Up to the Mark

Chapter I. Ttthen

about six months after his father's " ' death, Grey Latimer, of Ashfield Park, married, the town of Harefield, and the neighbouring village of Ashfield, were in a state of excitement bordering on convulsions. " Though really," as some of the cooler and wiser individuals comprised in the society of the beautiful district referred to, remarked, "it is not so wonderful that a man of Latimer'sage should make a home for himself, nor that he should have chosen for his partner in that home the woman to whom he has been attached for years. Why people should make such a fuss about the matter one can hardly understand." VOL. I. B " It may seem so to you," rejoined the more excitable members of the population ; " but only think that, after all these years, Colonel Latimer actually has married the woman he preferred, and neither of them is young."

Men and women do, for the most part, take a deep interest in a love-story, especially in one where hope has been deferred, fidelity has been shown, and the course of true love has at last run smooth. There is a curious satisfaction in knowing that some one has been happy, some one has been rewarded ; the sense of justice, so often disappointed in this imperfect life, is grati fied, and there ensues a feeling of reassurance. What has been may be again ; once more there appears a secure foundation upon which to build and realize the ideal happiness ; every one takes to himself and herself, just because they are human, and share the universal aspira tion of the human heart for happiness, a new hope and courage. The ideal of justice may be attained. The desire of the heart may be granted. " We have seen it," they say, " with our eyes."

The Harefield and Ashfield people did not differ from the rest of the world on these matters — they talked and were glad. Divided into two parties, the grave and the excitable, they arrived at the same end, though by different roads, and expressed their regard and approba tion, though in different terms. The persons so commented upon were un conscious and heedless of any remarks. They each required only the companionship of the other. They had waited long and patiently, with a romantic fidelity and self-sacrifice that had endeared them to one another. Colonel Latimer was forty, his newly-married wife but little younger ; yet no youthful pair ever started on their journey of wedded life with more joyful hopes and peaceful hearts than did they when they set off for Scotland in Colonel Latimer's chariot.

They were together at last, ready to meet hand in hand whatever joy or sorrow life might bring them : far better prepared to do so than the young creatures who have no knowledge of the world, and little of each other ; who have judged by the outward show, and chosen by the pleased eye ; whose fancy, and not heart, B has been touched, and who must, alas ! too often learn the bitter lesson of disillusion. If Grey Latimer had not the eager eye and excited manner of a youthful bridegroom, the grave, calm dignity of his step and carriage, the firm intensity of his gaze, and the long, silent clasp, remarked, almost felt by all by standers, with which he received in his own his wife's plighted hand, were much more ad mirable, nor were there wanting, in quivering lip aud dilated nostril, signs of deep emotion.

During the years that Mr. Grantley had been Rector of Ashfield, his family had been intimate with the Latimers at the Park. The Rectory gate opened opposite to the private footpath to the parish church, which stood within the precincts of the park, and from the Rectory fields along the deep winding lane, overhung with great umbrageous trees, might be seen an entrance-lodge, aud the great iron gates open ing upon one of the principal drives to the mansion. Mr. Grantley had a key of the gate in the palings that admitted him to the private footpath, and he and his family rarely entered the Park by any other road. It was a great boon to the Latimers when Mr. Grantley was appointed to Ashfield. He was a highly educated gentleman, and had been a dignitary of Oxford, where he had graduated with Grey Latimer's father.

At Oxford, differences of opinion, of habits of life —the wealth of one, the comparative poverty of the other, — had kept them apart ; but, in the country village, where there was no one of his own position with whom to associate — where, too, the last incumbent had been a weak and careless shepherd, and the flock had wandered into dissent and irreligion, — Mr. Latimer was glad to welcome the scholar ; and the two men became, if not friends, intimate associates, and dependent on each other for mutual good offices. Mr. Grantley married as soon as he came into his Rectory, and Mrs. Latimer learned to love, with almost a sister's love, his fair, timid wife. In those days (a hundred years ago) people lived more at home, found more occupation around their own hearthstone, and took more interest in each other, in their own households, and in their neighbours' affairs, than they do now.

Thrown thus upon each other for com panionship, it was no wonder that the younger members of the families were intimate from their cradles. The Latimer children especially delighted in their visits to the Rectory ; the greater freedom and homeliness of the life there was an attrac tion to them, as such a life is to all children except a few modern ones, and such as are very worldly and spoiled. Mrs. Grantley 's kind, simple nature was more nearly attuned to a child s than Mrs. Latimer's more stately and dignified character. The mansion in the Park was so large that the children seemed to occupy but a corner of it, and the reception-rooms and beautiful pic ture-gallery were often filled by guests from Lon don, or by county residents. Mrs. Latimer's time was occupied by the conventional requirements of the society to which she belonged ; she spent every year some weeks in London with her husband, and though sincerely attached to, and anxious for, her children, she saw them only at stated times.

At the Rectory, wherever Mrs. Grantley was, there lived the children. With the exception of Mr. Grantley's study, where no one intruded without special leave, the house and home were at least as much the property of the children as of their parents. From Mrs. Grantley Grey Latimer imbibed his earliest, deepest (and these are generally the longest-lived) sentiments of personal religion, and of the ideal peace and blessedness of domestic life. Grey was older than her own children, and he took an almost chivalrous pride (for there are bom gentlemen J in waiting upon her, and setting an example of obedience and discretion to the younger ones. Grey Latimer went to Eton, and thence to Oxford ; a resident governess was installed at the Park for his sister, and the Rector's daughter Kate came to share her lessons.

The relations between the elders of the two families were unaltered : there was never a dinner-party at the Park to which the Rector and his wife were uninvited ; when any states man or literary celebrity was on a visit there Mr. Grantley spent as many hours in his society as did Mr. Latimer. Mrs. Grantley and Mrs. Latimer read and worked together, and consulted each:other as of old. But there was a great change in the children's lives. Grey spent his holidays with relatives or friends, sometimes in London, once in France ; or he brought his friends home with him, and then they were with the keepers, or on the cricket field, or, mounted on as many horses and ponies as the stables could muster, were riding across the downs to see the hounds throw off. The boy was gay aud bright, with fine health, high spirits, and happy temper ; he worked at his lessons, and kept a good place in school, but he revelled in out-door amuse ments.

With years he became more and more absorbed in manly pursuits, and something akin to ambition awoke within him, a some thing which his mother shared. The true wo man, it is said, is ambitious only in her son ; and Grey was a sou of whom most women would be proud. Mrs. Latimer began to take great pleasure in her son's society, and rarely went out without him — her knowledge of the world and powers of observation made her companionship of great value to him. During his vacations he always contrived to pay a return and a farewell visit at the •.Rec tory. Mr. Grantley was interested in the pro gress of the youth to manhood, and gave him the advice of a good man and a scholar on his dealings with the world, that loomed larger and larger as he approached it. But it was left to Mrs. Grantley to cultivate the higher and ideal side of his character.

Seated with her under the Rectory elms, where he had so often played, watching the butterflies hovering over the gay flower-beds, the swallows darting from under the eaves, the rooks wending homewards their dense flight, she talked to him of those deeper mysteries that affect the inner life, that have their end and fulfilment in the world to come. In the light-hearted youth there was a chord of sympathy to which the tender, thoughtful, imaginative woman responded. She felt that worldly wisdom, vanity, ambition, and the code of honour and morality preached by the highest conventionality, would be sufficiently repre sented to him ; but that there was that in him which would need a stronger support, and a truer promise, than all these could give. Grey used to leave the Rectory grave and silent, but with a strange light in his face.

So the years passed away, till he left Oxford and came of age. Ashfield was in a ferment of joy on the occasion of the young Squire's ma jority ; and the event was celebrated with open house for all the neighbourhood. At his birth night ball, Grey Latimer, coming late into the room after the guests were assembled, saw a tall girl standing at some distance talking with Mr. Grantley. Something in her air, in the quick, intelligent look with which she raised an other wise pensive, almost sad face to her companion, struck him. He was looking at her attentively, trying to recall the person of whom she reminded him, when a wave of dancers concealed her from his view. He had himself to dance with a woman of rank and beauty, but when the dance was over, he looked eagerly for the girl that had attracted him, intending to secure her as a partner.

The crowd divided. She was still standing in the recess of a window — the masses of her brown hair were dressed not quite in the fashion, but in a becoming style of her own, with heavy curls falling low on her neck, and her tall figure robed in white, with a beautiful Indian scarf hanging gracefully on one shoulder, was in bold relief against the amber-satin curtains. She had turned away[from the crowd, and Grey fancied he saw a peculiar modesty and pride in her profile, and her simple, motionless attitude. He was doubting if he could venture to ap proach and ask her to dance, for Mr. Grantley had left her alone, when she turned round, and her gaze encountered his. She blushed slightly, and made one step forward, then immediately drew back. He was surprised and touched, not being a vain man, and being singularly unaccustomed to women's society.

He observed her more attentively. Was it possible 1 Yes, of course he had known that Katherine Grantley, who had been away from home for some years with her mother's relations, for the sake of an educa tion that could not be obtained at Ashfield, would be at his ball, and this must be she. Oh ! yes, he could see the likeness now to both her parents ; but he had never thought of her thus. In another moment he was by her side ; half timidly, but wholly glad, they shook hands. Dressed to perfection in bloomcoloured velvet coat, with white satin vest and pantaloons, clothes that heightened the charm of his colour ing of joyous health, he was his most gracious, most radiant self; and no one now could have called her face sad or even pensive, so lustrous were her eyes, so changeful her expression, so bright the colour that mantled on her cheeks.

They danced often together, and everyone observed that Grey took the greatest pleasure in doing the honours of the festival to her. During the last cotillon, Mrs. Latimer watched her son somewhat anxiously. He was more engaged in conversation with his partner than attentive to the figures of the dance. Once, indeed, they missed the figure altogether, and Grey shrugged his shoulders with a look of surprise, and then stooped to apologise to Miss Grantley, who smiled and blushed her accept ance of the apology. Katherine Grantley in herself was a girl whom no woman need have disdained. She was very attractive in mind and person, but the daughter of a country clergyman would hardly be the bride selected for a son of one of the first county families ; and besides, mothers are proverbially jealous of their sons, and are apt to be dissatisfied with any matrimonial choice they may make.

When the dance was over, Grey Latimer remained in the same spot, still talking to Katherine Grantley ; a shade of gravity was on her features, her head drooped slightly, and if she listened as attentively as before, it was with a greater reserve. Mrs. Latimer, watching, felt sure Grey had just told his partner that within the last week he had received his commission, and would ere long be plough ing the Indian Ocean, on his way to join his regiment under Cornwallis. Mrs. Latimer had yielded to her husband's wish that Grey should enter the Army. She would have preferred her son to remain at home, to live the life of a wealthy country gentleman, become a magistrate — perhaps, in some distant period, a member of Parlia ment. She could have borne the idea of his taking holy orders, had he greatly desired the profession of the Church.

But Grey had too much energy and vigour of constitution, too much ardour and spring of youth, to endure the thought of an inactive or even a sedentary life. He must go into the great world, and fight out his life with his fellows ; more than this, he had a daring spirit, a gay, happy disposition, a radiant, sunny temper, and in domitable courage and cheerfulness under diffi culties — a cast of character the most difficult for a woman to understand, especially if that woman is advancing in years, and looks back on the many disappointments in life. Mrs. Latimer looked with pride upon her only son, but her heart ached when she thought of the hardships he must undergo, and of the fate which often befalls the young and brave in an unhealthy climate, and amidst the perils of war. Far too wise a woman to find fault with her son's favoured partner at the ball, Mrs. Latimer praised her appearance and her manners, and was rewarded by hearing Grey speak of Miss Grantley in terms of admiration indeed, but in the happy, careless words used by a man whose deepest thoughts are occupied by other things.

Chapter II. Occupied

in anxious thoughts for his future, and in preparations for his depart ure, Mrs. Latimer did not observe the regular and punctilious visits Grey paid to the Rectory ; nor did she ever know that any love-passages occurred between her son and Miss Grantley. He might admire her, or any other charming girl, as young men will from mere gallantry, with no serious consideration or promises. Grey's bright face and cheerful voice betrayed no uneasy heart, no hapless, hopeless attach ment, no fears for the future, no dread of part ing and absence ; and Katherine's untroubled mien gave rise to no suspicion. How should parents, happy in and satisfied with their children, suspect them of taking possession of their own lives, and deciding upon their own fate? The fact was that Grey Latimer and Ka therine Grantley knew perfectly well that each had a deep and nameless charm for the other ; that the hand they each clasped was the one beloved hand in the world carrying in it their all of joy or woe.

Placed as they both were — one on the eve of departure to perils of limb, and even of life, the other dimly comprehend ing she would not be the most welcome choice in a proud old family — they might possibly have recognised the delightful sympathy between them, and with those brief weeks of acquaintance all would have ended, and they would have been nothing to each other but a visible realiz ation of their ideal. But one of those strange opportunities, that occur more often in real life than people suppose — or whence the powerful saying, " Opportunities lost go in anger? "—al tered entirely their position to one another. Returning from a long walk one Sunday across Ashfield Down, Grey struck into the Deep Ashfield woods. This was rather the longer way to the house, but the young man VOL. 1.

C •wished to avoid the villagers returning from church, and thought he would rest awhile before he presented himself at his mother's tea-table. He laid himself down on the soft green turf under the shadow of the oaks ; and, lulled by the rustle of the afternoon breeze, and by the low crooning of the wood-pigeons, he fell asleep. From his sleep he was awakenedby the sensation rather than the sound of a human presence. The soft footfall of a woman had stayed beside him, the rustle of her clothing had mingled with the light wind that stirred his fair hair, which, in the fashion of the day, he wore rather long. He raised himself on his arm and looked up into a startled, blushing face, his own not much less so ; then he sprang to his feet, and, in somewhat grandiloquent language, addressed the disturber of his rest.

" To what fortunate chance am I indebted for this great pleasure, Miss Grantley ? I fall asleep a tired mortal, and awake to fancy myself in Paradise, with a guardian angel in attendance on me." "Pray, Mr. Latimer, spare me these unde served compliments. My mother has gone to take her tea with Mrs. Latimer, who kindly asked me also to accompany her; but I was tempted by the beauty of the day to excuse myself, and to come out here for a quiet walk. I little thought I should be intruding upon your slumbers. Pray excuse me for my inad vertence ; I will wish you good evening, and proceed on my way." This little speech was accompanied by a deep curtsey. " You will not surely deprive me so soon of what I deem a happiness — at least, you will suffer me to attend you on your walk ; the afternoon draws on, it is surely better for you to accept my escort than to walk these thick woods alone."

" I am used to be alone, and not in the least afraid of woods I have known from a child," she answered rather haughtily. " My accidental coming must not disarrange you." " Happy accident," he said gallantly ; and then added with a smile, and in a rallying tone, " You say you have known these woods from your childhood ; so have you known me. I claim an equal privilege with the woods, merely c2 to bear you company. Come," he added, in his more usual manner, " let me go with you, Miss Grantley ; I know how great a privilege you concede to me, but it is one I shall have little opportunity of again enjoying."' "I do not think my mother could object," she rather whispered than spoke, looking shyly at him. " Dearest madam, I feel sure she would not." She yielded to his request, and they walked on side by side through the intricate paths in silence; they were young and timid, and alone together for the first time.

At that date there was a strong line of demarcation between the sexes, and their intercourse was much restrained by conventionalities. It was a great breach of decorum for a young gentleman aud lady to walk alone together ; the freedom and famili arity of modern days would have shocked our grandmothers. There is much to be said on both sides of the question, but the discussion is unnecessary here. Katherine's shyness had infected Grey ; the more shy of the two was he, because of the hurry of his hot young blood ; because his mind and heart were full of this woman, whose sudden appearance had seemed to realise the dreams in which he had been lost ; and because his thoughts came too thick and fast for utterance in words. She was the first to re cover from the fit of embarrassment, and began to speak to him of matters of village interest ; but it was some time before he could do more than catch the musical sound of her words, losing the sense of them altogether.

Presently she spoke of his approaching departure, and ob served that Mrs. Latimer would grieve for him. " I hope not," he answered — " I think not. I hope to be no idle soldier. I desire my mother to be proud of me. Thank Heaven, English men — especially Latimers — are rarely cowards. I do not mean to boast, but I trust the instinct of my race and nation may carry me through. I have always wished for this time, but now that it has come, there is more pain and anxiety in it than I had expected. It is, I suppose, always thus with things that are worth doing ; every step forward is into the darkness of the future, and must cost one something." He saw that she was listening to him, though her eyes were cast down ; and he went on, him self warming with his subject — " The curious and sad thing about these on ward steps that take one further and further from youth and home is that the place one has occupied is soon filled — the gap one leaves lasts but a short time and is stopped.

Only on a mother's heart does one retain his hold — only in her love and memory is there no change, no —death." She looked up quickly, her lips moved, but she did not speak. " I have pictured to myself what one often reads — the dramatic side of such a career as mine, and have found neither daring nor enthusiasm wanting to colour it ; but now that I am on the verge of being an actor in that picture, are you surprised that 1 feel I am leaving much ? My thoughts grow grave, and life — especially life at home — -wears an entrancing aspect to a young man. Its value increases vastly the moment one feels that one may lose it. Yet when one reasons out the matter, the only true loss of life — I mean, of course, a well-spent life — is in tbe being forgotten. To be forgotten seems so very hard to a young man like me, in the glory and pride of health and strength."

She did not speak, but the dress across her bosom trembled, and she sighed low. " Perhaps these words may sound cowardly or half-hearted to you : I would fain hope not, for it matters little to me what the rest of the world think or forget, so you remember — so you are content with me." He paused, with beating heart, for he had, in a moment, and without premeditiation, said more than he was justified in saying alone ; and yet how add anything without offending her? She solved the difficulty. "I?" she said. "How can I or my opinion " But you can," he interrupted her, impetu ously. " Believe me, your good opionion is the first reward I crave; by you I would be remembered — by you I fear to be forgotten. Dearest Miss Grantley, I would not annoy or offend you for the world ; but— pray hear me !

I ask nothing else from you. Let me tell you what you have become to me — the lodestar of my life ; let me tell you with what admiration and devotion my heart is filled to you. Do not be alarmed. I do not mean to entrap you into any promise ; I do not ask anything from you now but that you should listen to me. In old chivalric days a knight wore his lady's colours without any promise made by her ; he asked no guerdon from her ; she gave him not even her scarf to wear till he came before her, a conqueror, from some doughty deed. If I live, how blest I shall be when I return and see in your eyes the welcome of a friend ; if I die, still how blest if you remember me ! Ever since the ball I have thought of nothing but you, and I lay my heart and life down at your feet." " I wish my mother — oh !

I do not know — ought I to listen to " she said, in a low, hurried voice, and looked about her, startled like a fawn. They had been walking on slowly till they had reached the depth of the wood. In the hollow a streamlet brawled, bridged by a plank with a small hand-rail. Grey stepped upon the plank, and stretched his hand to her. " Your mother has always been so good to me that she would hardly blame you for listen ing to words that only prove my esteem for and devotion to her daughter. Indeed, indeed, it is in all humility I address you. Placed as I am, I do not desire you should make me any pro mise for the future. It would be unworthy and ungenerous to bind you by a long engagement to a soldier, whose life is a precarious one at best. All I desire is leave to tell you that I love you — to ask for your remembrance whilst I live, and a tear when I die.

Can you grant me this ?" His voice was very sweet and low, and he still held out his hand. She hesitated, she trembled visibly, then timidly laid her hand in his. He took it reverently, and pressed his lips to it, satisfied with this her mute answer to his appeal. They walked on in silence to the Farm road which led through a gateway to the Park. There they parted by tacit con sent. They were but once more alone together. Ashfield Park was full of company, who had assembled to bid farewell to the young soldier. One brilliant evening the guests had trooped out upon the terrace to see the sunset, and Grey Latimer found himself alone under the portico. He stood leaning against a pillar, watching the blaze of golden light above the dense masses of trees beneath which wandered herds of dappled deer, the slanting rays light ing up here and there their delicate heads and limbs and their glossy coats, when Katherine came rapidly through the hall behind him.

She hesitated, half turned in retreat ; then, gathering courage, she looked up at him, and said timidly, " My father desired me to bring my mother's shawl to her — he feared the evening dew after this hot day." " I will go with you — but stay one in stant and look at this lovely scene. I shall often think of it when I am far away under Indian skies. 1 shall stand here again in thought. I wonder whether we two shall ever stand together here in reality ?" " I do not know," she said, with heightened colour and bent head, " but I have wished to say to you, Mr. Latimer, how much I value your good opinion of me, and to tell you that I have said nothing to my mother of the compliments you paid me the other day ; she might be anxious. She would certainly have spoken of the matter to Mrs. Latimer, and it would have been painful to me to be an object of unnecessary remark.

But perhaps you wished " " Indeed I had no wish but that you should do what you thought right ; I left the matter entirely to yon. I have no wish in the world but your pleasure and happiness." " I thank you — and I seem so unworthy of your goodness ! If it is a gratification to you, as you said the other day, count me always as your friend. Every day I will pray for your safety— and your — return." His whole soul went out to her in one eloquent look, for he did not trust himself to speak. The sun sank slowly as they stood silent ; the far away blue Sussex downs deepened in tint, thrown up in bold relief by the wide sweep of golden light behind them. He drew her hand into his, and walked with her down the broad stone stairs out on to the terrace and the green sward, where his mother stood with her guests.