telling her of his continental studies, and how he had been advised to send his picture in for the Academy rather than to a dealer's gallery.

"No doubt art has its claims upon you, Trevor," said Miss Stratheyre, "but you might remember that many years of my life have been virtually given up to you, and I am getting on in life now. I shall never be the same as I was before poor Guy died, but I am not going to plead selfishly. I have thought of self too long, and one realises such mistakes at the time of weakness and ill health. But then there is Maisie.

"Trevor, if it be any excuse for my prejudice against her and my desire to part you from her -- I did not know Maisie in the past. Impulsive and quick-tempered she may be, but she has an utterly truthful nature. She is a Stratheyre loyal to the core. Tender and true, that is my opinion of your wife whom I so long misjudged. The property being in her hands has thrown us much together, for she is not above being advised in her inexperience, and she has treated me like a daughter.

"I have felt ashamed of the past again and again as she has tended me, and devoted her time and thoughts to me. Trevor, let me repair the past by beseeching you to rescue her from the painful position in which you placed her when you left Stratheyre. Is Maisie to pass the best years of her life under a cloud, just because you are too proud to take her hand as your own and proclaim your rightful position towards her, which remains unaltered -- rich or poor?"

"Oh, everyone knows she is my wife. There is no question as to that. But everyone knows, too, that I made a fool of myself when I refused to enter Stratheyre with her and let her pass from my care and shelter. I must have been looking through strange spectacles indeed to disbelieve in Maisie. She seems quite unspoilt by her peep at society -- just as fresh as a little field daisy."

"I believe her heart is full of you, Trevor, and she does not even perceive the admiration of others."

"You did not think so once, Guardian, did you not?"

"No, my dear, but I did not understand her then. I am certain, however, by this time that she loves you in sincerity, and more intensely than her enforced composure appears to confess."

"She did not look at me very lovingly when we net at Mora House."

"It was far from pleasant to find you springing up in Belgravia when she had explained to friends that you were in Antwerp. You do not deserve a woman's love, Trevor, since you take your course regardless of the feeling of others. Is my dream of Stratheyre, as a happy and prosperous home, ruled by the boy I reared, destined never to be fulfilled?"

"Guardian, one of these days you will certainly see me at Stratheyre again. When you and Maisie and all the world realise that a position is mine which money cannot buy, then I will accept a share of her money, and no one will be able to say I consented to a reconciliation just because my wife became rich."

"Then Maisie and I are to patiently wait your time, and hope and trust it may suit your convenience, at last, to remember you have other ties besides the easel and the palette?"

"I promise to be reconciled to my wife -- to take possession of Stratheyre -- whichever way you like to put it -- directly I have made my name in the profession, which is, indeed, already as good as accomplished."

"Well, if I were Maisie and you came to Stratheyre with the laurels, as you call them on your brow, I would tell Payne to fasten the doors against you. Having waited so long, you would continue to wait if I were your wife, Trevor. I never heard of any notion or resolve so ridiculous -- and Mr. Gascoigne resigning his seat too!"

"Why does not Medwin try for the seat, if Mr. Gascoigne really means to give it up?"

"You know very well that young Medwin has no ideas beyond his boat and his bicycle. And Charley, who possesses some intelligence, is only seventeen. I do not think Mr. Gascoigne contemplates immediate resignation, but he has a great deal to do with the Chamber of Commerce somewhere or other, and he finds it hard to be in his place as often as he wishes. Besides, I know he is collecting materials for some exhaustive book on banking, so before long he is sure to find Parliament is not the summit of his aspirations as he once believed. The Eatons think he will resign. Now, if the Duke's influence could only be aroused on your behalf...."

Miss Stratheyre had diligently maintained the conversation in the hope of keeping Trevor till his wife's return. Trevor himself, despite his scruples as to making peace with the heiress of Stratheyre, had lingered with the same idea, not being at all averse to another sight of the bonnie face that had haunted his dreams.

Maisie's knock startled them at this juncture, but she had no intention of intruding upon their interview, for she went straight to her room, asking Fanny to let Miss Stratheyre know she was very tired. Trevor took his leave, with his dignity slightly ruffled. It was surely reasonable that he should unbend to his wife at his own time, when she would be smitten by admiration of his genius.

"I may not be able to see you again for some time," he said to his aunt, loudly, in the hall. "As soon as my picture gets known I am sure to receive orders and commissions, and directly a fellow makes his name a lot of galleries and institutes always want him to exhibit. I shall be exceedingly busy with my brush, but while you are in town I shall look in when I can."

"I would like to see your great picture, Trevor, as soon as possible," said Miss Stratheyre.

"I have called it 'Easter Day,'" he said. "The choristers' faces are portraits. I have put the best of my powers into that work, and by that picture I stand or fall."

He held up his head in elation, as became one whose fancy fondly painted the near landscape of public adulation -- and beyond, the vista of the Presidency of Burlington House. Meanwhile, the streets seemed dim and cheerless after the cosy sitting room, marked in a hundred ways by the presence of woman, and warmly lighted by lamps with lace-veiled crimson shades.

Lady Cecily had quite a gathering at the East End vicarage now. Mr. and Mrs. Russell had joined Lady Granton there, and little Master Arthur ran a very good chance of suffocation sometimes, beneath the attentions of his admiring relatives. Mrs. Russell had nine children of her own, but the family baby is always king par excellence, and Aunt Dora approved of Cecily's baby-worship, as if Master Dene's budding beauty had been hitherto unparalleled in the annals of infancy. But she, for once, agreed with Lady Granton that Cecily was overworking, and must consider her own constitution as well as those of her husband's parishioners.

In her zeal to repair, as she said, the selfish idleness of her early years, Cecily would walk about half the night with her baby, and then continue the tireless role of visitation, ministration, and consideration in which her husband's steps had trodden so long. Then there were countless charitable meetings and discussions to which her titled presence was invited. She was so much in demand that her husband, who at first had called her his "curate," laughingly protested they had changed places, and she was at the head of All Souls' parish!

"You owe a duty to Rupert and to your precious little son as well as to the aged women who have an effect on your kitchen with such favour," said Mrs. Russell, shaking her head. "Cecily dear, you are like too many others who take up work that in itself is most praiseworthy. You cannot find the happy medium between the pleasure of idleness and a suicidal overpressure."

"I am going to be very strict with her," said her husband. "When you return to North Moors I shall certainly send her away for a rest. Having secured a jewel with a good deal of trouble, I hope I know how to value it. So, Cecily, prepare for a fortnight's change."

"I do hope," said Lady Granton, "in the years to come, Rupert will see his way clear to coming down to Granton entirely. It is for your sake, Cecily, I have let the place. With a few years of economy your poor father's affairs will be settled, and all mortgages released. Then, my dear, you must live on the estate, and Rupert -- if he must teach poor people \-- will have ample scope for his efforts among the quarrymen at Worthden, across the hills."

"Mother, I have told Rupert about the poor quarry folks within a few miles of my old home, and we often make plans concerning them. Yes, mother, I believe at last we shall go back to dear old Granton if you will find room for my two dear ones there. So let me, while I remain in this parish, work faithfully for the struggling ones around."

"Faithfully, my dear," said her uncle, "but not imprudently. You must value and cherish your newly-given health. By the way, I fear young Trevor Mulgrave is another victim of overwork. I hear he has been doing great things with his brush, but I met him today in Bond Street and thought him looking exhausted."

"Foolish boy," said Lady Granton. "He seems to have quarrelled with his pretty little wife in the past, and now because of her wealth he is too proud to 'kiss and be friends.'"

"It is very hard for Maisie," said Lady Cecily, "but Trevor was very determined, even as a little boy, and Miss Stratheyre made so much of him that he forgot other people's feelings should be consulted. I thought, however, Maisie had sufficient influence over him to overcome his selfishness. Perhaps, had the money been his, he would have held out the sceptre of favour to her."

"I hope all will come right," said Mrs. Russell. "During a long conversation I held with him once, I assured myself he really loves poor Maisie, and it seems to me if ever his life is to become really useful and noble, it will be on the stepping-stones of that love."

Chapter 28

Among the Surrey Hills

In connection with her hospital, Mrs. Graeme had a tiny cottage-home for convalescents at Holmwood, near Dorking amid the Surrey hills, and nestled in blooming hedges. Maisie was often in Meadow Place, and her friend's eyes noticed how pale and quiet she had grown during the stay in town, and how, despite her changed fortunes, her eyes seemed sometimes dewed with tears as the young patients begged for the comfort they had loved of old.

An invitation to spend a few days at Holmwood was gladly accepted by Maisie, if her aunt could spare her. Miss Stratheyre let her go, secretly hoping to see a little more in her absence of Trevor who had not reappeared at Lanark Gardens. There were many cards of invitation still flowing in to the ladies, but Maisie turned from them with relief to the thought of gathering the field flowers again.

"This is the sort of home I have pictured in my dreams," Maisie said to Mrs. Graeme, as the two stood in the porch of Fern Cottage and looked out to a rich undergrowth of trees along the hillside. "I am sure I was never meant for a place like Stratheyre. Oh, how happy one could be in a little house like this, all roses and woodbine. Stratheyre is too large not to be gloomy and desolate."

"Perhaps you will think differently a few years hence, my child," said Mrs. Graeme tenderly. "Our happiness can never wholly depend on our visible surroundings. There are tears in cottages as well as in mansions, Maisie. Though I know your ambition always hovered around a tiny home like this, the time will surely come when Stratheyre will be as dear to you as in all its stately beauty it deserves to be. It is only Love that makes Paradise, little one."

Mrs. Graeme looked away to the sunset skies, and Maisie, leaving her for a space to the memories she held so holy, went indoors to glance at the sleeping children tended by two young nurses, and then strolled away to gather a harvest of leaves and ferns to make the day nursery beautiful.

She caught many a glimpse of picturesque cottages and dusky woodlands, touched now by the western light, and the thought came to her that if she had only Trevor's brush and paints she could reproduce this wealth of loveliness.

"It is a rare place for artists," said Martha, the servant at Fern Cottage. "All around here there's any amount of them, and they comes bothering here for lodgings sometimes, keeping me gossiping when I've got my work to do. I tells them pretty sharp it's an 'ospital, but even that don't get rid of them sometimes. They wants to paint the children, or that bit of hillside over there, or that old wall for a 'background,' as they calls it. I lived with an author once, and he were worrying enough in his ways -- writing in the night time, and lying abed in the daylight! But for real aggravation, there's nothing beats a painter, depend upon it. They gets as fond of their brushes as if they was living creatures -- and fonder, too, sometimes."

Martha spoke with energy, a somewhat impoverished fraternity of the brush having recently deprived her of the tips she usually received when the mossy garden wall was painted from the back kitchen.

Maisie thought of poor Trevor's suspense and heart-burnings, and wished he could change his present addiction to his art for a peep at the restful, wreathing flowers. How she drank in the pure breath of the hills next morning when she opened her primitive lattice and the roses nodded their greeting. She could hear the little children, full of the glee of returning vigour, pattering up and down the stairs and finding their way into the brightly-tinted garden

Maisie wondered who would exchange such sweet, fair calm for the heated air of assemblies and a round of fashionable amusements. "The entire change has done Miss Stratheyre good," she soliloquised, "but, oh, I pity those who are obliged to live in London all through the year. The flowers come as blessings to their city experience, but it is different to watch them growing and to see them unfolding everywhere in the golden sunshine. I think this is better than San Justo. There is a sweet freshness in the English air that I never knew abroad."

"I thought Fern Cottage would show you it is good to be alive," smiled Mrs. Graeme, as Maisie came down, singing, to their simple breakfast. "Crowded staircases and incessant sight-seeing are responsible for the funereal expectations to which you have been used to lately, and which did not come at all naturally from your lips. The children were awake with the birds, and we anticipate a long, happy day in the meadow. But if you intend having a stroll, I wish you would take Nurse Catherine. Her headache demands a holiday."

Two of the young patients, who were fast developing vigour, elected to accompany them. When the sun was high they sauntered along among golden flowers, the little Londoners looking round them with open eyes and mouths. Nurse Catherine was conversationally gifted, and rippled on like the brook, whilst Maisie drank in the glory of the scene and mused of the one face only lacking to make the neighbourhood seem complete.

"Oh, I say, Charlie, there's two men a-painting pictures at the bottom of the hill, a-sitting on a stile, and drawing the cows," cried wee Tom delightedly, rushing back to his more timid companion who held Maisie's dress. "It's just where we want to eat our bread-and-butter and cherries. Isn't it fun? We'll talk to them, and they'll show us the cows."

Charlie drew back, but Maisie walked on in dignity, for yonder was the sweetest little copse imaginable for a picnic, and she was not to be frightened from her chosen resting place by two delineators of cows.

"Oh, do you know the gentleman?" asked Tom, well pleased, as Maisie's heart stood still for a moment as Trevor quietly lifted his hat, then attended again to his sketchbook. His companion she did not know, nor were Nurse Catherine and the children acquainted with Trevor. But Nurse noticed her change of colour, and begged her anxiously to rest on the bank beside the stile.

The artists did not attempt to move. Young Wilsden was sincerely absorbed in his study of beeches, and was utterly unaware of the proximity of others, and Trevor, who had heard last evening of the Holmwood trip, found it rather satisfactory that Maisie should be near him, timid and hesitant, and fairer than ever in her drooping, shadowy hat.

Certainly those two closely-observant juveniles and their staid attendant were rather in the way, for Maisie among the flowers recalled to him old San Justo days. He was feeling benevolent under the influences of memory, but Miss Stratheyre had told him last night that Maisie was not very well, and it was assuredly his duty to cheer her by holding out hopes of possible restoration to marital favour.

"Well, who are our little friends?" he said, nodding pleasantly to the children. "Would you like to come up here by me, boys, and watch me paint?"

This was diplomatic, as to keep the children there would secure Maisie for a time. Yet the invitation was a rash one, for Tom's fingers were soon in the moist colours of the portable paint box lying near, and his coat within a few minutes resembled Joseph's.

Trevor was placed awkwardly. Maisie sat reading on the bank, just out of earshot, and Nurse Catherine had strolled to a little distance with a view to harebells. If he boxed Tom's ears he would lose the society of which he had dreamed in visiting Holmwood, and if he made a pet of that young gentleman, Wilsden's belongings would be the next to suffer.

"I say, keep your hands off!" growled Wilsden angrily, looking up for a moment at the child. Wilsden was the meekest of mortals but he hated to be interrupted while sketching, and his study of the cows standing beneath the beeches was specially troublesome, for Wilsden's animals were always open to doubt as to species. His ferocious look beneath dark and spectacled brows struck terror to the children's hearts, and they wept in loud chorus, bringing Maisie hastily in the direction of the stile.

"Beg your pardon, ma'am," said Wilsden, his gaze transfixed by her bonnie, flushing face as he wondered what could possibly be her relationship to the juveniles who fled to her arms, "but really these young gentlemen -- well, boys will be boys," he added amiably, determined to make this fair vision turn upon him and speak. "And we have all been children once. Excuse me, but could you explain our nearest route to Ranmore Common? You will see by this road map----"

"Nonsense, Wilsden," said Trevor crossly, "we are not going to Ranmore. And if we were, you know the direction well enough. Allow me to carry that heavy child for you." Abandoning his sketchbook he took up little Charlie, whose affliction was so sore that Maisie had endeavoured to bear him in her arms to the picture books on the bank.

"Why did you not introduce your friend?" asked Maisie, looking at him steadily as she walked beside him with the proud curve of her lips that Trevor never liked.

"Why should you be so specially anxious for an introduction?" he asked, in a tone of vexation. "All the women rave about Wilsden's curling hair, but in my opinion such affectation is ridiculous. I do not choose you to know every lad that imagines he can paint."

"It might have been more civil to acknowledge my identity," she said. "But I have become accustomed to this sort of thing from you, and I had hoped that down here I should have been free from similar insults."

"Look here, Maisie," he said, "not only have the Academy people taken my 'Easter Day,' but they've hung it well, and as you know it's had first-rate notices. When I've made my name -- when I have social advantages to offer you as well as to receive from you -- then I mean to end this awkward state of things, and----"

"Oh, I am so glad you have come back, Nurse," called Maisie, laying affectionate hands on Nurse Catherine's arm. "What beautiful flowers. I wish I had accompanied you. These children have been in trouble. Let us find some other place for our lunch ... a long way off. This is a very disagreeable position. Thank you, we will not trouble you further." She bowed a decided dismissal to Trevor, a dismissal witnessed by Wilsden who was peering inquisitively over the hedge.

"Snubbed, eh? I am afraid you fared badly in that encounter with the fair stranger, Mulgrave."

"You are quite mistaken," said Trevor irritably, as Maisie's graceful figure moved resolutely on the backward road to Holmwood. "That lady is no stranger to me. She is my wife. Didn't I mention my wife was staying with friends at Holmwood?"

"No, you didn't," said Wilsden firmly. "Well, Mulgrave, I never shall make you out. If I had a wife like that, I fancy I would cut sitting on a stile, and escort her home. Whatever made you so reticent about her? And I say, Mulgrave, those children who howled so vigorously----"

"They are hospital patients," said Trevor sharply; "and my wife is benevolently escorting them about. Do leave off chattering, Wilsden, and put some decent touches to your cows. Pharaoh's lean cattle were respectable compared to those anatomical monstrosities of yours."

Chapter 29

The Dawning of Fame

After that encounter in the fields, Maisie never went out at Holmwood without the expectation -- half hope, half dread -- of meeting the tall, familiar figure of her husband with the trappings of his art strapped across his shoulder. Memory pictured his appearance on the stile so often that she imagined him everywhere, and nerved her heart day by day to endure afresh some thoughtless slight, for which such full atonement was promised when he had "favours to give as well as to receive."

"There may be two sides to that idea," she thought indignantly. "I am not a plaything to be cast down and taken up when he chooses. Trevor may find it harder than he expects to regain the wifely love of old, when it pleases him to hold out the olive branch toward me. There must be a limit somewhere to forbearance and forgiveness!"

Even as Maisie meditated thus, she was looking along the country roads for another glimpse of Trevor, although he was not likely to revisit Holmwood. As he told Miss Stratheyre, "Maisie's manner was forbidding," and she had undoubtedly deserted his company with an indifference that his friend could not fail to notice.

He was more piqued than he cared to show by the frustration of his plan to hold a confidential chat with his wife, obtain some assurance of adoring confidence as of old, and allow himself to be persuaded into a return to Stratheyre as soon as he felt the time had come by reason of his artistic success. He reflected that the adulation of society must have changed the meek little maiden that believed in him so thoroughly, and even the coming laurels seemed rather dreary if no tender-eyed wife was to share his triumph.

Maisie shortened her visit to Holmwood as her aunt was not so well, but when Mrs. Graeme saw her from the train at Victoria, she congratulated herself that her young guest, like the juveniles, had gathered country roses to replace the white cheeks with which she had journeyed from London.

Miss Stratheyre exclaimed with pleasure at sight of the wild flowers arranged around their room. "Dear old Stratheyre!" she said. "I seem to be among the familiar lanes and valleys once more. How glad I shall be to open my eyes again to hill and moor, instead of looking into the opposite drawing room window. But before we leave London, I should like to ask a few friends informally to dinner. Mrs. Russell tells me those people who were kind to you in Paris -- the Duras -- are in town. We can make up quite a nice number for a quiet dinner. Do not look frightened, Maisie. Much as I should like him, were he in a reasonable state of mind to preside, I have no intention of asking Trevor. We need not make a public exhibition of our family skeleton, and poor Trevor's peculiarities are becoming increasingly painful."

Maisie was surprised while dressing that evening to find Fanny in tears. It transpired that "Cousin Charley," at Bow, refused to wait any longer, and had asserted that Fanny, in postponing his happiness, had displayed a lack of the affection that professedly existed between them.

"He is but a boy," said Fanny, "and given to melancholy. What should I feel, ma'am, if he enlisted for a soldier or threw himself into the Serpentine? But, then, I've told him I will never leave you to fret and mope, ma'am, as you've been doing of late, begging your pardon for making so free. I will never leave you, ma'am. No, never, till ... till ... Master...."

"That will never happen," said Maisie quietly, though the loss of her good friend made her desolation yet more complete. "Fanny, you deserve a good, true-hearted husband, and I believe you have secured one. Do not keep him waiting any longer, or I shall be troubled on your account. Name the day like a sensible girl, and I will take care you do not go to him empty-handed, though yours has been the fidelity and comfort that money can never repay."

Fanny cried the more and protested against the notion of marriage, but a walk in Kensington Gardens next day with Cousin Charley (who took a half-holiday, as he asserted, to obtain her promise or enlist) finally settled the matter, and Fanny proceeded with red eyes and tender looks towards her mistress to prepare her trousseau, and thus preserve her the one she loved from adorning the ranks of the military.

Several friends responded to the invitations to the farewell dinner party which Maisie sent out in Miss Stratheyre's name. They were old and intimate acquaintances, with the exception of the Duras who were waiting in London to meet an Australian vessel bearing the daughters of an old pupil of the Signora's. These children were to visit an aunt in Hyde Park, and then journey to Paris in the Signora's charge. Maisie was glad to hear how well the school was prospering, and that the Duras were in contact with several English families for pupils.

With Maisie's assistance, the school had been moved to an imposing edifice in beautiful grounds. The Signor was the star of the assembly as he trilled away musical barcarolles at the piano. Meanwhile, his wife sat close to her old pupil, Dora Russell, and Mr. Russell and Mrs. Graeme conversed with mutual appreciation as to district nurses, hospital systems, medical missions, and the like.

Major Davis, to the amusement of all, had at last surrendered his bachelor fancy to the eldest Miss Medwin. He had been unmercifully teased ever since the announcement of the engagement, but he looked proud and contented enough tonight, bending over his lady fair and inquiring of Lady Cecily and Rupert Dene as to the scenic advantages along the route they had chosen for their honeymoon.

Miss Stratheyre, Lady Granton and Mrs. Medwin held converse together on a settee, and Maisie moved among the guests with a happy smile lingering amid her dimples. It was pleasant to be virtually the hostess of friends whom she had learnt to love. It only wanted Trevor now to perfect the circle -- but that was a very big only.

Miss Stratheyre had not mentioned the matter of the dinner party to Trevor, and when he hurried eagerly in about nine o'clock he was rather disconcerted for a moment to find the drawing room full of visitors. But only for a moment, for the lack of evening dress could surely not affect one who was nearly at the top of the ladder of fame. He was elated with pride and importance, and Miss Stratheyre's face reflected her boy's look of triumph as one and another of his old friends congratulated him on his artistic achievement, and he showed her the printed words of the art critics.

"Do not be too proud to notice your old friends when you are head of the R.A.," said Major Davis when Trevor was leaving, after glancing round in vain for Maisie. "I see The Telegraph predicts great things ahead to succeed your 'Easter Day.'"

"I think that cathedral interior is wonderful," said Miss Medwin, "especially that light through the painted window. But of course we knew Trevor had it in him to do grand things."

Trevor smiled benignly, and wondering why on earth Maisie so resolutely avoided him he bowed an amiable retreat. Miss Stratheyre was left to murmur reverentially that the dear boy was fast becoming famous, and the Duras to wonder why he had scorned the notion of Maisie's career as a vocalist, whilst to be a professional artist seemed the summit of his own ideas.

Maisie was not thinking much about fame as she emerged from the little room where Fanny was preparing tea and coffee, and looked from the balcony in the moonlight at Trevor's retreating figure. Her inmost soul cried out for him, but his steps died away in the distance and she went back to the drawing room to delight their guests with her melodious rendering of "Come, sing to me."

### Chapter 30

(Last Chapter)

How Trevor Came Home

Maisie could not sing more than the one appealing melody that so charmed the visitors. Even as they begged for another song, a sudden faintness came over her, and she was fain to seek solitude in the little morning room adjoining a dainty fernery that led to the entrance hall. Here she sank into a chair, covering her face with her trembling hands.

"Maisie," said a voice beside her, a voice that made her spring to her feet erect and self-possessed.

"Aunt Elizabeth is still in the drawing room," she said coldly, understanding that some impulse had brought her husband back to Lanark Gardens again.

"I have seen Miss Stratheyre," he answered. "I wanted to give you these, Maisie. Will you wear them? And won't you congratulate me on the good opinion of the critics?"

"Certainly, since Aunt Elizabeth looks better and brighter for the news you brought her. But we have plenty of roses, thank you. I bought almost too many flowers this morning."

"You must wear these, Maisie. I had quite a search to get the kind you used to like at San Justo. And you have not given me a chance to show you these flowers all the evening."

"I have been busy, and no doubt I am wanted again. Do you wish me to take any message to Miss Stratheyre? I believe she thought you had left the house."

"So I did, Maisie, but I came back to try my chance at seeing you again. Sit down, for I want to tell you something about my plans."

"I really cannot spare the time. My kind friends, the Duras, will soon be leaving, and I want a long talk with them. I must ask you to excuse me now."

She swept past him, leaving him with the delicate spray of rosebuds still in his hand. He looked after her with astonishment and vexation. What had come to gentle little Maisie, that his plans seemed to have lost interest for her now?

He threw the roses onto the table and went his way, marvelling how it came to pass that Maisie had turned so statuesque just when he felt his own success sweetening and brightening life's prospects for him.

It did not matter. The doors of Fame were opening, and Maisie would indeed be proud to know herself the wife of one whom the public voice proclaimed a genius. His mind was full of projects for the future. He meant to originate a style, to establish a school that would revolutionise art, that would cause the whole world to ring with his fame and name. And his laurels he would lay at Maisie's feet. Yet he grew a little uncomfortable, thinking that perchance the laurels too might share the fate of the roses.

Those roses, bestowed on Fanny, furnished forth a buttonhole for Cousin Charley, and were by him cherished with a lock of his fiancée's hair.

Miss Stratheyre did not know the lad of her heart had returned to Lanark Gardens. She inwardly wished it had happened that Maisie had not been looking after the coffee when he had sat among them, the hero and lion of the occasion.

For some weeks after the evening of the dinner, his relatives saw and heard nothing of Trevor Mulgrave, but Miss Stratheyre formed quite an album of favourable notices of his picture. Her boy's success seemed to give her fresh health and strength, and the return to their country home was a joy to her, for she daily looked for Trevor's presence with them. Was he not already famous, and had he not promised to end the separation when he had proved his capabilities?

As for Maisie, the country people thought that London smoke and noise must be responsible for her weary looks. Few understood just how the case stood between husband and wife. They only knew that a "something" had arisen between Mr. and Mrs. Mulgrave, and they had grown by this time to avoid mention of "the young Squire" in Maisie's presence.

Only Miss Stratheyre guessed how painful was the suspense that Maisie had to bear. She knew not if Trevor would in restlessness seek the Continent again, or if he meant to stay on at the Chelsea studio. "Till death do us part," she whispered to herself, half bitterly. This parted life was his idea of fulfilling the marriage pledge!

A grey, wet Monday morning succeeded a Sunday that had been cool and calm and bright -- a Sunday that had brought peace and rest to Maisie in a helpful sermon that Rupert Dene had preached at their village church. The subject had been forgiveness, and the preacher had earnestly urged his hearers to pardon even "to seventy times seven." Then Rupert quoted from the First Epistle of John. "We love Him, because He first loved us," The bitterness seemed to die out of Maisie's heart at that service, and sweeter, gentler, more tender thoughts found place concerning him who had wronged her.

Then came Monday -- misty, rainy, chill with a sense of autumn drawing nearer, even though the land was yet bright with flowers. It was the sort of day to depress and dishearten those susceptible to outside influences. Miss Stratheyre breakfasted in bed, and Maisie came down to a lonely meal, to recognise with a start and shiver that among the letters awaiting her was one in the writing her heart loved best of all.

Maisie's trembling fingers could scarcely open that letter. She waited till she could secure privacy. Then as she read the words that Trevor had penned, all the proud rebellion seemed to strive for possession of her heart again.

There was great news indeed in Trevor's letter -- news over which Miss Stratheyre would laugh and cry in rejoicing triumph. No less a personage than one allied with royalty had bought Trevor's picture, and he had been summoned to an interview which had resulted in most gratifying praise, and in an order for further work.

A well-known art dealer and collector was also requesting work from Trevor, and altogether, as he expressed it, "I think I may say now my lifelong dream is beginning to be realised, and I have stepped once for all out of the ranks of the mediocre."

The letter went on to say he would tell Maisie his news more fully when they talked things over together, and she might expect him at Stratheyre by Monday afternoon's express.

Maisie took the letter up to her aunt who shed tears of relief and thankfulness, but Maisie's own eyes were tearless. She looked like a white statue, and she said nothing even when Miss Elizabeth cried out, "Now all the trouble will be over, Maisie, and we shall be happy together again. Poor Guy! Poor Mercy! I wonder if they know. I think they do. I believe they are glad with us today."

In pity for her aunt, Maisie said nothing of the storm that was battling in her heart. Was Trevor to take it for granted, asked her pride, that she was humbly waiting till he from his pedestal of dignity should extend to her his gracious favour? Why should he seem so sure that she would be willing for reconciliation exactly when he chose, and why should the months of neglect be as if they had never been?

"I cannot forget so easily," she said in her heart. "When Trevor comes he shall not find me here. Or, if I wait his arrival, it will only be to tell him that he has made up his mind for reconciliation too late."

But all through that heart-tempest there rang the strain of a hymn that had been sung at yesterday's service. The words floated to Maisie's heart like echoing bells:

Pardon, Lord! and are there those

Who my debtors are, or foes?

I, who by forgiveness live,

Here their trespasses forgive!

The memory of that hymn sent the young wife to her knees. She could find no words to tell all the heart-strife that was going on, but she just knelt there. The tears that began to flow like healing dews seemed the prayer of her wounded spirit. And even as she knelt, there sounded through the house the sharp echo of a knock and ring, and Payne came to her with a troubled face, saying he had received a telegram bidding him break it to herself and Miss Stratheyre that there had been a serious accident not far from town to the London express, and Mr. Mulgrave was among those dangerously injured. He was now in an unconscious condition.

<><><><>

When Trevor came to himself at last, he was in his own familiar room at Stratheyre. The unconsciousness had lasted many hours, but Maisie, by the doctor's consent, had accompanied by him in the invalid carriage she obtained, and had brought her husband home. The doctor had by this time no fears for his life.

Trevor had sustained a severe shock, and his right arm and shoulder were much hurt. There would be a consultation as to his injuries, and time and good nursing would it was hoped do much for him, but his right arm would probably for many a year feel the result of that collision.

"Tell me the truth, doctor," Trevor had besought him. It was bitterly hard to realise that the art he loved would be handicapped by the weakness of hand and arm. His "Easter Day" might perhaps be the only work that Fame would link with his name!

"Maisie," he whispered that evening when his aunt had fallen asleep in the armchair by the window, and his wife came to his side with a glass of sustaining jelly, made from a recipe from San Justo.

"Trevor dear, do not talk. The doctor says you are to keep quiet and keep up your strength."

"I never meant to come back to you like this. Do you know my arm is helpless? I may never be able to use it again, Maisie."

"It will get well, Trevor. I am certain it will," and she laid her cool hand softly on his brow.

"Stay there, my own," he whispered. "Let me look at you, Maisie. I thought, before I fainted, that I was never to see my wife again."

"Oh, Trevor ... Trevor, my love ... God has been very good to us."

"I've been nothing but a selfish brute" he began, but her hand went down to his lips. "You must let me say it, Maisie. You're a hundred times too good for me. I have made you miserable, and all through my paltry pride. And now I am come back to you broken. Sweetheart, can you forgive me? I cannot forgive myself ... but if I live, Maisie, I'll be a different sort of fellow. Can you forgive?"

"I will not forgive you for keeping this special jelly waiting," she said brightly. "You are to eat every hour, and you are not obeying the doctor one bit."

But before she lifted the glass again her kiss had told him what his eyes were asking -- that the past was all blotted out, and that he had come home to her true, true heart, as well as to fair Stratheyre.

THE END

More Christian books from White Tree Publishing are on the next pages, some of which are available as both eBooks and paperbacks. More Christian books than those shown here are available in non-fiction and fiction, for adults and younger readers. The full list of published and forthcoming books is on our website www.whitetreepublishing.com. Please visit there regularly for updates.

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Christian non-fiction

Christian Fiction

Younger Readers

Return to Table of Contents

## Christian Non-fiction

Four short books of help in the Christian life:

_So, What Is a Christian?_ An introduction to a personal faith. Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-2-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-2-6

_Starting Out_ \-- help for new Christians of all ages. Paperback ISBN 978-1-4839-622-0-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-0-2

_Help!_ \-- Explores some problems we can encounter with our faith. Paperback ISBN 978-0-9927642-2-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-1-9

_Running Through the Bible_ _\--_ a simple understanding of what's in the Bible _\--_ Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-6-5, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-3-3

### Be Still

Bible Words of Peace and Comfort

There may come a time in our lives when we want to concentrate on God's many promises of peace and comfort. The Bible readings in this book are for people who need to know what it means to be held securely in the Lord's loving arms.

Rather than selecting single verses here and there, each reading in this book is a run of several verses. This gives a much better picture of the whole passage in which a favourite verse may be found.

As well as being for personal use, these readings are intended for sharing with anyone in special need, to help them draw comfort from the reading and prayer for that date. Bible reading and prayer are the two most important ways of getting to know and trust Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour.

The reference to the verses for the day are given, for you to look up and read in your preferred Bible translation.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-4-0

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1

116 pages 5x7.8 inches

A Previously Unpublished Book

### The Simplicity of the Incarnation

J Stafford Wright

Foreword by J I Packer

_"I believe in ... Jesus Christ ... born of the Virgin Mary."_ A beautiful stained glass image, or a medical reality? This is the choice facing Christians today. Can we truly believe that two thousand years ago a young woman, a virgin named Mary, gave birth to the Son of God? The answer is simple: we can.

The author says, _"In these days many Christians want some sensible assurance that their faith makes sense, and in this book I want to show that it does."_

In this uplifting book from a previously unpublished and recently discovered manuscript, J Stafford Wright investigates the reality of the incarnation, looks at the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, and helps the reader understand more of the Trinity and the certainty of eternal life in heaven.

This book was written shortly before the author's death in 1985. _The Simplicity of the Incarnation_ is published for the first time, unedited, from his final draft.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-5-7

Paperback ISBN: 9-780-9525-9563-2

160 pages 5.25 x 8 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Bible People Real People

An Unforgettable A-Z of Who is Who in the Bible

In a fascinating look at real people, J Stafford Wright shows his love and scholarly knowledge of the Bible as he brings the characters from its pages to life in a memorable way.

Read this book through from A to Z, like any other title

Dip in and discover who was who in personal Bible study

Check the names when preparing a talk or sermon

The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly – no one is spared. This is a book for everyone who wants to get to grips with the reality that is in the pages of the Bible, the Word of God.

With the names arranged in alphabetical order, the Old and New Testament characters are clearly identified so that the reader is able to explore either the Old or New Testament people on the first reading, and the other Testament on the second.

Those wanting to become more familiar with the Bible will find this is a great introduction to the people inhabiting the best selling book in the world, and those who can quote chapter and verse will find everyone suddenly becomes much more real – because these people are real. This is a book to keep handy and refer to frequently while reading the Bible.

"For students of my generation the name Stafford Wright was associated with the spiritual giants of his generation. Scholarship and integrity were the hallmarks of his biblical teaching. He taught us the faith and inspired our discipleship of Christ. To God be the Glory." The Rt. Rev. James Jones, Bishop of Liverpool

_This is a lively, well-informed study of some great Bible characters._ Professor Gordon Wenham MA PhD. Tutor in Old Testament at Trinity College Bristol and Emeritus Professor of Old Testament at the University of Gloucestershire.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-5-6

314 pages 6x9 inches

Note: This book is not available in all eBook formats

Christians and the Supernatural

J Stafford Wright

There is an increasing interest and fascination in the paranormal today. To counteract this, it is important for Christians to have a good understanding of how God sometimes acts in mysterious ways, and be able to recognize how he can use our untapped gifts and abilities in his service. We also need to understand how the enemy can tempt us to misuse these gifts and abilities, just as Jesus was tempted in the wilderness.

In this single volume of his two previously published books on the occult and the supernatural ( _Understanding the Supernatural_ and _Our Mysterious God_ ) J Stafford Wright examines some of the mysterious events we find in the Bible and in our own lives. Far from dismissing the recorded biblical miracles as folk tales, he is convinced that they happened in the way described, and explains why we can accept them as credible.

The writer says: _When God the Holy Spirit dwells within the human spirit, he uses the mental and physical abilities which make up a total human being . . . The whole purpose of this book is to show that the Bible does make sense_.

And this warning: _The Bible, claiming to speak as the revelation of God, and knowing man's weakness for substitute religious experiences, bans those avenues into the occult that at the very least are blind alleys that obscure the way to God, and at worst are roads to destruction._

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-4-0

Paperback ISBN 13: 9-780-9525-9564-9

222 pages 5.25 x 8 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Howell Harris

### His Own Story

Foreword by J. Stafford Wright

Howell Harris was brought up to regard the Nonconformists as "a perverted and dangerously erroneous set of people." Hardly a promising start for a man who was to play a major role in the Welsh Revival. Yet in these extracts from his writings and diaries we can read the thoughts of Howell Harris before, during and after his own conversion.

We can see God breaking through the barriers separating "church and chapel", and discover Christians of different denominations preparing the country for revival. Wesley, Whitefield, Harris. These great 18th century preachers worked both independently and together to preach the Living Gospel. This book is a vivid first-hand account of the joys, hardships and struggles of one of these men -- Howell Harris (1714-1773).

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-9-5

From the Streets of London

to the Streets of Gold

The Life Story of

Brother Clifford Edwards

A True Story of Love

by

Brother Clifford Edwards

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

A printed copy is available directly from Brother Clifford -- thejesusbus@hotmail.co.uk

This is the personal story of Clifford Edwards, affectionately known as Brother Clifford by his many friends. Going from fame to poverty, he was sleeping on the streets of London with the homeless for twenty years, until Jesus rescued him and gave him an amazing mission in life. Brother Clifford tells his true story here in the third person, giving the glory to Jesus.

### Seven Steps to

### Walking in Victory

Lin Wills

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-3-5

Also available as a booklet

www.lenandlin.com

How is your Christian life going? Finding it hard and not sure why? Wherever you might be, _Seven Steps to Walking in Victory_ is a very short book to help you see where you are in the Christian life, and help you keep on the right path to the victory that comes through walking closely with Jesus -- _to live the Christian life you always wanted to live!_

### Seven Keys to

### Unlock Your Calling

Lin Wills

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-2-3

Also available as a booklet

www.lenandlin.com

God has a special plan for each and every one of us -- that includes YOU! He has given all of us unique gifts. Not sure what that might mean for you? _Seven Keys to Unlock Your Calling_ is a very short book that will help you discover how to explore those gifts and encourage you to go deeper into all that God has for you.

English Hexapla

The Gospel of John

(Paperback only)

Published to coincide with the 400th anniversary of the Authorized King James Version of the Bible, this book contains the full text of Bagster's assembled work for the Gospel of John. On each page in parallel columns are the words of the six most important translations of the New Testament into English, made between 1380 and 1611. Below the English is the original Greek text after Scholz.

To enhance the reading experience, there is an introduction telling how we got our English Bibles, with significant pages from early Bibles shown at the end of the book.

Here is an opportunity to read English that once split the Church by giving ordinary people the power to discover God's word for themselves. Now you can step back in time and discover those words and spellings for yourself, as they first appeared hundreds of years ago.

Wyclif 1380, Tyndale 1534, Cranmer 1539, Geneva 1557,

Douay Rheims 1582, Authorized (KJV) 1611.

English Hexapla -- The Gospel of John

Published by White Tree Publishing

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-1-8

Size 7.5 x 9.7 inches paperback

Not available as an eBook

### Roddy Goes to Church

Church Life and Church People

Derek Osborne

**No, not a children's book!** An affectionate, optimistic look at church life involving, as it happens, Roddy and his friends who live in a small town. Problems and opportunities related to change and outreach are not, of course, unique to their church!

Maybe you know Miss Prickly-Cat who pointedly sits in the same pew occupied by generations of her forebears, and perhaps know many of the characters in this look at church life today. A wordy Archdeacon comes on the scene, and Roddy is taken aback by the events following his first visit to church. Roddy's best friend Bushy-Beard says wise things, and he hears an enlightened Bishop . . .

Bishop David Pytches writes: _A unique spoof on church life. Will you recognise yourself and your church here? ... Derek Osborne's mind here is insightful, his characters graphic and typical and the style acutely comical, but there is a serious message in his madness. Buy this, read it and enjoy!_

David Pytches, Chorleywood

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-0-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-09927642-0-3

46 pages 5.5 x 8.5 inches paperback UK £3.95

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Heaven Our Home

William Branks

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

"I go to prepare a place for you." This well-known promise from Jesus must cause us to think about the reality of heaven. Heaven is to be our home for ever. Where is heaven? What is it like? Will I recognize people there? All who are Christians must surely want to hear about the place where they are to spend eternity. In this abridged edition of William Branks classic work of 1861, we discover what the Bible has to say about heaven. There may be a few surprises, and there are certainly some challenges as we explore a subject on which there seems to be little teaching and awareness today.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

### I See Men as Trees, Walking

Roger and Janet Niblett

Roger and Janet Niblett were just an ordinary English couple, but then they met the Lord and their lives were totally transformed. Like the Bethlehem shepherds of old, they had a compulsion to share the same good news that Jesus Christ had come into the world to save sinners. Empowered by the Holy Spirit they proclaimed the gospel in the market place, streets, prisons, hospitals and churches with a vibrancy that only comes from being in direct touch with the Almighty and being readily available to serve Him as a channel of His grace and love. God was with them and blessed their ministry abundantly. Praise God! (Pastor Mervyn Douglas, Clevedon Family Church)

The story of Roger Niblett is an inspiration to all who serve the Lord. He was a prolific street evangelist, whose impact on the gospel scene was a wonder to behold. It was my privilege to witness his conversion, when he went forward to receive Christ at the Elim Church, Keynsham. The preacher was fiery Scottish evangelist Rev'd Alex Tee. It was not long before Roger too caught that same soul winner's fire which propelled him far and wide, winning multitudes for Christ. Together with his wife Janet, they proceeded to "Tell the World of Jesus". (Des Morton, Founder Minister of Keynsham Elim Church)

I know of no couple who have been more committed to sharing their faith from the earliest days of their journey with the Lord Jesus Christ. Along the way, at home and abroad, and with a tender heart for the marginalised, Rog and Jan have introduced multitudes to the Saviour and have inspired successive generations of believers to do the same. It was our joy and privilege to have them as part of the family at Trinity where Janet continues to serve in worship and witness. Loved by young and old alike, they will always have a special place in our hearts. (Andy Paget, Trinity Tabernacle, Bristol. Vice President, International Gospel Outreach)

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-1-0

Also available as a paperback

(published by Gozo Publishing Bristol)

paperback ISBN: 978-1508674979

### Leaves from

### My Notebook

New Abridged Edition

William Haslam

(1818-1905)

You may have heard of the clergyman who was converted while preaching his own sermon! Well, this is man -- William Haslam. It happened in Cornwall one Sunday in 1851. He later wrote his autobiography in two books: _From Death into Life_ and _Yet not I_. Here, in _Leaves from my NoteBook_ , William Haslam writes about events and people not present in his autobiography. They make fascinating and challenging reading as we watch him sharing his faith one to one or in small groups, with dramatic results. Haslam was a man who mixed easily with titled gentry and the poorest of the poor, bringing the message of salvation in a way that people were ready to accept. This book has been lightly edited and abridged to make reading easier today by using modern punctuation and avoiding over-long sentences. William Haslam's amazing message is unchanged.

Original book first published 1889

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-2-7

### Blunt's Scriptural Coincidences

Gospels and Acts

J. J. Blunt

New Edition

This book will confirm (or restore) your faith in the Gospel records. Clearly the Gospels were not invented. There is too much unintentional agreement between them for this to be so. Undesigned coincidences are where writers tell the same account, but from a different viewpoint. Without conspiring together to get their accounts in agreement, they include unexpected (and often unnoticed) details that corroborate their records. Not only are these unexpected coincidences found within the Gospels, but sometimes a historical writer unknowingly and unintentionally confirms the Bible record.

Within these pages you will see just how accurate were the memories of the Gospel writers -- even of the smallest details which on casual reading can seem of little importance, yet clearly point to eyewitness accounts. J.J. Blunt spent many years investigating these coincidences. And here they are, as found in the four Gospels and Acts.

First published in instalments between 1833 and 1847

The edition used here published in 1876

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-5-8

### Fullness of Power

### in Christian Life and Service

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

R. A. Torrey

Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

This is a White Tree Publishing _Home and Group Questions for Today_ Edition. At the end of each chapter are questions for use either in your personal study, or for sharing in a church or home group. Why? Because: "From many earnest hearts there is rising a cry for more power: more power in our personal conflict with the world, the flesh, and the devil; more power in our work for others. The Bible makes the way to obtain this longed-for power very plain. There is no presumption in undertaking to tell _how to obtain Fullness of Power in Christian life and service_ ; for the Bible itself tells, and the Bible was intended to be understood. R. A. Torrey (1856-1928) was an American evangelist, pastor, educator, and writer whose name is attached to several organisations, and whose work is still well known today.

"The Bible statement of the way is not mystical or mysterious. It is very plain and straightforward. If we will only make personal trial of _The Power of the Word of God_ ; _The Power of the Blood of Christ_ ; _The Power of the Holy Spirit_ ; _The Power of Prayer_ ; _The Power of a Surrendered Life_ ; we will then know _the Fullness of Power in Christian life and service._ We will try to make this plain in the following chapters. There are many who do not even know that there is a life of abiding rest, joy, satisfaction, and power; and many others who, while they think there must be something beyond the life they know, are in ignorance as to how to obtain it. This book is also written to help them." ( _Torrey's Introduction._ )

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-8-9

Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends

Musings on Life, Scripture

and the Hymns

by

Marty Magee

Samuel, Mephibosheth, and a woman on death row -- people telling of our Savior's love. A chicken, a dinosaur, and a tarantula -- just a few props to show how we can serve God and our neighbors. Peanut butter, pinto beans and grandmother's chow-chow -- merely tools to help share the Bread of Life. These are just a few of the characters in Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends.

It is Marty's desire to bring the hymns out of their sometimes formal, Sunday best stuffy setting and into our Monday through Friday lives. At the same time, she presents a light object lesson and appropriate Scripture passage. This is done with the format of a devotion book, yet it has a light tone and style. From Ebenezer to Willie, Marty's characters can scarcely be contained within the pages of this whimsical yet insightful volume.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-1-1

Also in paperback

from Rickety Bridge Publishing

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

ALSO BY MARTY MAGEE

### Twenty-five Days Around the Manger

# A Light Family Advent Devotional

Marty Magee

Will a purple bedroom help Marty's misgivings about Christmas?

As a kid, Martha Evans didn't like Christmas. Sixty years later, she still gets a little uneasy when this holiday on steroids rolls around. But she knows, when all the tinsel is pulled away, Whose Day it is. Now Marty Magee, she is blessed with five grandchildren who help her not take herself too seriously.

Do you know the angel named Herald? Will young Marty survive the embarrassment of her Charley Brown Christmas tree? And by the way, where's the line to see Jesus?

Twenty-Five Days Around the Manger goes from Marty's mother as a little girl awaiting her brother's arrival, to O Holy Night when our souls finally were able to feel their full worth.

This and much more. Join Marty around the manger this Advent season.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

Also in full colour paperback

from Rickety Bridge Publishing

ISBN: 978-1-4923248-0-5

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

The Gospels and Acts

In Simple Paraphrase

with Helpful Explanations

together with

Running Through the Bible

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing presents a paraphrase in today's English of passages from the four Gospels -- Matthew, Mark, Luke and John -- relating Jesus' birth, life, death and resurrection in one continuous narrative with helpful explanations, plus a paraphrase of events from the book of Acts. Also in this book is a brief summary of the Epistles and Revelation. For readers unfamiliar with the New Testament, this book makes a valuable introduction, and it will surely help those familiar with the New Testament to gain some extra knowledge and understanding as they read it. Please note that this is _not_ a translation of the Bible. It is a careful and sensitive _paraphrase_ of parts of the New Testament, and is not intended to be quoted as Scripture. Part 2 is a short introduction to the whole Bible -- _Running Through the Bible_ \-- which is available from White Tree Publishing as a separate eBook and paperback.

**Translators and others involved in foreign mission work, please note:** If you believe that this copyright book, or part of this book, would be useful if translated into another language, please contact White Tree Publishing (wtpbristol@gmail.com). Permission will be free, and assistance in formatting and publishing your new translation as an eBook and/or a paperback may be available, also without charge.

_Superb! I have never read anything like it. It is colloquially worded in a succinct, clear style with a brilliant (and very helpful) running commentary interspersed. I have found it a compelling read -- and indeed spiritually engaging and moving._ Canon Derek Osborne, Norfolk, England.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-9-6

### Faith that Prevails

The Early Pentecostal Movement

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

Smith Wigglesworth

Study Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

This is a White Tree Publishing Home and Group Questions for Today Edition. At the end of each of the seven chapters are questions by Chuck Antone, Jr. for use either in your personal study, or for sharing in a church or home group. Why? Because _Smith Wigglesworth, often referred to as the Apostle of Faith, putting the emphasis on the work of the Holy Spirit, writes, "_ God is making people hungry and thirsty after His best. And everywhere He is filling the hungry and giving them that which the disciples received at the very beginning. Are you hungry? If you are, God promises that you shall be filled."

_Smith Wigglesworth was one of the pioneers of the early Pentecostal revival. Born in 1859 he gave himself to Jesus at the age of eight and immediately led his mother to the Lord._ His ministry took him to Europe, the US, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, the Pacific Islands, India and what was then Ceylon. _Smith Wigglesworth's faith was unquestioning._

_In this book, he says, "_ There is nothing impossible with God. All the impossibility is with us, when we measure God by the limitations of our unbelief."

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-4-1

### The Authority and

###  Interpretation

### of the Bible

J Stafford Wright

When we start to think about God, we soon come to a point where we say, "I can discover nothing more about God by myself. I must see whether He has revealed anything about Himself, about His character, and about the way to find Him and to please Him." From the beginning, the Christian church has believed that certain writings were the Word of God in a unique sense. Before the New Testament was compiled, Christians accepted the Old Testament as their sacred Book. Here they were following the example of Christ Himself. During His ministry Jesus Christ made great use of the Old Testament, and after His resurrection He spent some time in teaching His disciples that every section of the Old Testament had teachings in it concerning Himself. Any discussion of the inspiration of the Bible gives place sooner or later to a discussion of its interpretation. To say that the Bible is true, or infallible, is not sufficient: for it is one thing to have an infallible Book, and quite another to use it. J Stafford Wright was a greatly respected evangelical theologian and author, and former Principal of Tyndale Hall Theological College, Bristol.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-9-6

### Psalms,

### A Guide Psalm By Psalm

J Stafford Wright

The Bible Psalms. Do you see them as a source of comfort? A help in daily living? A challenge? Or perhaps something to study in depth? _Psalms, a Guide Psalm by Psalm_ will meet all these requirements, and more. It is an individual study guide that can be used for daily reading in conjunction with your own Bible. It is also a resource for group study, with brief questions for study and discussion. And it's a Bible commentary, dealing with the text of each Psalm section by section.

eBook only

eBook ISBN **978-0-9957594-2-8**

### The Christian's Secret

### of a Happy Life

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Christian _and_ happy? Do these two words fit comfortably together? Is our Christian life a burden or a pleasure? Is our quiet time with the Lord a duty or a delight? _The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life_ was first written by Hannah Whitall Smith as monthly instalments for an American magazine. Hannah was brought up as a Quaker, and became the feisty wife of a preacher. By the time she wrote _The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life_ she had already lost three children. Her life was not easy, with her husband being involved in a sexual scandal and eventually losing his faith. So, Christian _and_ happy? An alternative title for this book could have been _The Christian's Secret of a Trusting Life._

How often, Hannah asks, do we bring our burdens to the Lord, as He told us to, only to take them home with us again? There are some wonderful and challenging chapters in this book, which Hannah revised throughout her life, as she came to see that the truth is in the Bible, not in our feelings. Fact, faith and feelings come in that order. As Hannah points out several times, feelings come last. The teaching in this book is firmly Scripture based, as Hannah insists that there is more to the Christian life than simply passing through the gate of salvation. There is a journey ahead for us, where every step we take should be consecrated to bring us closer and closer to God, day by day, and year by year.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-6-6

### Every-Day Religion

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

How are we to live out our Christian lives every day? This book isn't about everyday (ordinary) religion, but about a _living faith_ that changes our lives day by day. Hannah Whitall Smith had to live her life based on her trust in Scripture and the promises of God. In 1875, after the loss of three children, and her husband suffering a mental breakdown after being accused of infidelity, she was able to write _The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life_ , in which she showed that it is possible to find peace with the Lord, no matter what life throws at us, through trusting in His promises.

In 1894, after the death of yet another child, with her three surviving children professing atheism, and her husband losing his faith, Hannah's trust in the Lord Jesus is still so strong that she is able to write in her introduction to her Scripture-based _Every-Day Religion_ , that the purpose of the book is, "To bring out, as far as possible, the common-sense teaching of the Bible in regard to every-day religion. ... How to have inward peace in the midst of outward turmoil."

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-0-9

eBook Coming late 2017

### Haslam's Journey

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

Previously published 2005 by Highland Books

If you only intend to read just one Christian book, this should be the one! You may have heard of the clergyman who was converted while preaching his own sermon. Well, William Haslam is that man. It happened in Cornwall one Sunday in 1851, and revival immediately broke out. Later, another of William Haslam's "famous" sermons will cause a mass walkout of assembled clergy in St Paul's Cathedral! Once he starts to preach the Gospel with zeal, you can rejoice over powerful conversions in nearly every chapter.

Haslam's Journey consists of selected passages from William Haslam's two autobiographies: From _Death_ Into Life (published 1880, his Cornish ministry) and Yet Not I (published 1882, set mostly in Bath, Norfolk and London), abridged and lightly modernised. Just under half of the originals is included. With copious notes and appendices by Chris Wright, editor of _Haslam's Leaves_ also from White Tree Publishing. William Haslam writes with humour and great insight.

_William Haslam writes about his early life:_ "I did not see then, as I have since, that turning over a new leaf to cover the past is not by any means the same thing as turning back the old leaves and getting them washed in the blood of the Lamb. I thought my acceptance with God depended upon my works. This made me very diligent in prayer, fasting and alms deeds. I often sat and dreamed about the works of mercy and devotion I would do."

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-8-5

eBook Coming November 2017

### My Life and Work

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Rodney "Gipsy" Smith was born in a gipsy tent in Epping Forest, England. He was the son of gipsies, Cornelius Smith and his wife Mary. Growing up, he had to help support the family by making and selling items like clothes pegs around the area. He only had a few weeks at school one winter, and was unable to read or write. One day his father Cornelius came home to say that he had been converted, and was now a Christian. Cornelius helped bring his son to the Lord, and from that moment, Rodney wanted to share the way of salvation with others.

Now followed a difficult time, because he knew that in order to preach to others, he had to be able to read the Bible, both for himself and aloud to others. He writes, "I began to practise preaching. One Sunday I entered a turnip field and preached most eloquently to the turnips. I had a very large and most attentive congregation. Not one of them made an attempt to move away." When he started preaching to people, and came across a long word in the Bible he was unable to read, he says he stopped at the long word and spoke on what had gone before, and started reading again at the word after the long one!

Gipsy Smith quickly learnt to read fluently and was soon into fulltime evangelism, where he soon became known as Gipsy Smith, a name he accepted gladly. He joined the Salvation Army for a time, until being told to resign. Instead of this being a setback, he now took up a much wider sphere of work in England, before travelling to America and Australia where he became a much-loved preacher. In spite of meeting two American presidents at the White House, and other important figures in society, Gipsy Smith never forgot his roots. He never pretended to be anything other than a Gipsy boy, and was always pleased to come across other Gipsy families in his travels. Like Billy Bray and others uneducated writers, Gipsy Smith tells the story of his life in a simple and compelling way. This is the account written by a man who gave himself fully to the Lord, and was used to help lead thousands to Jesus Christ as their Saviour.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-4-7

eBook Coming January 2018

### Living in the Sunshine:

The God of All Comfort

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Hannah Smith, who suffered so much in her personal life, has an amazing Bible-based grasp of God's love for each of us. She writes in this book: "Why, I ask myself, should the children of God lead such utterly uncomfortable Christian lives when He has led us to believe that His yoke would be easy and His burden light? Why are we tormented with so many spiritual doubts, and such heavy spiritual anxieties? Why do we find it so hard to be sure that God really loves us?

"But here, perhaps, you will meet me with the words, 'Oh, no, I do not blame the Lord, but I am so weak and so foolish, and so ignorant that I am not worthy of His care.' But do you not know that sheep are always weak, and helpless, and silly; and that the very reason they are compelled to have a shepherd to care for them is just because they are so unable to take care of themselves? Their welfare and their safety, therefore, do not in the least depend upon their own strength, nor upon their own wisdom, nor upon anything in themselves, but wholly and entirely upon the care of their shepherd. And if you are a sheep, your welfare also must depend altogether upon your Shepherd, and not at all upon yourself!"

Note: This is Hannah Smith's final book. It was first published as _Living in the Sunshine_ , and later republished as _The God of All Comfort_ , the title of the third chapter. The edition used here is the British edition of _Living in the Sunshine_ , dated 1906.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-3-0

eBook Coming early 2018

### Evangelistic Talks

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

This book is a selection of 19 talks given by Gipsy Smith which will provide inspirational reading, and also be a source of help for those who speak. There are also 20 "two-minute sermonnettes" as the last chapter! Rodney "Gipsy" Smith was born in a gipsy tent in Epping Forest, England. He was the son of gipsies, Cornelius Smith and his wife Mary. Growing up, he had to help support the family by making and selling items like clothes pegs around the area. He only had a few weeks at school one winter, and was unable to read or write. One day his father Cornelius came home to say that he had been converted, and was now a Christian. Cornelius helped bring his son to the Lord, and from that moment, Rodney wanted to share the way of salvation with others.

He quickly learnt to read fluently and was soon into fulltime evangelism, where he became known as Gipsy Smith, a name he accepted gladly. He preached throughout England, before travelling to America and Australia. Wherever he went he was a much-loved and powerful preacher, bringing thousands to the Lord.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-7-8

eBook Coming early 2018

### I Can't Help Praising the Lord

The Life of Billy Bray

FW Bourne and

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

This challenging and often amusing book on the life of Billy Bray (1794-1868) has a very strong message for Christians today. Billy, a Cornish tin miner, believed and accepted the promises in the Bible, and lived a life that was Spirit filled.

FW Bourne, the writer of the original book, The King's Son, knew Billy Bray as a friend. In it he has used Billy's own writing, the accounts of others who had met Billy, and his own memories.

Chris Wright has revised and edited FW Bourne's book to produce this new edition, adding sections directly from Billy Bray's own Journal, keeping Billy's rough and ready grammar and wording, which surely helps us picture the man.

eBook

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-4-7

Paperback ISBN: 9785-203447-7-5

5x8 inches 80 pages

Available from major internet stores

Also on sale in Billy Bray's Chapel

Kerley Downs, Cornwall

## Christian Fiction

### The Lost Clue

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Romantic Mystery

With modern line drawings

Living the life of a wealthy man, Kenneth Fortescue receives devastating news from his father. But he is only able to learn incomplete facts about his past, because a name has been obliterated from a very important letter. Two women are vying for Kenneth's attention -- Lady Violet, the young daughter of Lady Earlswood, and Marjorie Douglas, the daughter of a widowed parson's wife.

Written in 1905 by the much-loved author Mrs. O. F. Walton, this edition has been lightly abridged and edited to make it easier to read and understand today. This romantic mystery story gives an intriguing glimpse into the class extremes that existed in Edwardian England, with wealthy titled families on one side, and some families living in terrible poverty on the other.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-2-6

### Doctor Forester

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Romantic Mystery

with modern line drawings

Doctor Forester, a medical man only twenty-five years old, has come to a lonely part of Wales to escape from an event in his recent past that has caused him much hurt. So he has more on his mind than worrying about strange noises behind his bedroom wall in the old castle where he is staying.

A young woman who shares part of the journey with him is staying in the same village. He is deeply attracted to her, and believes that she is equally attracted to him. But he soon has every reason to think that his old school friend Jack is also courting her.

Written and taking place in the early 1900s, this romantic mystery is a mix of excitement and heartbreak. What is the secret of Hildick Castle? And can Doctor Forester rid himself of the past that now haunts his life?

Mrs. O. F. Walton was a prolific writer in the late 1800s, and this abridged edition captures all of the original writer's insight into what makes a memorable story. With occasional modern line drawings.

* * *

Ghosts of the past kept flitting through his brain. Dark shadows which he tried to chase away seemed to pursue him. Here these ghosts were to be laid; here those shadows were to be dispelled; here that closed chapter was to be buried for ever. So he fought long and hard with the phantoms of the past until the assertive clock near his bedroom door announced that it was two o'clock.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-0-2

### Was I Right?

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Victorian Romance

With modern line drawings

May Lindsay and her young stepsister Maggie are left penniless and homeless when their father the local doctor dies. Maggie can go to live with her three maiden aunts, but May at the age of nineteen is faced with a choice. Should she take the position of companion to a girl she doesn't know, who lives some distance away, or accept a proposal of marriage from the man who has been her friend since they were small children?

May Lindsay makes her decision, but it is not long before she wonders if she has done the right thing. This is a story of life in Victorian England as May, who has led a sheltered life, is pushed out into a much bigger world than she has previously known. She soon encounters titled families, and is taken on a tour of the Holy Land which occupies much of the story.

Two men seem to be a big disappointment to May Lindsay. Will her Christian faith hold strong in these troubles? Was she right in the decision she made before leaving home?

Mrs. O. F. Walton was a prolific writer in the late 1800s, and this abridged edition captures all of the original writer's insight into what makes a memorable story. With occasional modern line drawings.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-1-9

### In His Steps

Charles M. Sheldon

Abridged Edition

This new abridged edition of a classic story that has sold over an estimated 30 million copies, contains Charles Sheldon's original writing, with some passages sensitively abridged to allow his powerful story to come through for today's readers. Nothing in the storyline has been changed.

A homeless man staggers into a wealthy church and upsets the congregation. A week later he is dead. This causes the Rev. Henry Maxwell to issue a startling challenge to his congregation and to himself -- whatever you do in life over the next twelve months, ask yourself this question before making any decision: "What would Jesus do?"

The local newspaper editor, a novelist, a wealthy young woman who has inherited a million dollars, her friend who has been offered a professional singing career, the superintendent of the railroad workshops, a leading city merchant and others take up the challenge. But how will it all work out when things don't go as expected?

A bishop gives up his comfortable lifestyle -- and finds his life threatened in the city slums. The story is timeless. A great read, and a challenge to every Christian today.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9927642-9-6

Also available in paperback 254 pages 5.5 x 8.5 inches

Paperback ISBN 13: 978-19350791-8-7

A Previously Unpublished Book

### Locked Door Shuttered Windows

A Novel by J Stafford Wright

What is inside the fascinating house with the locked door and the shuttered windows? Satan wants an experiment. God allows it. John is caught up in the plan as Satan's human representative. The experiment? To demonstrate that there can be peace in the world if God allows Satan to run things in his own way. A group of people gather together in an idyllic village run by Satan, with no reference to God, and no belief in him.

J Stafford Wright has written this startling and gripping account of what happens when God stands back and Satan steps forward. All seems to go well for the people who volunteer to take part. And no Christians allowed!

John Longstone lost his faith when teaching at a theological college. Lost it for good -- or so he thinks. And then he meets Kathleen who never had a faith. As the holes start to appear in Satan's scheme for peace, they wonder if they should help or hinder the plans which seem to have so many benefits for humanity.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-3-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-4-1

206 pages 5.25 x 8.0 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### When it Was Dark

Guy Thorne

Abridged Edition

What would happen to the Christian faith if it could be proved beyond all doubt that Jesus did not rise from the dead? This is the situation when, at the end of the nineteenth century, eminent archaeologists working outside Jerusalem discover a tomb belonging to Joseph of Arimathea, with an inscription claiming that he took the body of Jesus from the first tomb and hid it. And there are even remains of a body. So no resurrection!

As churches quickly empty, some Christians cling to hope, saying that Jesus lives within them, so He must be the Son of God who rose from the dead. Others are relieved that they no longer have to believe and go to church. Society starts to break down.

With the backing of a wealthy industrialist, a young curate puts together a small team to investigate the involvement of a powerful atheist in the discovery. This is an abridged edition of a novel first published in 1903.

Guy Thorne was the English author of many thrillers in the early twentieth century, and this book was not intended specifically for the Christian market. It contains adult references in places, but no swearing or offensive language. Although it was written from a high church Anglican viewpoint, the author is positive about the various branches of the Christian faith, finding strengths and weaknesses in individual church and chapel members as their beliefs are threatened by the discovery in Jerusalem. White Tree Publishing believes this book will be a great and positive challenge to Christians today as we examine the reality of our faith.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

Published jointly with North View Publishing

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-0-3

### Silverbeach Manor

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

Pansy is an orphan who is cared for by her aunt, Temperance Piper, who keeps the village post office and store. One day Pansy meets wealthy Mrs. Adair who offers to take her under her wing and give her a life of wealth in high society that she could never dream of, on condition Pansy never revisits her past life. When they first meet, Mrs. Adair says about Pansy's clothes, "The style is a little out of date, but it is good enough for the country. I should like to see you in a really well-made dress. It would be quite a new sensation for you, if you really belong to these wilds. I have a crimson and gold tea gown that would suit you delightfully, and make you quite a treasure for an artist." This is a story of rags to riches to ... well, to a life where nothing is straightforward. First published in 1891.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-4-1

### Gildas Haven

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

For several years in the peaceful English village of Meadthorpe, the church and chapel have existed in an uneasy peace while the rector and the chapel minister are distracted by poor health. Now a young curate arrives at St Simeon's, bringing high church ritual and ways of worship. Gildas Haven, the daughter of the chapel minister is furious to discover the curate is enticing her Sunday school children away. The curate insists that his Church ways are right, and Gildas who has only known chapel worship says the opposite.

Battle lines are quickly drawn by leaders and congregations. Mary Haycraft writes with light humour and surprising insight in what could be a controversial story line. With at least one major surprise, the author seems to be digging an impossible hole for herself as the story progresses. The ending of this sensitively told romance is likely to come as a surprise.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-7-2

### Amaranth's Garden

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

"It seems, Miss, your father drew out that money yesterday, and took it all out in gold. The Rector happened to be in the Bank at the time, but was on his way to town, and could not stop to talk to your father just then, though he wondered to hear him say he had come to draw out everything, as treasurer of the fund." Amaranth Glyn's comfortable life comes to an end when the church funds disappear. Her father, the church treasurer who drew out the money, is also missing, to be followed shortly by her mother. The disgrace this brings on the family means Amaranth's marriage plans are cancelled. Amaranth is a competent artist and moves away with her young brother to try to earn a living. There are rumours that her parents are in France and even in Peru. Caring for her sick brother, Amaranth wants life to be as it was before the financial scandal forced her to leave her family home and the garden she loved.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-6-5

### Rose Capel's Sacrifice

Margaret Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

Rose and Maurice Capel find themselves living in poverty through no fault of their own, and their daughter Gwen is dangerously ill and in need of a doctor and medicine, which they cannot possibly afford. There seems to be only one option -- to offer their daughter to Maurice Capel's unmarried sister, Dorothy, living in the beautiful Welsh countryside, and be left with nothing more than memories of Gwen. Dorothy has inherited her father's fortune and cut herself off from the family. Although Gwen would be well cared for, if she got better and Rose and Maurice's finances improved, would they be able to ask for Gwen to be returned? Another story from popular Victorian writer Margaret S. Haycraft.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-3-4

eBook Coming November 2017

### Keena Karmody

Eliza Kerr

Keena Karmody finishes school in London and invites her young French teacher, Marie Delorme, to stay with her on her grandfather's estate at Céim-an-eich in Ireland as her tutor, to complete her education. One day Keena will inherit the large house and the family money. As time goes on, Marie Delorme's stay becomes permanent as she makes secret plans to take possession of the estate. When Keena's grandfather dies, Keena finds that he has made a very different will than the one everyone expected, and Marie is now mistress of the house. What is the shameful family secret that no one has ever discussed with Keena? Her only hope of getting her life back together lies in discovering this secret, and the answer could be with her father's grave in Tuscany. Homeless and penniless Keena Karmody sets out for Italy.

" _When she had sought out and found that grave in the distant Tuscan village, and learned the story of her father's life and death, perhaps then death would come, and she might be laid there at his side in peace, and Marie would dwell in Céim-an-eich."_

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-5-4

eBook coming December 2017

### The Clever Miss Jancy

### Margaret S. Haycraft

Miss Orabel Jancy is indeed clever, and she knows it. The oldest of widowed Squire Jancy's six children, all living at home, Orabel is the author of several scientific books, and has many letters after her name. To Orabel, education and intellectual pursuits are everything that matter in life. She is secretary of a women's intellectual club that teaches that women are superior to men, and the members have all agreed to remain single because men would hold them back in their academic goals. However, when Orabel was born, a deathbed promise was made with a friend that Orabel and the friend's son, Harold Kingdon, should be given the opportunity to marry. Nobody thinks to mention this to Orabel, and she only learns of the arrangement when she is grown up and Harold Kingdon is already on his way from India -- to propose to her! Even before Harold arrives, Orabel decides she cannot possibly marry a lowly military doctor, when she is so intelligent. As soon as they meet, the feeling of dislike is mutual. But Orabel's younger sister, Annis, who never did well in academic subjects, is also of marriageable age, and would dearly love to settle down with the right man. Their younger brother and small sisters view the developing situation with interest.

The Squire had never found courage to broach the fact of the offer to Orabel, who looks as though her blue eyes would wither the sheet of foreign notepaper in front of her.

"You know, Orabel," puts in Annis, "we _did_ hear something long ago about papa and mamma promising somebody or other out in India should have a chance to court you."

"Oh, _do_ say 'yes,' Orabel," pleads a chorus of little sisters. "It will be so _lovely_ to have a wedding, and Phil can be a page and wear a fancy dress."

"Can he?" growls Philip. "I'd like to catch myself in lace and velvet like those kids at the Hemmings' last week. Orabel, I think you ought to send him your portrait. Let him know, at least, what he's wooing."

With these words Philip beats a prudent retreat, and Orabel gives utterance to such tones that Annis, trembling at her side, is almost in tears.

"Has it come to this," Orabel asks, "that I, the secretary of the Mount Athene Club, should be affronted, insulted by a letter like this? Am I not Orabel Jancy? Am I not the pioneer of a new and emancipating system? And who is this Harold Kingdon that he dares to cross my path with his jests concerning infantile betrothal?"

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-9-7

eBook coming January 2018

### A Daughter of the King

Mrs Philip Barnes

There are the usual misunderstandings in the small village of Royden, but one year they combine to cause serious friction. An elderly lady, the embodiment of kindness, is turned out of her favourite pew by the new vicar. Young and old residents start to view each other with suspicion when a banished husband returns, allegedly to harm his wife and children as he did once before. Both Mary Grey and Elsa Knott want to marry young Gordon Pyne, who lives in the White House, but Gordon is suddenly accused of his father's murder. This is a very readable romance from 1909, with many twists and turns. It has been lightly abridged and edited. A story in the style of those by White Tree Publishing's most popular author, Margaret S. Haycraft.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-8-0

eBook coming January 2018

### Hazel Haldene

Eliza Kerr

Two grownup sisters live under their older brother's thumb. He is obsessed with perfect Christian doctrine and farming, and cannot see why his sisters should want any company but his own. Marie is fond of a local artist, but her brother will not allow such a marriage. Marie's only hope of freedom is to run away and marry in secret. When she returns to the family home eight years later with a child, surely she will be welcome by a brother who professes religion. This story by Eliza Kerr again takes the theme of rejection, but her stories are all very different as well as involving.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN:

eBook Coming February 2018

### Rollica Reed

Eliza Kerr

When Rollica Reed is left an orphan at the age of sixteen, a friend of her father's takes her in, much to the dismay of his wife and two older daughters who consider themselves to be the cream of Victorian society. The wife and daughters resent Rollica as an intruder, and try to make her life wretched, humiliating her in front of friends and telling her she is too common to be a lady. The two unmarried daughters are concerned by Rollica's naturally good looks, and want to cut her off from meeting any of their friends. Rollica soon learns she must not show any sign of weakness if she is to survive. But can she ever forgive?

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-6-1

## Books for Younger Readers

### (and older readers too!)

### The Merlin Adventure

Chris Wright

The day Daniel Talbot brought home a stuffed duck in a glass case, everyone thought he'd gone out of his mind. Even he had his doubts at times. "Fancy spending your money on _that_ ," his mother scolded him. "You needn't think it's coming into this house, because it isn't!"

When Daniel, Emma, Charlie and Julia, the Four Merlins, set out to sail their model paddle steamer on the old canal, strange and dangerous things start to happen. Then Daniel and Julia make a discovery they want to share with the others.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-2-7

Paperback ISBN: 9785-203447-7-5

5x8 inches 182 pages

Available from major internet stores

The Hijack Adventure

Chris Wright

Anna's mother has opened a transport café, but why do the truck drivers avoid stopping there? An accident in the road outside brings Anna a new friend, Matthew. When they get trapped in a broken down truck with Matthew's dog, Chip, their adventure begins.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-6-5

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-0-5

5x8 inches 140 pages

Available from major internet stores

The Seventeen Steps Adventure

Chris Wright

When Ryan's American cousin, Natalie, comes to stay with him in England, a film from their Gran's old camera holds some surprise photographs, and they discover there's more to photography than taking selfies! But where are the Seventeen Steps, and has a robbery been planned to take place there?

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-7-2

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-6-7

5x8 inches 132 pages

Available from major internet stores

### The Two Jays Adventure

The First Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are on holiday in the West Country in England where they set out to make some exciting discoveries. Have they found the true site of an ancient holy well? Is the water in it dangerous? Why does an angry man with a bicycle tell them to keep away from the deserted stone quarry?

A serious accident on the hillside has unexpected consequences, and an old Latin document may contain a secret that's connected to the two strange stone heads in the village church -- if James and Jessica can solve the puzzle. An adventure awaits! This is the first Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-8-9

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-8-1

5x8 inches 196 pages

Available from major internet stores

### The Dark Tunnel Adventure

The Second Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are on holiday in the Derbyshire Peak District in England, staying near Dakedale Manor, which has been completely destroyed in a fire. Did young Sam Stirling burn his family home down? Miss Parkin, the housekeeper, says he did, and she can prove it. Sam says he didn't, and he can't prove it. But Sam has gone missing. James and Jessica believe the truth lies behind one of the old iron doors inside the disused railway tunnel. This is the second Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-0-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5206386-3-8

188 pages 5x8 inches

Available from major internet stores

$5.99 £4.95

### The Cliff Edge Adventure

The Third Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica's Aunt Judy lives in a lonely guest house perched on top of a crumbling cliff on the west coast of Wales. She is moving out with her dog for her own safety, because she has been warned that the waves from the next big storm could bring down a large part of the cliff -- and her house with it. Cousins James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are helping her sort through her possessions, and they find an old papyrus page they think could be from an ancient copy of one of the Gospels. Two people are extremely interested in having it, but can either of them be trusted? James and Jessica are alone in the house. It's dark, the electricity is off, and the worst storm in living memory is already battering the coast. Is there someone downstairs? This is the third Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-4-2

**Paperback ISBN:** **9781-5-211370-3-1**

188 pages 5x8 inches

$5.99 £4.95

Coming December 2017

### The Midnight Farm Adventure

The Fourth Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

What is hidden in the old spoil tip by the disused Midnight Mine? Two men have permission to dig there, but they don't want anyone watching -- especially not Jessica and James, the Two Jays. And where is Granfer Joe's old tin box, full of what he called his treasure? The Easter holiday at Midnight Farm in Cornwall isn't as peaceful as James's parents planned. An early morning bike ride nearly ends in disaster, and with the so-called Hound of the Baskerville running loose, things turn out to be decidedly dangerous. This is the fourth Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-1-6

Also available in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5497148-3-2

200 pages 5x8 inches

$5.99 £4.95

### Mary Jones and Her Bible

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

The true story of Mary Jones's and her Bible

with a clear Christian message and optional puzzles

(Some are easy, some tricky, and some amusing)

Mary Jones saved for six years to buy a Bible of her own. In 1800, when she was 15, she thought she had saved enough, so she walked barefoot for 26 miles (more than 40km) over a mountain pass and through deep valleys in Wales to get one. That's when she discovered there were none for sale!

You can travel with Mary Jones today in this book by following clues, or just reading the story. Either way, you will get to Bala where Mary went, and if you're really quick you may be able to discover a Bible just like Mary's in the market!

The true story of Mary Jones has captured the imagination for more than 200 years. For this book, Chris Wright has looked into the old records and discovered even more of the story, which is now in this unforgettable account of Mary Jones and her Bible. Solving puzzles is part of the fun, but the whole story is in here to read and enjoy whether you try the puzzles or not. Just turn the page, and the adventure continues. It's time to get on the trail of Mary Jones!

eBook ISBN: **ISBN: 978-0-9933941-5-7**

Paperback ISBN 978-0-9525956-2-5

5.5 x 8.5 inches

156 pages of story, photographs, line drawings and puzzles

### Pilgrim's Progress

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

Travel with young Christian as he sets out on a difficult and perilous journey to find the King. Solve the puzzles and riddles along the way, and help Christian reach the Celestial City. Then travel with his friend Christiana. She has four young brothers who can sometimes be a bit of a problem.

Be warned, you will meet giants and lions -- and even dragons! There are people who don't want Christian and Christiana to reach the city of the King and his Son. But not everyone is an enemy. There are plenty of friendly people. It's just a matter of finding them.

Are you prepared to help? Are you sure? The journey can be very dangerous! As with our book Mary Jones and Her Bible, you can enjoy the story even if you don't want to try the puzzles.

This is a simplified and abridged version of Pilgrim's Progress -- Special Edition, containing illustrations and a mix of puzzles. The suggested reading age is up to perhaps ten. Older readers will find the same story told in much greater detail in Pilgrim's Progress -- Special Edition on the next page.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9933941-6-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-6-3

5.5 x 8.5 inches 174 pages £6.95

Available from major internet stores

### Pilgrim's Progress

### Special Edition

Chris Wright

This book for all ages is a great choice for young readers, as well as for families, Sunday school teachers, and anyone who wants to read John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress in a clear form.

All the old favourites are here: Christian, Christiana, the Wicket Gate, Interpreter, Hill Difficulty with the lions, the four sisters at the House Beautiful, Vanity Fair, Giant Despair, Faithful and Talkative -- and, of course, Greatheart. The list is almost endless.

The first part of the story is told by Christian himself, as he leaves the City of Destruction to reach the Celestial City, and becomes trapped in the Slough of Despond near the Wicket Gate. On his journey he will encounter lions, giants, and a creature called the Destroyer.

Christiana follows along later, and tells her own story in the second part. Not only does Christiana have to cope with her four young brothers, she worries about whether her clothes are good enough for meeting the King. Will she find the dangers in Vanity Fair that Christian found? Will she be caught by Giant Despair and imprisoned in Doubting Castle? What about the dragon with seven heads?

It's a dangerous journey, but Christian and Christiana both know that the King's Son is with them, helping them through the most difficult parts until they reach the Land of Beulah, and see the Celestial City on the other side of the Dark River. This is a story you will remember for ever, and it's about a journey you can make for yourself.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-8-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-7-0

5.5 x 8.5 inches 278 pages

Available from major internet stores

### Zephan and the Vision

Chris Wright

An exciting story about the adventures of two angels who seem to know almost nothing -- until they have a vision!

Two ordinary angels are caring for the distant Planet Eltor, and they are about to get a big shock -- they are due to take a trip to Planet Earth! This is Zephan's story of the vision he is given before being allowed to travel with Talora, his companion angel, to help two young people fight against the enemy.

Arriving on Earth, they discover that everyone lives in a small castle. Some castles are strong and built in good positions, while others appear weak and open to attack. But it seems that the best-looking castles are not always the most secure.

Meet Castle Nadia and Castle Max, the two castles that Zephan and Talora have to defend. And meet the nasty creatures who have built shelters for themselves around the back of these castles. And worst of all, meet the shadow angels who live in a cave on Shadow Hill. This is a story about the forces of good and the forces of evil. Who will win the battle for Castle Nadia?

The events in this story are based very loosely on John Bunyan's allegory The Holy War.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-6-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-9-4

5.5 x 8.5 inches 216 pages

Available from major internet stores

### Agathos, The Rocky Island,

### And Other Stories

Chris Wright

Once upon a time there were two favourite books for Sunday reading: _Parables from Nature_ and _Agathos and The Rocky Island_.

These books contained short stories, usually with a hidden meaning. In this illustrated book is a selection of the very best of these stories, carefully retold to preserve the feel of the originals, coupled with ease of reading and understanding for today's readers.

Discover the king who sent his servants to trade in a foreign city. The butterfly who thought her eggs would hatch into baby butterflies, and the two boys who decided to explore the forbidden land beyond the castle boundary. The spider that kept being blown in the wind, the soldier who had to fight a dragon, the four children who had to find their way through a dark and dangerous forest. These are just six of the nine stories in this collection. Oh, and there's also one about a rocky island!

This is a book for a young person to read alone, a family or parent to read aloud, Sunday school teachers to read to the class, and even for grownups who want to dip into the fascinating stories of the past all by themselves. Can you discover the hidden meanings? You don't have to wait until Sunday before starting!

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9927642-7-2

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-8-7

5.5 x 8.5 inches 148 pages £5.95

Available from major internet stores

Don't forget to check our website www.whitetreepublishing.com for the latest books, and updates on availability

Return to Table of Contents

Return to Table of Contents
