G. E. By the author of 'The Château de Vésinet,' etc

Front matter

BY THE ADTHOH OF 'THE CHATEAU DE VESINET,' < ON THE BANKS OF THE DELAWARE,' Etc. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON : CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 1879. [All Rights Reserved.] PHIXTED BY TAT 7.011 AND CO., 10, LITTLE QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. An Old Maid's Reverie 1 II. Two Meetings ' 14 III. At the Dinner-Table 30 IV. Miss Barbara Makes a Move .... 44 V. Christmas Eve 62 VI. Mrs. John's Opinion of Grace .... 77 VII. At Aunt Barbara's fll VIII. St. Valentine's Day 108 IX. The 25th of April— On the Common . . 12ti X. The 25th of April— At Sonnengau . . .148 XI. " Es ist eine alte Gesehick'." .... 167 XII. I Must Go to Sonnengau . . . .170 XIII. To the Schwarzwald 195 XIV. Sonnengau at Last 212 XV. On the Rhine CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XVI. Miss Barbara's Oner 240 XVII. The True Light 254 XVIII. At the Blind School 272 XIX. Transit Umbra, Lux Remanet . . . GEACE ELWYN. — ♦ —

Chapter I. An Old Maid's Reverie

Miss Barbara Maitland is sitting in front of a blazing fire in her cosy little drawing-room ; her maid has just come in to close the shutters, and bring her usual cup of afternoon tea. "No, Davis!" she says, "I will not have candles yet, it is really too soon to light them. Why, bless me ! " she adds, looking at her watch, "it is only half-past four. How long the evenings are ! " And she thinks regretfully, that they did not seem so long in her father's large comfortable 1 vol. n. mansion when she was young, and had other young people around her. " I am very glad I invited those girls to stay with me," she thinks. " I dare say it will put me out a bit at first, but I am tired of such a solitary life. 1 believe, after all, I should have been happier if I had married," and she recalled to her mind a certain winter, many years before, in which events had occurred to mark it to her memory.

It was the year before Louisa's marriage. Her two brothers were at home for the holidays, and had brought some friends with them, and among them a new acquaintance, a thin gawky young man, who had done Richard some service at school, and so he had pleaded to have him invited. " His father is a rich City man," he had said, " and they are very respectable people. When I was in Lon don they loaded me with civilities. You know it was through William Musgrave that I got you all those tickets for the Lord Mayor's ball. Mrs. Maitland had shrugged her shoulders, but had been obliged to consent, though she did not fancy this mixing up with City people. And so William Musgrave had come, and from the first had been thrown a great deal with Barbara, not from any choice on her part, but simply because all the other young men were so fascinated with Louisa that they had no eyes but for her.

Even now, after all this lapse of time, a frown came over Miss Maitland's face as she remembered all she had endured from that cause. The slights that had been put upon her by just the men she most wished to captivate. On this occasion Richard's friend had not followed the usual custom ; he had walked and talked withher, and had seemed so much pleased with her that her younger broth er John had made in private, many jokes about Barbara's beau, 1—2 and the cut of his coat and of his collar, which, to say the least, were very unfashionable. " No doubt he will be Lord Mayor one of these days, and means to ask you to be Lady Mayoress," the witty John had said, and Barbara had laughed with him, although in her heart she was flattered by the unusual attentions paid her. It was after all better than nothing, so she and William Musgrave continued to have their prosy talks together, and he had gone away with Richard, having taken rather an affectionate farewell of her.

To the surprise of everyone, a short time afterwards there had come a formal offer of marriage for Barbara — from Mr. Musgrave — couched in old-fashioned language. Great was the stir caused by this unusual circumstance ; great the dissatisfaction of both father and mother ; that a young City clerk should lift his eyes to a member of the Maitland family was, indeed, presumptuous. " You must have given this youth a great deal of encouragement, Barbara," her mother had said, very crossly ; " you ought to know better, at your age. "As to Richard and his plebeian acquain tances, I beg he will not be allowed to bring any more of them here" (this to her husband, who was by no means such an aristrocrat as herself.) Barbara did not think of opposing the verdict of her parents. Perhaps if Richard had been at home it might have been other wise, for in her heart she had a sneaking kindness for this plebeian person; but as it was, she smothered her feelings and allowed a very uncourteous reply to be written to him, and from that day to this she had never had another offer ; nor was she likely to have one now, as she was considerably past fifty.

She had long since forgotten this episode in her life, or rather ceased to think of it, and yet this afternoon it had occurred forcibly to her mind. When we have had anything to unsettle us in the present, our thoughts often resort regretfully to the past, and Miss Maitland had recently met with a great shock. Her "revered pastor," as she had been in the habit of calling the Rev. Samuel Metcalfe, had fallen from the pedestal on which, in her imagination, she had placed him. He had actually taken to himself a second wife, and had selected for his partner one of the youngest of his Sunday-school teachers, a chit with blue eyes and yellow hair. The disgust of all the elderly spinsters in his congregation was great when they heard of his engagement. It was rumoured that a select few had called upon him to remonstrate, and that he had actually replied, — " Ladies, I would marry you all if I could ; but since I cannot, please allow me to choose for myself !

" Miss Maitland was of course not one of the deputation ; but the story had come to her ears and had excited her indignation. It is very sad to find your idol to be base clay ; and Miss Maitland had set great store by the Reverend Samuel. She had fancied that his heart was buried in the grave of his late wife, who had been a personal friend of hers. At first, after his wife's death, he had come to her to talk over his affliction. Whenever he had an interesting case of charity he would tell her of it, and she had always a contribution ready for him. She had taken too such an interest in his sermons, and would often furnish him with appropriate anecdotes for embellishing them. It was on his account she had become such a great reader, and had studied out the subjects which could assist him in writing his discourses.

That famous sermon on "Death," which electrified all the St. 's congregation, was a skilful adaptation of one of Bossuet's orations, which she had translated for him. This literary work had enlivened her invalid existence, taken her out of herself, made her in short nearly well. Her doctor had begun to fear she had done with him. And now it was all over, and she felt the void in her existence ; the absence of motive. " He will not bring that silly girl to see me," she thinks, as she rises and paces the room, " that would be rather too much," and she stamps with her foot, then she falls into a sad mood, and her thoughts turn to the past, and she sits down musingly and looks into the fire. " Ah ! if I had married," she thinks, "things would have been very different ; " and then her ideas become hazy and indistinct ; she has dropped into a doze.

In her sleep she carried on her waking thought. She was married; small children were at her knee, their arms were around her neck (those dream-children of whom Charles Lamb so pathetically wrote) ; for a few moments she was happy, and then came a rapid change. The children were growing up ; they were no longer by her side ; they had gone out into the world, and then came trouble and sorrow. One went to the wars, and never came home again ; another turned out badly ; the sweet daughter on whom she doted, died before her eyes. " Oh, I cannot bear it ! " she was crying, with a breaking heart, when she was suddenly awakened by the postman's knock. "Dear me ! How I have been dreaming ! " she exclaimed, "and how natural it seemed ! Well, I am thankful after all, that I am not married," she said as she jumped up.

" Oh ! Davis, is that you ? and have you brought me a letter, I am glad the postman knocked just then, for I had fallen asleep and had a strange dream. Really, you shouldn't persuade me to eat so much at luncheon. I suppose it was the tart that disagreed with me. I shall have to go back to my pepsine." Miss Maitland opened her letter, which was from her brother, in answer to hers, and she read as follows ; — My dear Barbara, Grace begs me to thank you for your kind invitation to her, and she will be very glad to pay you a visit with Georgina, after Christmas. I don't wish them to go sooner, as I am in hopes of persuading you to come to us before then. Why not spend your Christmas at Holmwood, as you used to do ? You say you are so much better. I am sure you will enjoy a little change, from your quiet life.

Tom could escort you if you like, as he will be passing through London. By the way you will meet an old acquain tance, William Musgrave, whom you may remember in days gone by. He has come back from India, and has been living in England for a year or so. He has been staying with us, and I have asked him to return for Christ mas, as he is very solitary since his sister's death. Perhaps you have forgotten all about him, but I thought I might as well mention it. Hoping we shall see you as soon before Christmas as you like to come, I am your affectionate brother, Richard Maitland. "How strange ! " ejaculated Miss Barbara, after she had finished the letter. " Why I was only just thinking of William Musgrave. How like a man, to ask if I have forgotten him ! But it is a long time indeed since we met.

Let me see, why it must be nearly thirty years. We must have both changed very much; I wonder if he would know me again ? " and poor Barbara stood up for a moment before the glass, and looked at the elderly face it reflected. She had never been good-looking, there had been nothing to alter in that respect, and she had none of the folly of trying to appear young ; she wore sensible caps, and sensible plainly-cut gowns. " I have grown very old in the last few years," she says, with a sigh; "perhaps because I have been so much of an invalid. I wonder if he is as much altered; he was very thin in those days." Then she goes to an antique cabinet in the corner and opens a compartment and a little secret drawer, and takes out a yellow-looking paper, which she carefully unfolds. It contains some silhouettes done after the fashion of those days ; very hideous they look now, those black paper figures on the white background.

Our first daguerreotypes, ugly as they were, were not so unbecoming. One day a travelling artist had come to Holmwood, and had asked permission to take all the young people, and there they were, and she and William Musgrave were standing side by side. He in a preposterously short waisted coat, with thin scraggy legs, and a very awkward pair of arms. She in a queer tight short frock, trimmed with frills, and with her hair drawn up to the top of her head, and fastened with a high comb. " What frights we were in those days, to be sure ! " she cries, " the present style of dress does not really seem so absurd; perhaps because we are accustomed to it. Certainly, William Musgrave had very good features, quite a Roman nose."

Chapter II. Two Meetings

Tom had fifty different minds about coming home for Christmas. Better keep out of temptation, he thought to himself. If he saw Grace every day, walked and talked with her, and, above all, listened to her bewitching music, he couid not answer for the result, and she would only despise him if he made love to her now ; whereas, in the spring, if he could distinguish himself and pass a brilliant examination, the case might be different. He would be something more than an idle fellow who was obliged to marry for money. And yet in that interval some one might step in and carry off the prize he so much coveted. He would like to see with his own eyes these attentions of Dr. Palmer. He did not believe much in them. As for Edmund, the idea was too absurd ; he was not a fellow to take such a girl's fancy.

Tom glanced across the room at his own handsome face and figure reflected in the little glass. The result of his cogitations was that he could not resist having a peep at Grace under her altered circumstances. He would only go for a week, he wrote to his father, as he was extremely busy and could not spare any more time. He wrote also to aunt Barbara, telling her he would be in London on a certain day, and would call for her and escort her to Holmwood if she liked. Aunt Barbara, who, as we have seen, had also her conflicts of mind about going to Holmwood, had likewise decided in the affirma tive, and wrote to her nephew to that effect. One reason was that she was curious to see Grace Elwyn, about whom she had heard so much and whose great good fortune had given her a decided charm. Not that Miss Barbara was exactly a Mammonworshipper, but do we not all more or less admire, if not envy people with large fortunes ?

Perhaps some of us think, as did Miss Barbara, " If I had the direction of that girl's property I might put her in the way of doing so much good with it." She reflected on a certain orphanage which was very badly off for funds ; on sundry soup-kitchens and free dinner-tables, of which she was a supporter. If she liked Grace and Grace liked her it would be very pleasant and profitable to have the young lady to stay permanently, as had been proposed last year ; and she remembered with some chagrin the cold water she had thrown on the suggestion. But I was too much of an invalid then, she thinks, — as a salve to conscience. No doubt Grace would soon tire of living in the country. London was, after all, more attractive to a young person. She would do her best to make things pleasant for her. " I really must begin to look after my toilette a little, Davis, if I am going to Holm wood," she says to her faithful attendant, who has seen her mistress through various phases of her career, and has never yet detected a leaning towards feminine vanity.

" Yes, indeed, ma'am, and its just what I always say. If you'd dress a little more like other people you'd look as young again." " What nonsense you talk, Davis ! You VOL, II. don't, surely, expect me to wear a monstrous chignon and a crinoline, I hope ? " However, the next day Miss Maitland went shopping, and the result was sundry purchases which caused Davis to open her eyes con siderably. " Whv, whatever has come over mistress ? " she exclaimed. " She hasn't spent as much money on dress in the last five years. Not but what it's good for trade; and I'm sure I've nothing to say, as I get all her things, and really her old faded gowns are scarcely good enough for me. I'm rather particular, I must say. Missions and charities are very good in their way, but if ladies never dressed what would become of the shopkeepers, I should like to know?"

These remarks were addressed to Jane, the housemaid, who, as she was engaged to a young draper' s-assistant, naturally agreed with Davis's sentiment. There was nothing, however, unbecoming to her age in Miss Maitland's purchases. She had a great fund of common sense. A rich black silk dress, relieved by soft mauve and violet ribbons, a grey moire antique trimmed with black lace, were the dresses that had excited Davis's surprise. When Miss Maitland looked over her bills she had a little twinge of conscience at having spent so much money. But she reflected that the last time she had been at Holmwood Mrs. John had told her she was not fit to be seen, and had asked her what she did with all her money, and then she remembered how much of it had gone to the material support of the Rev. Mr. Metcalfe and his family, as well as to charity — how she had once sent him a carpet, seeing the old one was threadbare ; she called 2—2 to mind also the large sum she had contributed towards his black silk gown, that gown which was to be a standing protest against the growing Ritualism of the neighbourhood.

And what had been the end of it? Why, her ' revered pastor ' had accommodated himself to the times, and had actually, so it was reported to her, preached in his surplice a few Sundays before. And no doubt the new Mrs. Metcalfe would make a smart dress of the rejected gown. " I might as well take some enjoyment out of my money as spend it for such a purpose," she thought. " My nephews and nieces won't want much after I am gone ; they are pretty well provided for." When Tom Maitland called for his aunt he was rather surprised at the unusually fashion able air she presented. " She looks quite like other people," he thought. " I wonder what has worked such a change?" In the train she was full of questions about Grace, telling Tom she hoped to have the dear girl a good deal with her in the future.

" I imagine we should agree so well together. With our musical and literary tastes we would be very congenial." Tom opened his eyes wide. He had vivid recollections of aunt Barbara's hard, noisy performances on the piano when she had insisted on playing duets with Georgina. "It is easy to understand why every one wants to have Grace now," he replied dryly ; " one for one ostensible reason, another for another; " and then he devoted himself to his paper. They found the waggonette from the park waiting for them at the station. Miss Mait land and Davis got in, but Tom said he would rather walk, and would take the short cut by the fields. When he was half-way home he saw two figures approaching, and recognised Grace and Georgina. As they came closer he thought Grace was prettier than ever. She had lost the pale anxious look of her girlhood ; there was a spring and elasticity in her every movement, and a fresh colour in her cheeks.

" So much the worse for me," thought Tom, with a sigh ; " but I am in for it and can't help myself." Grace showed such simple unaffected pleasure at seeing him that any embarrassment on his part would have been quite out of place. " She looks upon me as a cousin, and a cousin I will endeavour to be," he thought as he joined them and walked by their side in the direction of the park. "It is no use your going on to the station now," he said. " No ; we made a mistake about the hour of the train," said Georgina. " We thought we would meet aunt Barbara and return with her in the waggonette ; now she will have no one to receive her." " Is my mother out ? " " Yes, she has gone in the carriage to pay some visits, and, for a great wonder, papa is with her ; he had something to do at C . But aunt Barbara is quite at home ; she will not stand on ceremony.

First she will order her cup of tea, and then she will re arrange her room, which, you know, she always does." " I don't know," says Tom reflectively, " what she may do now, for she doesn't look at all as she used to ; I mean in her dress ; she is quite like the rest of the world." Georgina laughed. " Perhaps she has taken to crinoline at last, just as the * rest of the world ' is leaving it off." In the meanwhile Miss Maitland was arriving at Holmwood. When the butler helped her to alight, he said, with all the con sideration of an old family servant, "The ladies will be so sorry, ma'am, but they did not expect you for an hour. Mr. and Mrs. Maitland have gone out in the carriage, and Miss Maitland and Miss Elwyn went to the station to meet you." " Oh. it's no matter, Johnson," replied Miss Barbara graciously.

" I will go into the drawing-room, and you can send me a cup of tea when it is ready." Miss Maitland walked into the drawing room and sat down for a few moments. Then she thought she would prefer the morning room, which was always more cosy, and where she would find the newspapers. So she sauntered in there, and then stopped at the door in some surprise. A stout elderly gentleman was ensconced in the largest arm-chair, with his feet on the fender. Who could it be ? One of Richard's numerous acquaintances, of course. Tom had mentioned a Mr. Hargreaves who was coming — a sporting man ; probably this was he. The stout gentleman rose politely and made her a bow ; he saw that the lady, like himself, was a new arrival. "Our host and hostess," he remarked, " are not at home." " Oh, they will be here very shortly, no doubt; it is getting late."

"Will you let me move a chair to the fire for you ?" " Thank you, I am rather cold." "You have been travelling, I presume, as I have?" " Yes, only from London, but it was very draughty in the carriage, and actually the foot warmers were quite cold ! " " Dear me ! " (in a feeling tone) " that is ex actly what I found. I think I will write to the Times on the subject." " And then," remarked Miss Maitland plain tively, "when there is an east-wind, as there is to-day, I never expect to be comfortable." " Just so, madam ; it is astonishing how all ones rheumatic twinges return when the wind is in that quarter." " Have you ever tried giving up sugar for your rheumatism ?" asks Miss Barbara. "I have, and with the best results, although it certainly was an effort, drinking sugarless tea, at first ; but now, I assure you, I like it quite as well."

" That is very interesting ; I will make a note of the fact. I should not mind trying the experiment myself." "Ah, here comes Johnson with the tea," remarked the lady as that excellent official entered with a tray, which he deposited on a small table before Miss Maitland. She glanced at her sociable companion and said, " In the absence of our hostess shall I offer you a cup of tea?" " Thank you ; I think after my journey I may indulge in such a luxury . . . only one lump of sugar, please." And so the worthy couple sat cosily drinking their tea and talking the same platitudes they had talked thirty years before, when they were aroused by the cheery voice of the master of the house, calling, "Where are you, Barbara, my dear?" and he burst open the door, exclaiming, •* Well, I am glad you two old friends have made each other out !

I hope you will excuse me, Musgrave, for not having been here to receive you." It was well that Miss Maitland had set down her cup ; if it had been in her hand it would have infallibly fallen to the ground. What, that stout, bald, elderly gentleman, her old admirer, of whom she had preserved such a sentimental recollection ! Could it be possible ? And she gave a furtive glance at Mr. Musgrave, who was nearly as much dis composed as herself. Sudden occurences that time had nearly obliterated rose again vividly in his mind. Why had not Mr. Maitland told him his sister was coming ; he would have avoided her, even after this long interval of time. He had not forgotten Barbara, nor the gra tuitously insulting letter which he supposed had been dictated by her. There was no time or opportunity now for them to show what they felt.

A moment afterwards all the rest of the family entered the room : Mrs. Maitland, profuse in her excuses to Miss Barbara for not being at home to receive her ; the two girls, with a fine bloom from their long walk ; and Mrs. John Maitland, who had met the party at the door, and had already noted with anything but satisfaction Grace's evident pleasure at Tom's return. Grace was introduced to aunt Barbara, who, in the excitement of the meeting, forgot for the time her disappointment at the appearance of her ci-devant admirer.

Chapter III. At The Dinner Table

When Miss Barbara Maitland went to her room to dress for dinner, various feelings were struggling in her breast. There was, first, dis appointment at the altered appearance of her quondam lover ; then, an uneasy impression that Mr. Musgrave had seemed on his part extremely annoyed at meeting her. No doubt he was reminded of the unfortunate letter that had been written in her name. He must dis like her very much, and wish to avoid her. " And I cannot wonder at it," she thought, as she rose and paced the floor. AT THE DINNER -TABLE. 31 As she walked up and down, she caught a glimpse of her thin angular figure and faded face. " And I am sure I am not much to look at," she says to herself. " I don't see why I should criticise other people's appearance. I don't know but what it is better to grow stout as one grows older.

However, that is nothing to the purpose. Perhaps Mr. Musgrave did not know I was coming. I shall do my best to keep out of his way the few days he is here. I will not sit next to him at dinner. I must speak to Augusta on the subject." So, when she was dressed, she repaired to Mrs. Maitland's room, and tapped at the door. " Are you ready, Augusta ? May I come in?" " Yes, certainly. lam quite ready. Do come in." I thought, perhaps, the bell might have rung without my hearing it." " No, the dinner is rather later to-day. Sit down, Barbara; and, dear me," she said, looking at her sister from head to foot," how smart you are ! I am glad you have got some new things at last." "I don't want to stay a moment," replied Miss Barbara, " and I came to ask you if you would please not put me next to Mr. Musgrave at dinner.

The fact is, it is rather awkward meeting him after what passed in former days. I dare say you have heard about it. And I don't care to have any more converstion with him than is absolutely necessary. I think it would have been better if I had not come — but I did not quite understand, from what Richard said — " Oh, Miss Barbara ! Mrs. Maitland looked at her in languid sur prise. It was a very uninteresting subject, and a great fuss about a very unimportant person. " I wonder at Richard asking that man twice," she remarked. "He seems quite in fatuated about him ; but he is just so about all his old friends, no matter what nonentities they may be. And this Mr. Musgrave is cer tainly a nonentity — he has neither family nor money, as far as I can hear." "Don't you think him rather agreeable?" asks Miss Barbara timidly, remembering her pleasant chat in the morning-room.