Whither? A novel ... New ... edition

Part I. Miss Vvhitworth

CHAP. VAOK I. — The Grange, . . . . .1 II. — Explanations, . . . . .10 III. — Pride or Prejudice ? . . . . .20 IV.— A Visitob, . ' . . . . .29 V. — Rival Practitionebs, ' . . . 36 VI. — The Touch of a Vanished Hand, . . .45 VII. — The Doctor turns Advocate, . . .53 VIII. — A Would-be Partner, ..... 60 IX. — Dr Roberts commits Himself, . . .69 X. — Mr WiIitwortH sets Things right, . . .79 XI. — A Stormy Night and a Rude Awakening, . . 86 XII.—" Lady Macbeth," ..... 97 XIII. — After the Trial, ..... 105

Part II. Mary Graham

I. — Transmigration of Soul, .... 115 II.— School, ....... 126 III. — Brentford Hall, ..... 137 IV.— The Red Farm, ...... 144 V. — Tea in the Kitchen, ..... 152 VI. — Jonathan Byres, ..... 158 VII.— The Squire's Heir, . . . . .165 VIII.— .A Prelude, 173 IX.— "Medje," ...... 182 X, — Coming of Age, . , . . ... CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XL — " O Me, My Heart, My Rising Heart ! But down ! " 199 XII.— Who is She ? 206 XIII.— Mistletoe, ...... 213 XIV. — Chrysanthemums, ..... 223 XV.— A Bad Penny, . . . . .231 XVI.— Valour and Discretion, .... 241 XVII.— "A Man's a Man for a' that," . . . 247 XVIII.— In the Greenwood, . ... . 254 XIX.—" Cette Jeunesse ! " . . . . .262 XX.— Last Words, . . . . .273 XXI.— Letters, . . . . . .281 XXII.—" There's Rue for You," . . . .289 XXIII.— A Friend in Need, . . . .301 XXIV. — Jonathan prepares for a Journey, . .311 XXV. — Visits of Condolence, .... 318 XXVI.— Virginia's Vocation, . . . .325 XXVII.— "Fiat voluntas tua," . . . .336 XXVIII.— The Cup overflows, ... 342 XXIX.— Yeoman Errant, . . . . .349 XXX.— Geoffrey's Return, .... 360 XXXI.— "I will!" WHITHER?

PART I.

— Miss Whitworth.

Chapter I. The Grange

•' Have Miss Whitworth's trunks been brought down ? Oh, they are on the cab, are they . Thank you, Jane. Oh— Jane ! " " Yes, 'in." " Will you please tell Miss Whitworth that she has only just time to catch her train ? " " Miss Whitworth is saying good-bye to the young ladies, 'm ; I think she is coming down now." A light foot was heard descending the stairs, and in another moment a girl entered the room. Virginia Whitworth was twenty-one, and looked a stately maiden for one who was only just prepar ing to leave school. She was tall and straight, with very blue, clear eyes, the expression of which changed constantly, being now gentle almost to timidity, and now keen and cold ; she had light brown hair, with a ripple of gold where the sun fell on it ; well cut, almost statuesque features, and a pale, soft com plexion.

A WHITHER ? She went up to her former instructress — for Mrs Burnett had had the honour, in company with various other mistresses and professors, of assisting to "finish" this young lady — and extended her hand. " Good-bye," she said, composedly. " Thank you for all the trouble you have taken with me." "Good-bye, my dear," returned Mrs Burnett, who looked slightly flustered. "I hope you will have a prosperous journey, and find your dear grandpapa in good health. We — we shall miss you." " Will you ? " said the girl, with a little twinkle coming into her eyes. " Not much, I think. All the other girls are so young — we had not much in com mon ; and I have no doubt I was often excessively tiresome with you." " Tiresome — ahem ! " said the bewildered school mistress. " We never think of bygones at such times as these, do we ?

And if one has any heart at all, it is only natural that one should feel the parting a little after three years. Well, good-bye, my clear." " Good-bye," repeated Virginia, with the utmost placidity, stooping to permit the other to salute her cool young cheek. Then she went out of the room, and out of the house, pausing at the door to shake Jane by the hand, and to present her with a more substantial token of goodwill. She got into the cab where a maid was already seated, and directed the driver to proceed to Euston ; looking up at the grimy old house where she had passed so many uneventful days, and sighing when she could no longer see it ; but observing the abigail's eyes fixed on her with an inquiring gaze, she turned the sigh into a yawn and leaned back in a corner of the vehicle. " I wonder," she mused to herself, " if I really have no heart ?

" She certainly had felt no more than a momentary regret at saying farewell to the house which had been for three years her home, and where, if she had known no joys, she had been also spared sorrow. Now she was journeying out into the great unknown world to a relation whom she had never seen, and who, though he had given her many proofs of generosity, had never shown her the smallest affection — What would her future be like ? Her past was colourless enough, though there was an element of the unusual in it. Since the death of her mother, the beautiful, tender young mother, whose memory she worshipped with a passion that need have left her no doubt of her powers of devotion, the girl had been delivered over entirely to the care of hirelings. From the age of ten till the day when her education had been considered complete she had never set eyes on the face of her solitary relation, her paternal grandfather, who, though he had regularly and liberally provided for her needs, had otherwise appeared to take no interest in her.

Never once had she been suffered to pass her holidays at Whitworth Grange, never did its owner express a wish to see or hear from her, and, before her twenty-first birthday, he had not once honoured her with a line. On that morning she had received a certain strange missive, announcing that her grandfather considered it time for her to leave school, and desiring her to be prepared to depart on the following Monday, when he would send a maid to escort her. In future, he added, it would be his duty to permit her, being her father's daughter, to act as the mistress of Whitworth Grange, at least during his lifetime ; he could not answer for subsequent arrangements. She must therefore accept her responsibilities in a proper spirit, and, by her fidelity in discharging them, endeavour to atone for the inconvenience which her presence must necessarily cause the writer.

This epistle drew, it may be noted, not a few tears from the blue eyes of Virginia Whitworth, though she took care that no one should see them fall ; but never theless she hailed this change in her circumstances with pleasure. She was weary of the monotony of her life, consumed, not with mere youthful impatience of restraint, but with a longing for love, WHITHER ? for work, for permission to take her rightful place in the world. She wanted to be something more than the parlour - boarder, who, in consequence of liberal terms and a superabundance of " extras," was entitled to a certain amount of kindness and con sideration. She was naturally quick and clever, and knew quite as much as most of her teachers, but was tired of filling folios, and covering sheets of Whatman paper with neatly shaded or delicately tinted draw ings.

Music, indeed, she loved passionately ; and her happiest hours were spent in the company of the silvery-toned " Erard," which had been hired ex pressly for her ; but there was no one who cared to listen when she played. Now, all would be changed, and the change must be for the better. She would have work, duties, responsibilities — well, she was not afraid of them ; her lonely life had made her self reliant, and the impetuous nature which had often chafed under repression rejoiced at the prospect of unlimited activity. As for her grandfather, he had been cold and unnatural in the past, it is true, but Virginia was determined to win his affections ultimately. " Surely it need not be so difficult," she thought ; " I am the only child of his only son — I'll make him love me." She renewed this resolution several times during her journey ; and her heart beat fast when the train stopped at the small station where she was to get out ; her grandfather might possibly have come to meet her.

No, he was not there; but a footman in smart livery touched his hat to her as she alighted, and a neatly appointed brougham was awaiting her. With the illimitable hopefulness of youth, Virginia was soon laughing at herself for her unreasonable expectations, and preparing the little speech with which she meant to greet Mr Whitworth, when he met her on the portico, or in the hall of the Grange. After little more than half an hour's drive, the carriage turned in under a great ivy-mantled gateway, the horses' feet rousing echoes as they passed it, but presently falling almost noiselessly on a smooth avenue bordered on each side by a double row of magnificent lime-trees. A few rooks were cawing in the branches, rabbits scurried out of sight as they approached, a stick cracked now and then as an antlered head moved through the underwood at a little distance ; only such sounds were heard as intensified the general stillness.

There seemed to lie a hush over the place that struck chill on Virginia's heart. Now the brougham was rolling over a broad gravel sweep, and the girl looked for the first time on her father's home. A huge, grey mansion, smothered in ivy, with trees to the rear, trees on either side, trees, again, overshadowing the shrubberies that bordered the velvety lawn in front. It was a mystery how any light contrived to squeeze through this gigantic green bower; but light there was at that very moment, gilding the grey roof and glittering on the narrow, small-paned windows. Virginia saw with disappointment that there was apparently no one on the look out for her ; indeed, the hall-door was fast closed. - The footman alighting, and sending a vigorous peal of the bell echoing through the house, a grey haired butler appeared, followed by another domestic in livery, who received Virginia with much ceremony, and ushered her into a large drawing-room, where a fire was burning in the grate — the autumn afternoon being chilly — and a tea-table was also in readiness; but the room was empty.

" Can I not see Mr Whitworth ? " said the girl, her cheeks suddenly flushing, and her eyes sparkling. The butler looked at her blankly. " Have the kindness to tell him that his grand daughter has arrived, and will be glad if he will have tea with her," pursued Virginia, whose very sore ness of spirit lent her courage, a quality, indeed, in which she was at no time deficient. The man withdrew, and presently returned. " Mr Whitworth does not take tea, miss. He desires I) WHITHER ? me to say that he will meet you in the drawing-room when the gong sounds for dinner." Virginia removed her travelling-cloak calmly, and sat down to her solitary meal. When she was once more alone, however, she was obliged to wipe away two or three tears of disappointment and humiliation. Was this the treatment she was to expect ?

Neglect, indifference, if no stronger word might be applied to the feelings with which her grandfather appeared to regard her. But presently she put away her handkerchief, and made an effort to regain her composure. "After all, he has not seen me yet — he does not know me," she said to herself. No girl was more free from vanity or self-consciousness, but she was too clear-sighted and straightforward not to have some perception of her own worth ; and she knew that the affectionate devotion she was prepared to offer might not justly be despised. She finished her tea, and rang the bell. " I wish to see my room." " Certainly, miss." The servant led the way up a wide staircase of polished oak, with a curiously carved hand-rail repre senting a serpent, the head of which grinned in the hall, while the body wound upwards, diminishing gradually in circumference till the pointed tail curved over the gallery.

Along this gallery Virginia and her guide proceeded till they reached a door at the end, which the man threw open. His new mistress entered an immense room, hung with violet, the large four-poster bed being draped with the same, and moreover furnished at the corners with huge carved ornaments of dark wood re presenting feathers, which gave it a hearse-like ap pearance. Great panels of looking-glass flashed out from the walls here and there, reflecting the funereal bed from every point of view. Her trunks were already open, and her maid was unpacking them, and laying their contents in the carved wardrobe and chest of drawers. Virginia presently dismissed her, and flinging herself on her knees beside the bed, buried her head in the violet counter pane. She did not cry, though the mere sight of the gloomy abode assigned to her had filled her with un speakable wretchedness and foreboding; and she felt too much bewildered to pray.

But she knelt there long, gathering up her courage, collecting her energies, crushing down, with that strong will of hers, the fiery temper which many battles and constant repression had not yet managed to subdue. It was a sort of prayer after all, and not the worst sort, for the resolutions with which she rose from her knees were so high and generous that they might have been in spired. It was well for Virginia that she was not cowardly ; almost any other girl in her position would have been too much intimidated by her reception to comport her self with wisdom or dignity. But Virginia rarely lost her wits, and, though her heart beat fast, and her limbs trembled, as, at the first sound of the gong, she descended the stairs, no one would have guessed her emotion. She had dressed herself with much care, hoping thus to conciliate her aged relative ; and looked un usually handsome in her flowing white cashmere tea gown, the long wing-like outer sleeves of which fell away from her pretty rounded arms, while soft ruffles of lace were gathered high about the throat.

Her face was as white as her dress, it is true, as she opened the drawing-room door, but she was not less beautiful for that, and, as she stepped lightly across the room, her hands outstretched, her eyes shining, her lips just parted in a timid smile, any man might have been proud to claim kinship with her. But the little old gentleman who stood with his back to the tire, after one steady glance at her, turned away his eyes and extended his arm coldly. " Dinner has been anounced," he said, " shall we -goin?" WHITHER ? Virginia's heart sank within her ; in that momentary glance she thought she read — aversion. She took his arm in silence, however, and they pro ceeded together to the dining-room. Not a word was spoken on either side for some minutes, but presently the girl resolved to assert herself, and, looking bravely in her grandfather's face, asked his opinion of the political situation.

At the sound of her voice he flushed deeply, and his keen blue eyes flashed. " What do you know about politics ? " he returned, in a tone so low and muffled that it might almost be termed a whisper. "As much as most people who have no personal interest in them," said Virginia. "More, perhaps, than most women, for having no enthusiasm for any particular side, I can afford to be just." She spoke quietly, as she always did, but decidedly ; she was given to decided views on most subjects. Her grandfather glanced at her again in the curious way which the girl had before noticed, and, after a moment's pause, plunged into a discussion. Virginia was only too glad to avoid the oppressive silence which had at first threatened to last through out the entire repast, and held her own, gently and modestly ; displaying, nevertheless, a spirit and acu men which evidently took him by surprise.

His apparent desire was to entrap her into some un guarded remark, some inconsistent admission, which would render her previous statements ridiculous ; but he soon found that the girl did not speak without book. She did not, as she said, pretend to be an ardent politician, but she could give reasons for such views as she held, and did not feign acquaintance with any subject which she had not, to a certain extent, studied. It was no small credit to her that she managed to pass through the ordeal, for she felt an awe of her interlocutor which was sufficient to have confused her ideas. Mr Whitworth was a small, slight, frail old gentleman, with a pallid, sharp-featured face, and thin, silvery hair. He invariably spoke in the muffled whisper which had struck the girl as so strange ; his movements were slow and languid ; only in his eyes was there evidence of vitality, but that was of so strong and marked a kind that it seemed to impart a spurious vigour to his whole personality.

When the dessert had been laid on the table, and the servants had retired, the old man relapsed into silence, and leaned back in his chair, motionless in body, but occasionally shooting one of his alarming glances in his granddaughter's direction. Presently Virginia rose, and Mr Whitworth, following her example, walked stiffly to the door, which he opened for her. " Shall I see you again to-night, grandfather? " " No " — very shortly. " I will say good-night, then." "Good-night," he muttered, still standing by the door, one hand resting on the handle, the other hanging limply by his side. Virginia looked at him, and hesitated. After all, he was her father's father, the only being in the world whose blood ran in her veins ; ought she not to make an effort to break down the wall of reserve which rose so threateningly between them?

" Good-night, grandfather," she said tremulously ; and there was a little rustle of her soft draperies as she bent forward and kissed him. He raised his hand as if to ward off a blow, and stepped back, his eyes blazing with fury and positive hatred. Then, suddenly extending his feeble arm, he pushed her, with all the strength he had, away from him, and out of the room, closing the door after her with a bang which resounded through the house. Virginia sought her room, too angry, too sorely wounded, even to weep. She could not understand the contradictoriness of her grandfather's behaviour, while the injustice of his determined dislike roused within her a no less determined spirit of opposition. Brought up, as she had been, away from her natural WHITHER ? home, she knew little of her family history, such details as she had learned from her mother being carefully adapted to her childish mind.

This mother, a French Canadian and a Catholic, the last descendant of an old but impoverished family, was left early an orphan, and had been sent to England to be educated at a certain old-world convent. She was ultimately intended to be a governess, but, at the age of eighteen, while spending the vacation at the house of a school fellow, had met young Captain Whitworth, who had fallen violently in love with her. His father refusing his consent to their union, he had married her without it, sold out of his regiment, and died after two years. He had been reconciled to his father at the last, and poor Mrs Whitworth had often spoken to Virginia of the liberality with which the latter had treated her. Since her death the girl, too, had had ample proof of his generosity — why then should he be so resolved to hold her at arm's-length, to forbid any attempted display of affection, or even civility ?

Chapter II. Explanations

Virginia slept little that night, and thought a great deal; the result of her reflections being the resolu tion to demand an explanation of her grandfather's conduct. The next morning, therefore, after a breakfast par taken of by both parties in complete silence, she stopped Mr Whitworth as he was about to leave the room. _ "Grandfather, if you have time to spare I should like to speak to you." " Do you want anything 1 " he returned, wheeling EXPLANATIONS. 11 sharply round to look at her. " Are you not satisfied . Have you any complaints to make ? " " I want two or three things," said Virginia, with the composure which, in her, frequently clothed much agitation. " I am satisfied in some ways, but not in others." " Well," he said impatiently, " let us hear. What is it you wish for, to begin with ?

" " I want to change my room," observed Virginia. " Your room ! " repeated her grandfather, with some surprise. " It has always been considered the best in the house." " Well, I don't like it. I want to have my father's room." " Your father's ! " ejaculated Mr Whitworth, his voice rising almost to a faint cry. "How — how dare you mention your father ! — what do you know about your father ? " " I know how good he was, and how he loved my mother, for she has often told me so," cried tbe girl, with sparkling eyes. " If he had lived he would have loved me too." " His room is next my study — the study which used to be his. You — you cannot possibly have it." " If you do not use it, I think I have a right to it," said Vh'ginia, firmly. " I belonged to him as much as he did to you. That is my first request.

Now, I want you to be good enough to tell me what my duties are." " Your duties will be those of any other mistress of an establishment like this," he returned. " You will order dinner and so forth, engage servants, keep the house-accounts — which I will look into from time to time — and entertain my guests when I receive any — you will not find this part of your responsibility onerous," he added, with a sneer. " I shall make you an allowance for the house-keeping, and shall also, of course, continue to give you for your personal expenses 'the sum you have been in the habit of receiving — if you find it sufficient." WHITHER ? "Thank you, it is ample," answered his granddaughter. " If you care to ride or drive there are plenty _ of horses in the stable. Is there anything else you wish to know ?

" " Yes — one thing. I want to know why you treat me as you do, grandfather ? So generously in some ways, and so unfairly in others. Why were you determined to dislike me before you had even seen me? You asked, just now, if I complained of anything. Well, I complain of this. It is not just. You do not give me a chance." She spoke warmly, her customary reserve thrown aside for once ; and the old man responded with no less heat. " You complain, do you, you ungrateful chit ? In what way could I possibly have treated you better ? Have I not provided for you, educated you ? Even allowing you to be brought up in your mother's idol atrous creed. Do you not owe it to me that you find yourself a Papist at this hour ? The first Whitworth who ever professed that detestable religion." " I am certainly a Catholic," said Virginia more calmly, "thanks to my dear mother's early training, and thanks also, I will own it, to your kindness in allowing me facilities for practising my religion.

Yet you would not grant my mother's dying request that I should be brought up at the convent where she herself was educated ! " " That was a little too much to expect," he retorted. " No nun shall ever pocket any of my money ! Child, do you dare to twit me with having failed in my duty towards you ? Heaven knows how much it has cost me to do for you what I have done. But I kept faithfully the promise which your father exacted from me when he was dying. I supported that Frenchified adven turess, your mother, in the rank becoming his widow ; I provided for you as befitted his only child ; I per mitted you, at his request, to be brought up a Roman Catholic, though the law of the land would have sus- EXPLANATIONS. tained my right to educate you in your father's religion. All this I have done — for his sake — and yet you taunt me!"

" Oh, grandfather, I do not taunt you," said Virginia, her arms going out towards him pleadingly, a thrill in her young voice. " Why, why are you so hard to me ? Why will you not let me love you ? — you, who are all I have in the world ! Why will you not try to like me a little ? " " Hush ! don't talk such hypocritical nonsense ! There can be no love between your mother's child and me!" " But my father — whom you loved so dearly," sobbed the girl, " have you no pity for his child ? I am his child too — do not forget it." " I am not likely to forget it ! See here, when I look at you, I see the fruit of his union with the woman who stole his heart from me, who vitiated his character, who ruined his career, who tampered with his religion. When I6look at you " — his voice quivering with passion, his face working with unaccustomed energy — " when I look at you I seem to see the woman herself !

There is nothing of your father in you. I tell you, when you came gliding in last night, I felt as if I hated the grace and beauty which you hold from her who robbed me of my boy. And when you speak, there is a note in your voice that goes through me ! When you — gave me that kiss last night, I loathed your mother's slyness and hypocrisy perpetuated in you. It was thus — with just such sham tenderness and such womanly wiles, that she wormed herself into his honest heart — and you would try to fool me, would you? He laughed, though his voice still shook with anger. Virginia drew a little away from him, and wiped her eyes. " I think I understand you better, now, grandfather," she said quietly. " I will try to do my duty by you, on one condition. If I continue to live here I must insist on your respecting my religion, and my mother's WHITHER ? memory.

You have spoken of both, to-day, in a way I cannot submit to." He had said that there was nothing of the Whitworth in her, yet there was a marked likeness in the momentary expression of the two pairs of blue eyes, as they gazed steadily, almost fiercely into each other. The old man was the first to avert his : there was something in the girl before which he quailed, even at the moment when he insulted her. " I should like to know," he said, sneeringly, " should I refuse to comply with your condition, and assert my right of speaking as I choose in my own house — what may you propose to do, my independent young lady?" " I shall leave the Grange," returned Virginia, with spirit, " and endeavour to earn my own living." " A most feasible plan ! " he remarked. " I should be quite curious to see how it worked.

You have had a good — but hardly a useful education, as I think you would find if your bread-and-butter depended on it ; and you do not look exactly the kind of person who could make a livelihood either by dressmaking, or domestic service. As an actress you might perhaps be more successful " — sneering again, while the blood leaped to Virginia's cheeks, — " but, on the whole, I ad vise you to stay where you are, and make the most of what many people would think undeserved good luck." He left the room before she could reply, and indeed she had no desire to bandy words with him further. It struck her, however, that in spite of his uncon cealed repulsion for her, he had been a little startled when she had so abruptly proposed to leave him. She could not help thinking that he did not wish her to become independent of him ; though whether this wish to retain power over her was strong enough to induce him to submit to the condition which she had imposed, and which she was resolved to adhere to, was a doubtful problem.