Sweet Lilac. A novel

Front matter

SWEET LILAC. SWEET LILAC A NOVEL. tv MARIE LOUISE EVESON. THE ROXBURGHE PRESS, 3, VICTORIA STREET, WESTMINSTER. THIS WORK AND ALL THE PUBLICATIONS OF THE ROXBURGHE PRESS ARE SUPPLIED TO THE TRADE BY MESSRS. SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT, AND COMPANY LIMITED, AND CAN BE OBTAINED THROUGH ANY BOOKSELLER. Take joy home And make a place in thy great heart for her, And give her time to grow, and cherish her ; Then will she come and often sing to thee When thou art working in the furrows, ay I Or weeding in the sacred hours of dawn. It is a comely fashion to be glad — Joy is the grace we say to God. Jeak Ingelow To ftly Hear Father. I know that love never is wasted, Nor truth, nor the breath of a prayer, And the thought that goes forth as a blessing May live as a joy in the air. " Wherever men are noble, they love bright colour, and wherever they can live healthily, bright colour is given them in sky, sea, flowers and living creatures."

Ruskin. CONTENTS. Chapter. Page. i. 0 ! Merry goes the Time 9 ii. When the Heart is Young 21 iii. A Vexed Question . . . . . . . . . . 33 iv. Lowly Friends . . 41 v. The Linton Friends 53 vi. The Joy of Living 61 vii. England's Charms 67 viii. Sabbath Bells 85 ix. Chaddesley Hall and its Inmates . . . . . . 97 x. Golden Days . . . . . . . . . . . . HI xi. Sunshine and Shower 115 xii. Summer Days . . . . . . . . . . • • 119 xiii. Love's Young Dream . . • • 139 xiv. More Lowly Friends . . . . . . . . ■ • 145 xv. Had I but Known . . . . . . • • • • 165 xvi. Cross Purposes . . . . . . ■ • • • 181 xvii. Eve of Departure . . . . . . • • • • 201 xviii. London . . . . . . • • • • • • -0 ' xix. Cloudy Days 217 xx. South Africa . . . . . . ■ ■ • • • • 233 xxi. At Rome and Naples 245 xxii. Gray and Gold . . . . • ■ ■ • • • 259 xxiii.

Under Blue Skies 277 xxiv. Linton Once More 291 xxv. By the Sea 303 xxvi. The Meeting 311 xxvii. Pleasure and Pain 223 xxviii. Mystery of Life 337 xxix. Sickness 353 xxx. Bells Across the Snow 365 xxxi. A Parting and a Meeting 375 xxxii. She Stoops to Conquer

Chapter I

0 ! MEREY GOES THE TIME. " Were I in such a place, I sure should pray That nought less sweet, might call my thoughts away Than tho soft rustle of a maiden's gown, Fanning away the dandelion's down, Than the light music of her nimble toes Patting against the sorrel as she goes. How she would start and blush, thus to be caught Playing in all her innocence of thought. O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, Watch her half-smiling lips, and downward look. O let me for one moment touch her wrist ; Let me one moment to her breathing list ; And as she leaves me may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburn." Keats. I am thinking of a commodious, well-built, red-brick house, which stood, and still stands, on the brow of a hill. It had many gables, old-fashioned latticed windows round which the ivy lovingly wreathed itself, and rustic porches, which in summer were like bowers of roses.

If you entered you found spacious rooms, with queer nooks and corners, and many an oaken cupboard, while the low ceilings were crossed by massive oak beams ! Merry goes the Time. 10 which had looked down on many a by-gone generation who had gathered round the old-fashioned fire-places, or, seated in the deep window recesses, had looked beyond lawns and flower beds to a vast rolling expanse of country, for the house was situated in one of England's fairest counties. The land descended in graceful knolls and gentle undulations to a narrow river, fringed with willow and alders, then it wound its way among fertile meadows, where, through long summer days the peaceful cattle reclined, or browsed in happy content. From the river, the country ascended more boldly until it culminated in a lofty range of hills which encircled nearly the whole of the horizon, and, turn whichever way you would, you saw richly wooded heights, rocks covered with dense overhanging foliage, rich green fields crossed by hedges of hawthorn, above which rose the stately elm and spreading oak.

In spring, troops of rosy, happy, little children wandered through copse and meadow, hands laden with anemone, primrose, cowslip or violet ; and in summer the trespassing mites waded waist deep in rich brown grass in search of buttercup and daisy, while among the golden gorse and bracken on the hill side, the hare frisked the live-long day, as though there were no such enemy as man in the world. Yet, even here, there was one dark spot, and one only. Away, towards the north, about three miles from the ! Merry goes the Time. 11 Red House, a black smoke hovered above the hill, telling of grimy chimneys and busy works and men, who toiled in mines away from the bright sunlight ; but the blot was in the distance as yet, and the inmates and visitors at the Red House resolutely turned their backs on it to look on fairer scenes.

In the valley nestled the country town of Linton, with its quaint, old houses and straggling ill-paved streets, above which towered the ancient cathedral-like church, of which the inhabitants of the town and surrounding districts were justly proud. At the time of year of which I write — the middle of May — the church was embowered in green, and looked down upon orchards of red and white blossom. But I must return to the house on the hill, or the Red House as it was called. It was about six o'clock, one lovely warm evening, when a girl of nearly seventeen passed from the house with camp chair in hand, and a pile of books under her arm. A slight, graceful figure, of medium height, and step denoting health and happiness ; with hair of a rich deep gold, falling in girlish fashion to her waist ; not straight, smooth hair, but hair that would fall into loose curls, and lie in little soft rings upon a low, snowy forehead.

The fair white skin was set off by a dress of pale blue merino, evidently donned for dinner, for pretty lace ornamented the throat and wrists, and the whole toilet from head to foot evinced care and taste. A dainty O ! Merry goes the Time. 12 maiden was Sybil North. Her face was bewitching in its fairness and sweetness. To-night it was grave as it contemplated the books, but in conversation it sparkled with vivacity, smiles wreathing the rosy lips which disclosed pearly teeth, joy dancing in the beautiful eyes which sometimes revealed violet depths, sometimes liquid blue. The features were not perhaps perfectly regular, but the charm of the fair oval face lay in the expression ; as I have before said, so indescribably sweet, so suggestive of good humour and content; although tokens of firmness and womanly dignity were visible — firmness and dignity which would be necessary in future years.

Her training had been a very careful one, her pleasures only such as are found in a country home, reading books, roaming among the woods, or riding her pony through quiet lanes ; so that hfe lay before her vast and unexplored, and she was looking forward to the future with all the joy of a healthy, pure-minded girl. To-night, as she placed her chair under the drooping boughs of a chestnut tree, and opened Virgil, she heaved a little sigh, though for a time she bent all her energies upon the study, but the sights and sounds around at last lured her, and she closed her book with energy. That she loved Nature passionately was evident from the way in which she drew towards her the green boughs of the tree, then toyed with the pinky white ! Merry goes the Time. 13 bloom, and bent to inhale its fragrance, also from the eagerness with which she seemed to drink in all the beauty around her, or to follow the flight of the noisy rooks, and the graceful swallows on the wing ; but she was not without the restlessness of early youth ; so she sprang up, and was collecting her scattered books in order to return to the house for study, when a wicket gate, leading from the carriage drive to the lawn, suddenly opened and closed, and a young man in tennis flannels came towards her. '* What a pile of books, Sybil !

We shall have you quite a blue-stocking yet, and how much out of those musty volumes did you expect to cram into your head to-night? What have we here? Latin, Greek, Carlyle's French Revolution?" " I look industrious, but I am ashamed to say I've been very lazy. It is the warm weather, I suppose. I never can study much out of doors, and was just going in when you appeared on the scenes," said she re-seating herself after her greeting, and stooping to pick up a sportive grey kitten; then with an arch look, "Now you've come, there is an end to a quiet hour. You will want some music, won't you ; that is if you are not going to play tennis ? " As he answered, leaning against the chesnut tree and looking down on her, he appeared a very handsome fellow. Although only eighteen, he might easily have O !

Merry goes the Time. 14 been mistaken for five-and-twenty, and was over six feet in height. He had broad shoulders, such as women love to see ; hair light brown and wavy, with a massive brow and a determined jaw. There was strength in the whole face, and self-will too, although to-night the blue eye only bespoke good humour and merriment. He was a trifle haughty — some people said — but to the girls at the Red House he was a friend and brother, sharing their plans, and coming and going as one of the family ; for Harold Sinclair and Sybil had played together and grown up together, and as the young fellow stood there in tennis suit and racquet in hand, laughing and chatting, one could see on what perfectly easy, familiar terms the two were ; and one could also see that he greatly admired the girl before him, and that she enjoyed talking with her friend.

" I called to see if you were going to tennis this evening. Lucy Roberts was complaining to-day that you had only put in an appearance once, Sybil. She thinks you do not care to associate with them. They are really very kind people, you know, and the girls are jolly ; although perhaps not quite your style, and they are anxious you should attend their tennis matches." " O, yes, I really have meant to go, but seem to have so much to do, and hardly find time for games. You do not believe me, I know, but it is quite true." ! Merry goes the Time. 15 "I do believe you, and think you are much too energetic and much too studious." " What is it all for ? Girls do not need Greek, and Latin and Mathematics," said the young man, having just left College where he had not distinguished himself greatly, except in athletic sports, and to whom the hard-working girl was a slight reproach.

" Mr. Gray gives you too much to do. I should not work you so hard, if I were your tutor," said he laughing. " Your singing, painting and music lessons with Miss Neville should be quite sufficient now. You'll get married some day, of course, and won't need one half you are studying." "Nonsense!" said she, blushing and rising from her chair. " I'm going to be an old maid, a model old maid, just to show how nice one can be. Not a spectacled creature, prying into everyone's business, but an old maid who will live for humanity, help the miserable and sick. Besides, I have had my own way nearly all through hfe, and could not bear to be controlled, and I've no end of plans laid out with which a troublesome husband would interfere." "What plans?" " 0, never mind now. You would only make fun and say I was ambitious if I told you."

" I don't like to hear you talk so, Sybil. Marriage O ! Merry goes the Time. is a woman's proper sphere, and as for old maids — well they are abominable ! " "That is because you know nothing about them. My maiden aunt is one of the happiest and most beautiful of women, and her life has been one long sacrifice to her friends. She has responded to every call upon her. How she nursed us I well remember, and as a child I used to think her face was like an angel's; — she was so beautiful and good. "Whyever did she not get married then, if so beautiful?" said he laughing at her earnestness. Ah ! you are so irreverent. You don't understand and I wont explain ; but think of the privations and poverty endured by so many single women. How the poor things have to toil all through life for a livelihood ; no wonder they are shabbily dressed, and look sad, and gain the sobriquet of " niggard " as they do.

You would look shabby and miserable too on ten shillings a week, Harold, and that is all some poor gentlewomen get, and governesses in gentlemen's families too. Where would be your neckties and cigars?" The young fellow laughed aloud at the idea of living on ten shillings weekly, but she went on — " I wish there was more chivalry among you youn<* men that would make you reverence all unprotected, sad and lonely women," but with a laugh—" the new order of single women won't be like the old, I can tell O ! Merry goes the Time. 17 you. They will have their rights — perhaps a vote — they will have more money, for they already know how to earn it, and they wont teach or be companions on paltry sums. If I'm single, I shall be rich, I know I shall, because I shall earn money honestly, but plentifully."

" Goodness, Sybil ! Whatever are you going to do ? paint like Rosa Bonheur? " " No, I'll leave that to you. You know my paintings cannot be compared with your lovely pictures. No ! you shall be the R.A. when I'm the B.A." "That's it then, is it? You ambitious mortal! I was going to say your voice might make you famous some day, if properly trained ; but you ought to be placed under a good master. Miss Neville is out of date." "There you are again! It is growing cooler though. ShaU we go in?" " No, no yet." " Then come and see the flowers and the blossoms on the apple and cherry trees. I never saw them so lovely." The young fellow gathered up the books and camp chair, and prepared to follow and admire, although his home lay among gardens and grounds far surpassing those surrounding the Red House, and wherever one looked at this time, one saw the pink and white blossom B !

Merry goes the Time. 18 amid the tender green foliage ; but one has not always such a fair companion as Sybil to point out the beauties of nature; so together they crossed the smooth lawns, and handing the burdens to a maid, passed down the garden path ; with its old ivy-covered wall, overshadowed by fruit trees, on one side, and sweet spring flowers, forget-me-nots, pansies, and primroses bordering the garden on the other; the path, a snowy carpet of cherry blossom, for a light breeze had now sprung up and was blowing the white petals in all directions. It was an old-fashioned garden. In summer the provence and tudor rose, sweet-william and wallflower flourished, and in autumn the stately holly-hock. Now, in the shade, bloomed lilies of the valley ; the hedge of purple and white lilac was ready to burst into bloom, to contrast with the gold of the laburnum and the glorious copper beech.

The garden sloped towards a sheet of water, whose grassy banks were shaded by giant elms, and in and out of its leafy branches the swallows were flitting, or skimming the waters with their graceful movements, every now and then revealing the asure of their wings, or the creamy tints of their beautiful breasts. Above, was a sky of perfect blue, and beyond lay tha countless green fields, over which the sun was now sending golden shafts, while among the grass the sweet cuckoo flowers and bluebells were ! Merry goes the Time. 19 nodding in the refreshing breeze, so welcome after the heat of the day. " White flowers suit you best," said Harold, as he handed Sybil a small bunch of hlies with a delicate, fresh green fern, " but where are Kate and Olive to-night ? " "They said they were going to Mrs. Ridley's farm, and I half promised to go and meet them."

"Let us start now then, I shall not trouble about tennis to-night, but you will take cold like that. Won't you go in and get something warm to put on, and I'll wait here ? ' ' The young man stood and watched the retreating figure of the girl, and then bent to root up a weed or two. It was a habit of his. He was an active fellow, and whenever he strolled about his own or his neigh bours' gardens, he made sundry onslaughts upon the obnoxious growths. He was not thinking only of the weeds however, if one might judge from the expression on his face. "By jove ! what a beauty! said he, as having per formed his duty among the weeds he lighted a cigarette. I must paint her, although I can never do her justice. No one can, I'll defy them! So many lights dance across that face, that I shan't know which to catch.

Then her lips ! her eyes ! her smiles ! purity and spirituality predominate so, too. That supple figure ! Who can paint ! Merry goes the Time. 20 her? I can't." No, Mr. Harold Sinclair, neither can I fully describe her. Who can describe the beauty of seventeen ? Who can describe seventeen at all ? See that face, full of shy wondering awe, of purity, of joy, and mirth ! See that form, so willowy and graceful ! Sweet seventeen ! Half-woman, half-child ! You never visit us but once ! " Never get married, eh ! We'll see about that ! " e .ntinued the young man. " Mum's the word, though at present, or she'll be scared. What a sweet man Friday she'd make ! Oh, for a desert isle with Sybil, a gun, my pictures and books ! I wouldn't care a button to come back to civilization with all its attendant formalities, its sickening paraphernalia.

Not much good painting pictures though, for no one to see but myself and Sybil ! Ah ! there ambition comes in, does it ? Here comes Friday though, and mum's the word, remember ! I'm on a desert isle for at least half-an-hour."

Chapter II. When The Heart Is Young

I wonder if ever a song was sung But the singer's heart sung sweeter ? I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung But the thought surpassed the metre ? I wonder if ever a sculptor wrought Till the cold stone echoed his ardent thought ? Or if ever a painter, with light and shade, The dream of his inmost heart portrayed ? Anon. Deal gently with us, ye who read I Our largest hope is unfulfilled ; The promise still outruns the deed ; Tbe tower, but not the spire we build. Our whitest pearl we never find Our ripest fruit we never reach. The flowering moments of the mind Lose half their petals in our speech. Oliveb Wendell Holmes. Sybil vanished and soon re-appeared with sailor hat and white woollen wrap, saying, " Mother and Father are busy letterwriting, so will not mind being left alone." The wrap Harold re-arranged around her according to his artistic tastes, while he said, " When are you going to let me try and paint your portrait Sybil?

I'm anxious to begin." " I don't know what to say to that. You will perhaps make me look all smeary and blurred and as though I was weeping copious floods of tears, for I know you admire Turner so much, and I shall not forget one of his pictures I saw at Blacktown last week." "You little Goth, Vandal, Heathen, to talk so of Turner ! As for myself, I can forgive you, but only wait and see what I can do. Of course you do not mean what you say about our great artist, but perhaps — a little hesi tatingly — you have not seen many of his pictures, Sybil?" " Only one, that one at Blacktown." " I see. Ah ! Then you ought to visit the Picture Galleries. How I wish we could all go up to London together this May. I should love to show you the sights and enjoy your enthusiasm, you httle rustic. Read Ruskin on Turner, for he defended his original style, which I suppose was not at one time very popular.

Turner painted what he saw, not what he thought people might like to see. He dared to be original like Ruskin, and both were passionately fond of Nature, so a sort of bond existed between them, as it does between people of kindred spirits. I like to talk with you, for the same reason, perhaps," he said, looking down on her beautiful face. " It must be a grand thing to paint pictures though — grander even than to write books. Beautiful colours entrance me, I long to take a brush and yet I produce nothing but daubs. The blue sky peeping among those green branches, the beautiful tints of the flowers, those trees half in sunlight and half in shade ; the shimmer on their thousand leaves ; to say nothing of a glorious sun set or sunrise. When you possess the Divine gift though, it is different. You are master of the brush then."

" Yes, but the greatest artists fail to produce exactly all they see. Think of the sunshine, the lights dancing on the leaves, as you say ; the shifting colours in a sunset or sunrise ! Anyhow, if you never paint pictures you may be clever at word painting, you may write about what you see, and so charm a portion of the community who perhaps may not care for pictures." " How well you spring from a stile," he said, after the first rustic work of art was surmounted ; but she took no heed for her eye had caught sight of a little blue feathered tomtit, lying dead under the hawthorn, his little claws drawn up in the agony of death, while in one of them lay a tiny twig as though he had been busy with his nest building when life ceased. " The sweet httle thing," said the girl. " Has some two-legged monster shot it for cruel sport, I wonder ?

" " No," said her companion, taking it from her warm hand, " ' Death from natural causes,' is the verdict. ' Failure of the heart's action !' " for her distressed face amused him. "Ah! You men are so heartless," as she placed it under the hedgerow, "or you would never go about the fields aiming at any little bird you see. There is some thing so mean to me in the sly way a man prowls about after his innocent happy prey." " What about the feathery innocents in the ladies' bonnets ? " called out Harold, but she ran lightly on down the hill, saying, " I never wear them and I'm ashamed of those of my sex who do." The sun was now setting, gold amidst the blue, and a light breeze was rustling the leaves as they reached the valley, where a merry brook came babbling along past the old mill, then wound its way under hedgerows until it joined the river a mile away.

The farm they were trying to reach lay on an eminence, and to get there the two had to pass through a narrow rocky gorge, where the sky was nearly hidden by interlacing boughs of hawthorn, giant beech and chestnut, which grew plentifully on the summits of the banks on either side ; while bramble, ivy and rosebush trailed in wild luxuriance over the rocks. A weird, lonely place, but very beautiful now in early summer ; looking like a cool green aisle. Beautiful too it was in winter when one used the fragments of fallen rock as stepping stones among the snow, and looking up saw a fretwork of purest white. Leaving the gorge, the friends came upon a spring of water gushing from the rock, over hanging which were boughs of wild apple blossom, and as Harold was disengaging a beautiful pink spray for Sybil, the voices of Kate and Olive North were heard, and the two girls came quickly down the hill.

Then all started home. Kate and Olive were dressed in navy costumes and wore sailor hats, while each had a peculiar kind of beauty. A close reader of Tennyson might think of " Darling Katie Willows " when he saw Kate, the eldest of the three sisters : — " A maiden of our century, yet most meek ; A daughter of our meadows, yet not coarse ; Straight, but as lissome as a hazel wand ; Her eyes a bashful azure, and her hair In gloss and hue the chestnut, when the shell Divides threefold to show the fruit within." A quiet, gentle girl was Kate, with shy retiring ways. Too shy to sing or play before any but her own family, very seldom giving vent to her thoughts and certainly never expressing her opinions so decidedly as Olive or Sybil ; yet everyone loved her. One felt she was so good, so unassuming, so willing to defer to others, perhaps a httle too willing, but then she was one of those who would always be shielded from life's storms, who would be sure to gain the protection of a good husband.

Her tastes did not much resemble those of her sisters. They read deeply and studied abstruse subjects, besides devouring all the novels which came in their way, good standard works : for trash they had no inclination, and very little they had ever seen ; for Mr. North had always, more or less, directed their thirst for reading into a right channel and fitted up his library with wholesome literature. Kate cared little for reading. She loved all kinds of needlework, painted pretty plaques, visited the poor, and the poor were perfectly at ease with her ; for she had no pride or arrogance, and they always hailed the coming of the pretty girl in her neat and quiet attire, whether it was to visit their sick or to sit and listen to their homely talk. Olive North possessed a tropical kind of beauty.

Rich, dark hair was drawn back from a beautiful brow. Her brown eyes sparkled with merriment or at times scintil lated with anger; for her spirit was high, although her disposition was a very warm and generous one, and she loved her friends with a depth rarely seen. A carmine colour dyed the cheeks of the tall, handsome girl who contrasted so with her younger and elder sisters. " You are going with us to the hills on Saturday, Harold, I suppose, and Edith too ? " said Olive. " Yes, but I am sorry not to start with the party. Father insists on my going over to the works every morn ing. It is all a farce, you know. The managers don't want me there troubling them with questions about this and that and everything ; for Father sends me with a whole list of enquiries. He rarely goes himself now in order that I shall be kept employed.

You see he is such a clever business man, has enlarged the works owned by my grandfather and great-grandfather before him to such an extent, and has been so successful that his great desire is that I should throw all my energies into trade. He hates the idea of my turning artist. Thinks it effeminate, I beheve, for a fellow to give all his time to painting pictures ; although he likes to buy a good one when he sees it. His wish is, I believe, that I shall go out shortly to South Africa to look after a branch business there for about twelve months. It won't be all hard work. There will be a little excursion up the country sometimes for sport. Father expects that, and I have a cousin or two at Port Elizabeth, where our head quarters are ; so I shall not be all alone." " But I do not believe you will ever settle down altogether as a merchant, Harold, will you?