The Netherwoods of Otterpool. A novel

Chapter I

Hitherto this story has been nothing but a mere jotting down of events just as they happened. With the exception of a few incidental remarks where it seemed to want something to elucidate the narration, no attempt has been made to delineate character. It has been left to the actions of the persons alone, in the different circumstances in which they were placed, to give some idea of their different dis positions and natures. Now, however, when one of so decidedly unworldly, almost romantic a turn of mind, is coming forward so prominently on the scene, VOL. II. B it appears imperative to offer some ex planation, almost apology, for the high wrought state of mind of a young girl not quite thirteen. It would almost appear unnatural that Annie Malcolm should shrink with so much repugnance from the idea of becoming, one day, mistress of such an estate as Otterpool, or if she did entertain it for one moment with anything like, eagerness, it was only because she thought she would then have the power to restore it to the rightful owmer.

But, if the antecedents, which have led up to this point in Annie's story, have not altogether failed in their connecting links, it will be easily seen how every incident would tend to work on a mind like hers. Her very education, and the almost isolated life of the young girl, would naturady tend to make her one of the most unw7orldly, the most unselfish of God's creatures. Setting aside the supposition, that, at her age, it was utterly impossible she should know anything of the nominal, far less the real value of the estate she so resolutely refused, everything in her life hitherto had only led to the present crisis. Her nature was already pure, high-minded, and affectionate. Her first instructress, being her upright, loyal nurse, wiiose every thought was that of devotion and unselfishness ; whose nature was single-minded and truthful ; the earliest training of Annie's mind had been the one most fitted to make no act of self-devotion appear anything but a mere matter of course duty, admitting no hesitation, demanding no effort of will, as soon as it had been proved to her, an act of common justice.

With her grandfather's example constantly before her eyes, she had early learnt to reverence the name of Truth and Justice, and it was with a pang of deep sorrow and amazement that she now learnt that he could be capable of such an act of injustice towards his only son. Annie had yet to learn, that Pride, such as possessed Philip of Otterpool, though it never degrades a man, yet it far too often warps his judgment, leads him astray from the path of rectitude, and so completely blinds him, that he still thinks he is walking in it straighter than ever, at a time when he has left it altogether. It was a complete puzzle to Annie's upright conscien tious nature, and she tried in vain to reconcile b such apparent contradiction. At last she gave it up, and determined to act for herself in the best way she could without troubling her head any more about the motives of other people.

A wise determination for one so young ; an example it would be as well if older people could now and then follow. What Black Nelly had begun, Miss Falk land followed up with an energy which fully justified the choice Phdip of Otterpool had made of this lady for the important trust he had confided to her so fully. No one had ever entertained Annie with ddations upon the grandeur that surrounded her, or her importance as heiress to the immense wealth of the Netherwoods. Simply brought up, amongst simple-hearted people, she had accepted, what she had found herself surrounded with, when she came to the pow7er of discriminating things, as simply as she had accepted the air she breathed, the food she ate, or the clothes she put on. It is even a question whether she would have understood what it would be to be deprived of all these things which hitherto had seemed so natural to her, that she had never given them a thought.

There was another powerful influence in Annie's nature, which, had all others failed, would alone have prompted her to form the resolution of striving at all risks, to effect the restoration of her Uncle Frank to his father's affection. There was a tie between the uncle and niece, which it would have puzzled many a subtle psychologist to account for. Whether Annie's love for her uncle originated in his love for her, or whether it was an inheritance she had received from her mother, it would be almost impossible to decide, so spontaneous and full had it always appeared to be. What ever wras the cause of its existence, there it was, pure, ardent, true, there did not seem to have been a moment in her life when it was not. It seemed as if new life were given to her, whenever he came to Oak House, and she nestled in his arms always opened to receive her.

How deep, how holy was the affection with which he pressed his sister's orphan child to his heart, that sacred legacy he had received at her hands in the hour of his agony, his bereavement. Was it a wonder then that Annie should love him with ad the strength of her affectionate nature ? Was it a wonder then that the story of her uncle's wrongs, the perusal of her mother's letter, should have altered her from the almost careless happy child, thinking no w7rong of any one, to the thoughtful woman, to whom, all at once, it is given to redress a great wrong, and that wrong affect ing the interests of the uncle she so dearly loved ! She was quite another being ever since she had read her mother's letter, ever since she bore her mother's legacy in her heart, that to her had been committed the fulfilment of the task that mother had not been spared to carry out.

The moment Frank Netherwood saw her again, he felt certain that she knew all. She put her arms round his neck as usual, and kissed him, but how fervent her kisses were, as if each were accompanied by a heartfelt prayer. A pang went through his heart as she bent upon his face, her large brown eyes with an expression so like that he had seen in his sister's eyes, the first evening of his banishment from his father's house. But she said nothing to him, nor to her Aunt Hamil ton. She felt quite satisfied in being with them, in having them near to consult if she required their advice, and she played with her young cousins seemingly as gaily as before ; but those who knew her well, saw that she was ever thinking. One day, it was soon after Christmas, she had been playing with her cousins, the little Hamiltons, and suddenly wrent into the drawing-room where her aunt was at work.

She drew a stool from beneath a table, and bringing it close to her aunt's chair, sat down at her feet, a favourite position with her. Even with her grandfather she often did this. It seemed as if she could speak to people more easily if she could look up into their faces, and see the effect of her words. She sat beside her Aunt for some time in silence, apparently engrossed in watching her busy fingers, now deeply engaged in the creation of a rose in coloured w7ools, the last in a group of brilliant flowers, whose progress she had watched from time to time, with great interest. " Well, Annie, don't you think I am getting on famously," said her aunt, " I think it will make a very pretty cushion for the sofa." " Oh, yes, auntie, very ; but I was not thinking of that just now." " No, what were you thinking of, my love ?

It must be something which interests' you very much, for you look quite earnest about it." " Dear little auntie," she said, in her soft coaxing voice, " you were so kind as to say that you would give a child's party for me before I went back to Otterpool, and that it should be next Tuesday, on my birthday. I wish you would send for Phdip to be here that evening." " Good gracious, Annie !" exclaimed her aunt, "my dear chdd, are you thinking of what you are saying ? Don't you know your grandpapa has sent word to say he w7ould be here for your birthday ? We all know what such a warning means. I can't think of such a thing, my love ■ he would never forgive me. If I were to do such a thing as that, he would never let you come near me again. No, no, I cannot do it. I dare not run such a risk." " Yes you will, dear little auntie, if I beg of you to do so ; for my sake, for the sake of dear Uncle Frank you wdl do it.

I want grandpapa to see Phdip." " Don't think of it, Annie ; you quite frighten me child, you don't know your grandpapa as well as I do. It would have no other effect on him than to make him very angry — angry with you, angry with me, with your Uncle Hamilton, and more than ever, with your Uncle Frank. Child, child, it would do him more harm than good." " I do not think so, dear little auntie. And if it did make grandpapa angry, that is just what I want to do." " Want to make your grandpapa angry, Annie !" repeated her aunt, in unfeigned astonishment. " Yes, auntie, for if he were very angry, then I should have an opportunity of speaking to him, of letting him know that I am quite determined never to stand in Uncle Frank's place. I assure you, dear auntie, I have thought a great deal about it, and I begin to see my way now quite clearly."

" And what do you mean to tell your grandfather, Annie?" asked her aunt, who could not take her eyes off the earnest beam ing young face upturned to hers. " In the first place, auntie, I want to find b out whether he really does mean to give Otterpool to me instead of to Uncle Frank, for you don't know that he does, you only think he will. It would be very silly of me to say that I wouldn't have what perhaps he never means to give me." " Oh, but he does, my dear love ! Every one is certain that you are to be his heir." " Every one may think so, auntie ; but for all that I don't suppose he has ever told any one I am to be his heir." " Well, I don't know that he has exactly said so ; but he has given sufficient proofs that he means it. In the first place, it woidd be very wrong of him to bring you up as he does, if he didn't mean it ; to indulge you so much, to give you so many beautiful things, your carriage and ponies, your own servants, even to your own groom.

It would be so very cruel to you." " I don't understand why it should be so wrrong and cruel to me, dear auntie ; if he chooses to give me all those things one day, he may take them away the next, without doing wrong surely." " You wouldn't like to lose your pretty little carriage and ponies, would you, Annie?" " No, I shouldn't like it, auntie, certainly ; but then I should never have had them if grandpapa hadn't given them to me ; and if he took them away again, I suppose it would be because he thought I could do without them." " He wont take them away from you, my darling, all the time you continue to be so good and docile, so affectionate to every one about you. You know he loves you most truly. I was only talking about your carriage and ponies and servants, to show you that all these things prove to me, and to every one else, that you and you only are to be his heir."

" Well, I have no doubt you are right, dear auntie, for you understand these things and I don't. But I mean to make him tell me that I am to be his heir, and then — " " What then, my love ?" asked her aunt, as Annie paused and seemed to consider. " Then I will tell him everything. Tell him I do not mean to have Otterpool ; tell him that mamma said I should never be happy until Uncle Frank is restored to his favour and to his rights. Tell him that I would rather live in a cottage with old Mrs. Davis, than live in a place which should by rights belong to another." " Annie, my love, you can't be really serious," said her aunt. " Shouldn't you be afraid to speak in that way to your grandfather ?" " Afraid, auntie dear !" she repeated, in surprise, lifting up her large eyes, and fixing them in mute question on those of her aunt.

"Afraid of what?" " There is no fear in your deep, clear eyes, my love ; and you need never be afraid so long as you do w7hat is right. But I must speak to your Uncle Hamilton about this. I should not like Phdip to meet his grandfather here without your uncle's approval." " Oh, of course not, dear auntie ! I should never think you would, but please tell Uncle Hamilton that I should be very much obliged to him if he would say you might write to night, and ask Uncle Frank to let him come." "You strange, unaccountable little crea ture," said Mrs. Hamdton to her. "You don't seem to doubt one instant that any ob stacle could be raised to a thing you have settled in your own mind is right. But sup posing your Uncle Hamilton says he cannot hear of such a thing ?" " But he musn't say that, dear auntie, and Philip must come !" she continued, laying an emphasis on the " must."

" And then your Uncle Frank ; supposing he says no. I can't think that he wdl let Phdip come, knowing that he will meet his grandfather." " Oh yes he will, auntie, if you tell him I particularly want Philip to come." " Why, Annie, I thought you did not want your Uncle Frank to know that you knew anything about this business. I never told him. Did you ?" " No, auntie ; but Uncle Frank knows very wed that I do, aud he knows very wrell that let him say or do wiiat he pleases, I will never rest," she continued, " till I have done what mamma has left me to do." Her Aunt Hamdton looked for an instant at the grave earnest face of the child beside her ; she could scarcely believe that it was she who had uttered those few, solemn, earnest words. " Well, Annie," she said at last, " it is, perhaps, best to let you have your own way.

No one, who thinks rightly can act very wrong, if they are determined to act up to wiiat they think. I suppose you have well considered, child, what you propose to do. And tell me, Annie, what is it you propose by this meeting ?" "I have thought of it ever since I have been here, auntie, and that is nearly two months now7. I have long wanted to bring about this meeting, and scarcely knew how to manage it, till you spoke of having a party on my birthday. When grandpapa said he would come, I saw it at once." " Well, and afterwards, what do you mean to do?" " That I shall see, auntie. If grandpapa is very angry, he will take me aw7ay directly ; and, when he gets me home again, then he will say who he means to give Otterpool to. If he says he means to give it to me, I will tell him at once that I w7dl never take it, that no one but Uncle Frank has any right to it after him."

" We shad see, child ; we shall see. But I really think it is a bold experiment. How ever, it is a straightforward one. But why choose Philip, Annie? Surely, it would be better to take your Uncle Erank ?" "No, auntie, no ! I don't want Uncle Frank to be hurt again, as he was when poor mamma died. Once of that was quite enough for him. Now, Philip, from what I can re member of him, is almost, if not quite as proud as grandpapa ; and he wouldn't care so much if grandpapa is angry with him. He wrould be like enough to tell grandpapa w7hat he thinks. Grandpapa would like him, in spite of himself, w7ould think about him when he would rather not. He likes people who are not afraid of him, who are proud, like himself • and then Philip is so handsome !" " Why, Annie, dear, how can you remember what Philip is like ?

It must be quite four years since you saw him last." " Yes, auntie, so it is. All that I can quite understand now7, why we never saw each other again, after he and I began to talk about his never coming to Otterpool, and to ask ques tions. But I have seen his face since, dear auntie. Look here," she continued, as she withdrew a small medallion from her bosom, fastened to a little gold chain she wore round her neck. "Why, Annie!" cried her aunt in amazement, as she opened the locket and the hand some features of young Philip Netherwood met her eyes, " where did you get this ? You really mustn't have it, child. Who could have given you such a thing ?" " Ellison gave it to me, dear auntie. He went last summer to see some friends of his, w7ho live at Northcote, and he brought this back with him.

I don't know how he came by it. I don't think Uncle Frank gave it him ; but he gave it to me when I begged it of him to let me have it." "You must give me that portrait, Annie. Indeed, you must not keep it." " Oh, don't take it away from me, dear auntie ! You don't know how dearly I love cousin Philip ! I remember how kind he used to be to me, and did everything he could to please me. He used to say I should be his little wife. Do you think he w7ould say so now?" " Chdd, child !" cried her aunt, throwing down her work, which had lain all this time neglected on her knees, and catching Annie up in her arms, she seated her on her lap, pressing her to her bosom, and covering her face with kisses and tears. " I wid do all you want. There is a Higher Powrer guiding all this for us ; we who thought we had so effectually put a stop to all possibillity of your seeing or hearing anything of your cousin Phdip."

" But why, dear auntie ? Was that for fear grandpapa shouldn't like it?" " Yes, yes, my love ! But it is useless taking any more precautions now. It seems as if Fate had over-ruled us. God grant it may be for the best, since he has seen fit to permit it !" " And will you ask Philip to come, dear little auntie ?" said the child, " and may I keep his portrait ? oh, do say I may !" " Yes, my darling. Philip shall come to meet your grandfather, and you may keep his portrait. Does any one else know but myself that you have it, Annie ?" " Only Ellison, dear auntie, but he doesn't know that I wear it. I don't know why I never showed it to Black Nelly, or Helen," she added, blushing, " but I will shew it to them if you think I ought ; only," she added, hesitatingly, " I would rather not if you did not wish it."

" No, my love, you needn't tell them unless you like. Perhaps it would be better that no one should know but myself." Annie kissed her aunt, and after looking once more at the handsome face of her cousin, she closed the locket and put it back in the hiding-place where it had lain for so many months.

Chapter II

At first, Mr. Hamilton would not hear of such a plan as that which Annie proposed. He would not be a party to such an insult to Mr. Netherwood, as it would be to ask his grandson to meet him. He was almost angry with his wife that she could have entertained such an idea for a moment. " To listen to such a chdd," he exclaimed ; " how is it possible that at her age, she can comprehend in the slightest, what the con sequences of such a step are likely to be." " I do assure you, Peter, she does under stand them, anticipates and weighs them well. You had better see her and speak to her yourself." So Annie was sent for and closeted with her uncle for more than half an hour. Even the shrewd, prudent Mr. Hamilton began to yield to the earnest pleading of the child. " It is my affair, Uncle Hamilton," she cried, " I will take all the whole blame of it myself.

I want grandpapa to know that I did it, and for a purpose, too. I shall tell him so myself." " It is neither for myself nor for your aunt that I dread his displeasure, Annie, though no doubt he will be excessively displeased with us for allowing you to do such a thing ; but it is for you, and as it may affect your coming here any more. If I felt quite sure it would not do your Uncle Frank more harm than good, I should say try it by all means. I think some one should seriously speak to him." " I don't think it will injure Uncle Frank, dear uncle. Don't say anything to him, but merely ask him to let Philip come. Then you know I can say with truth to grandpapa, that he knew nothing about it." Mr. Hamilton reflected before he wrote, he thought it might seem strange to Frank to ask Phdip to come, without saying anything about himself and his wife.

True they had both been to Oak House before Christmas to see Annie, and George Hamilton had gone back with them to Northcote, to spend part of his holidays with Philip. Suddenly he recollected that Mrs. Frank Netherwood had said in her last letter that neither herself nor her husband thought they would come out again w7hilst the cold weather lasted, they had both suffered from it. This was just the excuse Mr. Hamilton wanted, so he sat down and wrote off to Northcote, to ask Frank Netherwood to send his son George home for Annie's birthday, and begged him to let Philip accompany him. Not a word did he say of Phdip of Otterpool's intention of being at Oak House for the party. Notwithstanding Mr. Hamilton's powers as a diplomatist, it is quite possible that Frank would have sent an excuse for Philip, had not his wife, at the same time, received a letter from Mrs. Hamilton, in which she told her of the episode of the locket, and how fruitless all their precautions had been to prevent Annie thinking of her cousin.

" The best thing we can do Lucy, is to let Philip go. His antipathy to Annie is so strong," said Frank, mournfully, "that she cannot fail to be struck by it. That Avould be more effectual in destroying any liking she may have for him, than if we prevented their meeting any longer." Mrs. Netherwood quite agreed with her husband's view of the matter, so she wrote back to say that both the boys would be there for the party on Tuesday. " Now please don't tell Phdip," said Annie, her face radiant with delight, "that grand papa is coining. And don't let Uncle Hamilton tell, dear auntie. It will be so much better if he is unprepared." The much talked of birthday came at last. Mrs. Hamilton could not say that she did not feel rather nervous as the hour for the party drew near. As for Annie she w7as as composed and self-possessed as if she knew nothing of the conspiracy against her grand father.

When her aunt expressed her surprise that she should be so cool, she only said, " It will all come right, auntie, you will see. We must have patience and courage. It would not do for me to lose my head just at the time when I shall most want it." At four o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Hamil ton's carriage came back from Wirkworth, with young Philip Nethenvood and his cousin, George Hamilton, in it. Annie went down into the hall with her aunt to receive them. A bright blush overspread her features as the handsome Phdip, now a lad of seventeen, came bounding up the steps into the had. He did not see Annie at first, she stood rather behind her aunt, but she came forward and held out her hand to him. Philip appeared taken by surprise to see her there. He reddened, hesitated, and then took her proffered hand.

" How long it is since I have seen you, Annie," he said. " I scarcely knew you at first." " But I should have known you anywiiere, Philip," she quickly answered, " though you are so tall, almost as tall as Uncle Frank." " No, not quite," he said, laughing, " though I hope soon to be," and he Mowed Annie and her aunt up-stairs. Presently, Mrs. Hamilton, w7ho was watching them closely, saw that there was a great restraint, almost amounting to coldness in his manner, wiienever he addressed Annie. But she, fully pre-occupied with the plan she had formed, and with the consciousness that the execution of that plan was already begun, did not seem to notice it. Her manner to Philip was just the same, artless and affectionate, and, except that her aunt once caught her eyes fixed on his face with a sort of half melancholy, half-admiring look, whilst he was busy talking to her cousin, Kate Hamdton, she did not seem to make any difference be tween him and George Hamilton.

The large dining-room at Oak House had been turned into a ball-room, and the young people were all in the height of their en joyment when Philip of Otterpool arrived. He made an apology to Mrs. Hamilton for being so late, but he had been detained by the unexpected visit of an old friend, just as he w7as setting out, and he had spent an hour with him at Derby, where he had left him. Mrs. Hamilton, whose heart beat somewhat with apprehension, could not find fault with anything which delayed the moment in which he should recognise his grandson amongst the rest of the party. If the truth must be told, she could have wished, now the hour w7as come, that this last had been safe at Northcote, or any where else than in her dining-room, to which she could no longer invent an excuse for not conducting Philip of Otterpool.

" I like to see the young people dance," said Philip, as they passed out of the drawing room. "It is an amusement so appropriate to their age. Their young limbs are so light, so graceful, and they do seem to enjoy themselves so much. How do you think Annie acquits herself, Mrs. Hamilton ? I think some pains have been taken with her." " Annie is, in every way, what one would most wish her to be," replied Mrs. Hamilton. " See, here she comes, Mr. Netherwood, does she not look well to-night ?" Philip of Otterpool looked earnestly at his grand-daughter as she came eagerly forward to meet him. She looked remarkably well that night. Her cheeks were blooming with health, her eyes dancing and sparkling with VOL. II. c enjoyment. She was still very small and slight, and she looked more fairy-like than ever to night, in her white dress of Indian muslin, trimmed with bouquets of pink heath, out of the conservatory.

Her shining brown curls clustered round a face of the sweetest expression. And yet she was not caUed pretty by those wiio did not love her, as her grandfather did, or her Aunt Hamilton. To her Uncle Frank, she was aU that was most loveable and lovely, but then he was the most partial of all her lovers. If young Philip Netherwood had been asked for his opinion, he w7ould have un questionably said she was plain ; her eyes wrere too large for her face, and her neck was too slight, and she was altogether too thin. But then he seemed to be completely preju diced against her, and had not even asked her to dance, till her Aunt Hamilton reminded him that it was her birthday, and it would look particular in him if he did not. When her grandfather followed Annie into the room where the children were dancino- Philip Netherwood and George Hamdton had gone out to superintend the setting up of a magic lantern, to be displayed in the hall just before supper.- Annie's face wore a look of disappointment as her eyes wandered round the room in search of them, whilst Mrs. Hamilton breathed more freely even with this respite.