Never-for ever

Chapter I. On The Cliffs

" And so you really like this dull old place, with all its faults ?" "Words spoken by a large, ungainly in dividual of the male sex, stretched full length on the stones and shingle of the Llanaber beach, at the feet of two muslin clothed, mushroom-hatted young ladies. He chucked a stone into the water as he spoke, and watched the ripples rounding off into circles fainter and fainter on the still blue surface. " Yes, I'm really growing quite fond of the old cliffs and ruins — aren't you, Lily ?" came from under one of the mushrooms. "I'm getting used to the dulness, beginning to feel as if I never could rouse my- VOL. I. B NEVER — FOR EVER. self from -the lazy kind of life we have been leading for the last few weeks." " Well, I don't know about that," replied the other mushroom ; " I rather fancy I could rouse myself pretty quickly if there was anything worth rousing for — a good ball, for instance ; but I'm afraid there's no chance of anything of that kind just at present, either here or anywhere else."

" Balls, balls, ever balls, Miss Fre mantle. I don't believe you think of any thing else in the world but balls — you're the gayest young lady I ever met." Here the prostrate individual half-raised himself, and turned a very jolly, sunburnt face towards the smallest and most coquettish of the mushroom hats. " I don't believe I'm any gayer than most girls, that is, town girls ; every one likes a ball, I'm sure." The speaker's head was bent forward, so that all that was to be seen of the features under the shady hat was a rather large, well-shaped mouth, with full rosy lips, too fond, some people thought, of breaking into smiles — very natural smiles, however, NEVER — FOR EVER. which disclosed two rows of very even white teeth, and made two dimples in two very soft cheeks, and just the tip of a white little nose turning slightly up ; this was all that met the gaze of a pair of very admiring gray eyes, which were raised from the aforesaid jolly sunburnt face.

" No balls here at least," he said, turning a rather amused glance down on the unpretending little village lying below among the green spreading fields and waving trees ; " and yet there are some young ladies who contrive to live here from year's end to year's end, and never miss them." The red lips smiled, as if to say, "AVhat very odd girls ;" then there was another silence, another stone thrown, more circles dying away, and then the gray eyes were raised again ; this time they were met and their gaze returned by two very large blue ones, long lashed, and wondering soft and deep, with that far-off look in them which seems to span the long, long years to come, and gaze into the dim sad future when their light shall be quenched and gone. B NEVER — FOR EVER. The gray eyes rested longer than was necessary, I think, on that soft-tinted, girlish face and big blue eyes, rested dreamily and a little sadly, and the owner sighed as he looked away.

" What makes you sigh so, Mr. Oke don ?" asked the red lips again. " You're always sighing now." " I didn't know I had got the habit," he said ; " but those kind of things grow upon people I believe — don't you think so, Miss Agnes ?" This was addressed to the other mush room, who had sat through that little conversation, and sighing and gazing very patiently, looking out over the blue sea in a very dreamy manner. "Yes, I agree with you, things do grow upon people till they become habits ; but if people have proper control over them selves they needn't give way to such things." " Oh, here's the old story of controlling minds and forming habits — and, in fact, making a martyr of one's self," cried the red lips. " You're quite right to sigh, or groan, or do anything else you are NEVER — FOR EVER. 5 in the habit of doing.

Don't control yourself, for goodness sake, Mr. Oke don." The long individual raised himself quite now into a sitting posture, and looked from one to the other of the mushroom hats undecidedly. " I wonder which of you will be most interested in a piece of news I am going to tell you," he said. "I, of course," cried Lily, laughing. "What is it?" " Well, you know Dashwood, I suppose — Jack Dashwood ?" " No, I don't think so." "Don't you? How odd! Why, I thought all the girls were mad about Jack. A very good sort of fellow he is — the best heavy-weight across country I ever met. He's in the Dragoon Guards." " Is he handsome ?" " Well, I suppose he is, or he wouldn't be such a favourite with ladies." "What's he like?" " Well, he's a big fellow, with very long moustachios — that's about all I can NEVER — FOR EVER. say for him.

I don't think him handsome, but you know ladies are always satisfied so as a fellow's got big black eyes and long moustachios, and is what they con sider handsome — he may be the greatest fool, or scamp, or anything else, it doesn't matter." He said it a little savagely — perhaps he knew he wasn't what ladies consider hand some. Only a strong man, with wide shoulders, no good features to boast of, too big a mouth with too small a fringing of moustache above it, two cheeks much too red, and sunburnt, and healthy-looking, to romance about. But I think he was mistaken, and that there were many girls who would have admired that strong figure of his — many girls who would have even thought him handsome — one who would have been content never to see another man again, if she might only have him all to herself — one who thought him the noblest, handsomest, and fairest of men — namely, that same Agnes, who sat there shady hatted, and with down cast eyes, poking the sand with her para sol.

But how was he to know all this — NEVER — FOR EVER. how was he to know that it only wanted those broad shoulders and kind gray eyes to make her the Happiest woman living ? I think if he had known it, he might have dropped down there and then on his knees, and left them at her disposal — was it well, or ill, I wonder, that he didn't ?— well, I think. " But you haven't told us the news, Mr. Okedon," cried Lily. " What about this great lady-killer ?" "Well, he's coming to stop with me for a short time, I hope." " Oh, that's the news, is it — well, what's that to us, now r" " Why, I suppose you'll see a good deal of Him while he's here — that is, if you'll allow me to present him to you." " Oh, yes, certainly, I'm quite anxious to see him — when's he coming ?" " Well, I don't exactly know — I'll hear by the post to-morrow, I suppose."

" Do you think he'll come soon ?" said Agnes. " How very curious you are about this great man — you're not going to fall in love with him aHeady, are you ?" and the gray NEVER — FOR EVER. eyes turned once again on the mushroom hat inquiringly. " I suppose I may if I like," laughed Agnes, in answer. He didn't answer. He was looking down moodily on the sand and blue water, and knocking two big stones together. Was he, I wonder, looking in a dream of the future over the quiet sea — was he thinking that perhaps it would have been better to leave that gallant hero, Captain John Dashwood alone, and not bring him among them just then. They were all silent now. Miss Agnes, too, was looking down into the blue mir ror, reading who knows what there ; still poking at that everlasting hole in the sand, and the quiet waves came stealing up at their feet, over the stones and shingle ; and the soft breeze stirred the ribbons on the mushroom hats and fluttered the muslin dresses this way and that.

Another half-hour and the two mushroom hats, accompanied by the big figure in the frieze coat, were wending their way slowly downwards towards a little cluster of houses below, along the cool cliffs and NEVER — FOR EVER. 9 sands ; along the scorched-up " green," which in consequence of a three weeks' perpetual broiling, had become one with the sand-bank close by, and sloping down to the sea, lost itself there among the other sand and shingle ; along by the old moss-grown walls of the castle, past the rows of bathing-boxes and donkey chaises, and up to the corner house in the great stone terrace facing the sea. " Good-bye," from each of the mushrooms, and two dainty Httle hands are pressed by one large brown one, and then they disappear into tlieir stone prison, and the gray frieze coat goes lounging off, to smoke a quiet cigar on the old boat over there, which has borne, bottom upwards, the waves and winds, " the battle and the breeze," for who knows how many seasons gone by, and which is just now, doubtless, very sticky and uncomfortable after the heat of the day ; but which, nevertheless, com mands a very good view of the stone prison into wliich the two charming mushrooms have disappeared.

Chapter II

A HEROINE. Of course the young lady with the rosy lips and big blue eyes is to be the Heroine of this little tale, you think, my reader. Well, Lily was no heroine ; only a very foolish little girl, too fond of dress and admiration, too silly and thoughtless, not pretty enough, aud wanting half the in gredients which are required to make a good heroine ; that is to say, the heroine of a novel ; for we have all our stories, let them be never so hum-drum and common-place ; still, in our own estima tion, ours is the great story of all, the most interesting to ourselves, the one over which we weep such genuine tears, and smile such pure, fond smiles. We are the heroes or heroines ; our deeds, words, and thoughts are the most interesting, NEVER — FOR EVER. 11 are ever near us and with us to the end, when we all drift out together into the great sea of eternity ; the story told, the play acted ; the light gone out, yet leav ing — oh ! let us hope ! — some echo in some true heart, some remembrance of what we have done, and not what we have left undone.

No, Lily was only a heroine in the same sense that we all are so, only a heroine by circumstance, not by choice ■ — a flower, withered too soon, because the sun couldn't always shine on it — a foolish, most imperfect little girl, with whom things never went right. So you must take her as she is, only a woman, after all ; and although there have been great women in the days gone by, they are scarcer now, and far less interesting ; their noble acts will never be recorded in the years to come, and their voices are too low and gentle to be heard above the strife and bustle in this wild world of ours. She didn't look a bit like a heroine as she sat in the comfortable drawing-room of No. 1, Queen's Terrace, eating buttered NEVER — FOR EVER. muffins, and drinking hot tea, a little later on that pleasant summer evening — not a bit like a heroine, with her bappy rosy face, and great mass of fuzzy golden hair; and yet she was a very pretty little girl, wanting very little of being quite pretty enough for the heroine of a novel.

Agnes is there too, eating buttered muffins and drinking tea, and I think of the two she was the most like a heroine. Both girls are fair, both have that pretty peach colour in their cheeks, though Lily's is a little richer and deeper; both have rich golden coloured Hair, though Lily's is always curly and fuzzy, and Agnes's smooth and soft and glossy ; and yet, with so many points alike, they are as different as two girls can be. Lily, as she sits there rosy and smiling, a little Hebe, in her soft blue muslin dress, and happy dimples, is a strong contrast to that other face over there. There is a pensive soft look in it, a grave madonna like shade there, undefined and sad, such a face as the gentle St. Agnes may have had. My young St. Agnes is not a per- NEVER — FOR EVER. 13 sect saint, she has much to learn yet, her martyrdom is still to come.

" We have kept you waiting, darling, I am afraid," said she, addressing a thin gray-haired elderly gentleman, in an arm chair, who was scanning thoughtfully an old volume. " No, dear, no ; I forgot it was so late. Were you walking ?" " No, darling, only sitting on the beach ; it was too hot to walk." " Oh, yes," and the gray head was bent again over the interesting book. "Papa?" "Well, dear." " Will you come into the castle after tea, later in the evening I mean, it looks so well by moonlight." " If you like — yes, I think it does ; how beautiful the mountains are ; look over there, what a strange light there is over K ." " Beautiful." " I should like to live always here, in the quiet, with that beautiful view of sea and mountains always near me." "Oh, darling, in winter?" NEVER — FOR EVER.

"Yes, I shouldn't mind it in winter either. I'd sit and read by my fire." " How awful !" cried Lily, who Had sat listening to this conversation with folded hands. " Yes, for you, my poor little woman, but not for me ; I have had enough of the world, and nearly enough of life too, and what time I have left I should like to spend in peace." " Well, I should rather be buried at once than live here." " You don't want rest, my child ; young minds never do, but old ones get a long ing for peace ; it's a merciful dispensation, makes people readier to die." They were silent, they never tried to argue those points now, it was an old battle, and had been fought and won a score of times before, so they eat their muffins in silence, while the leaves of the dusty volume turned over and over, and the urn hissed and sputtered, and the tea-cups rattled round Agnes, who did the honours at the head of the table.

" We met Charlie Okedon, papa," ven tured Lily again. NEVER FOR EVER. " Oh, indeed, you meet him very often, I think; he's a nice young fellow, a very nice young fellow." " He must be very lonely, living up there all alone." " I wonder he doesn't marry." There was another silence. Lily looked down on her plate, and swept the crumbs into rows and lines on the table cloth ; and Agnes looked down, too, but there were no crumbs near her, so she had to keep her fingers to herself; and the un conscious gray head was bent once more. " Will you come out now, pa ? Have you finished your tea ?" "Yes, dear; I've finished long ago. I should like a walk very much." " Well, Aggie, come and get ready ;" and there was a pattering of light feet up the stairs, and the sound of merry voices was wafted back to the ears of the gray headed old man, who had closed his book now, and was looking out sadly on the green grass and sunset outside.

His had been a handsome face, that was plain to be seen, grown very oldlooking lately; the wrinkles were deepening round the NEVER — FOR EVER. kind eyes, and the hair was growing whiter and whiter ; but the two happy Httle girls who were upstairs wouldn't let themselves see those changes, wouldn't believe that their dear old father wasn't the same man he had been a short time ago ; was growing nearer and nearer to that rest which he was longing for. He had always been the same to them. He wasn't a father ; he was something more. It was he who had been young with them long ago, played with them, and laughed with them ; it was he still, and they wouldn't see the changes in that dear face; and so when they returned, mushroom-hatted and smiling, the sad old face brightening up looked fondly on them, and they saw only the light there, and not the shadow.

" Ready ?" he asked, and then they strolled out into the soft light, a very loving little group, that gray-haired old man with his two pretty daughters clinging to him. " Let us take a stroll up the cliffs first," said Lily, "and then into the castle a Httle later." NEVER — FOR EVER. 17 " Very well," and they walked on slowly past the bathing-boxes and rows of donkey chaises, past the ivied walls, and up the winding path among the rocks and shingle. Here, by some most unaccount able chance, they came on a prostrate figure in a gray frieze coat, stretched full length upon the stones, smoking away at a cigar. He jumped up quickly as the little group approached, and raised his hat. " Oh, how do you do, Okedon ? Come out here to have a quiet smoke, I suppose," inquired the elder gentleman, ex tending his hand.

" How delightful it is up here." " Yes ; I have been here a long time. I saw you coming up the hill, and I thought I'd be sure to meet you if I waited." This young hero of mine was a very straight-forward, honest man, he always spoke the truth bravely ; but while he said these words, there came a deeper colour into his sunburnt cheeks, he had been waiting so long watching the stone house, so anxiously lying in wait. VOL. I. c NEVER — FOR EVER. " Let us walk on, then, a little higher, and by that time it will be time to visit our ruins." " Oh, you are going to the castle, then ?" " Yes ; I wish to see it by moonlight, I am sure it will look particularly fine." So on they strolled, Lily still clinging to the old man, and Agnes and CharUe following behind. " We are about the only people out here, I think.

This is the great time for walk ing," said Charlie. "Yes; along walk in this cool would be very pleasant." " I shall have a pleasant walk Home over this hill to-night." "Yes." " How long do you think of staying here ?" he asked again, after a pause. "Well, I don't know exactly; I hope some time." " I hope so too ; I shaU miss our walks and chats dreadfully." "You must be very lonely here some times ?" " Well, yes, sometimes, as you say ; but NEVER — FOR EVER. T generally get some fellows down to stay for the shooting, you know, and then I go up myself sometimes to town for a few weeks." " Oh, yes, I see ?' " But when I am here I'm often very lonely." There was a sadness in his hearty voice, which somehow smote on Acorie's heart. She looked up, but it was too dark to see well, and it was only the shadow of a big man that was at her side.

" You have some friends about here, I suppose?" she asked. " Oh, yes, I know nearly every one. It's not a very extensive neighbourhood here, as you know. There are the Joneses — you know them, don't you? — the John Joneses — they live iu your terrace, number seven : they're nice people enough, but they're away half the year. Then the Foulkeses — you know her, Lady Mary Foulkes — she's a jolly old woman ; but that little Fanny, she's the greatest flirt I ever met." " Oh, yes, I know her ; they're in Lon don now." c NEVER — FOR EVER. " I suppose they'll be down here soon. " There, the moon is quite above the trees now : how lovely it looks on the water !" They paused, and stood side by side on the soft grass, looking away over the rippling waters, on which the moonlight fell in one wide clear stream ; the tiny waves were stealing in among the rocks at their feet, and plashing and breaking against their stony sides.

" How calm and still it looks," she said, " and how I like the sound of the waves on the stones and pebbles — don't you ?" "Yes, it has a music of its own; it is a very pleasant sound." " I hope papa doesn't forget his promise about the castle ; I should like so much to see it in that beautiful light." He hadn't forgot ; and in a minute more they had all assembled at the top of the cliff hill, and were preparing to descend. It was a very pleasant walk for Agnes ; she had her young hero all to herself in the moonlight, and they had been talking very pleasantly all the way down the hill NEVER — FOR EVER. 21 and along the green, and she could see his gray eyes look down into hers once or twice with a very pleased look in them ; and he, too, thought it a very pleasant walk, and sighed once or twice as he turned homewards alone, thinking of the lonely house he was going to, with a strange feeling in his heart — a feeling which he didn't quite understand, and which was new to him, and that soft low voice was ringing still in his ear, and mingling with the music of the creeping water down below.

Why is it that some voices will cling to us always, for ever mingling with the music of our lives, intruding themselves everywhere, sounding and blending with every song and sound, thrilling us and swelling our hearts with vain hopes, and regrets, ever near us in sorrow or joy, a note that must be in every chord — why is it, I wonder, that there are some voices that never grow old or still, some voices that can creep and steal into our hearts, and make themselves a place there for ever, whether we will or no ? My hero of the gray frieze coat couldn't NEVER — FOR EVER. account to himself for the strange way in which that soft low voice which he had been listening to all the evening kept ringing and sounding still in his ear as he walked along that lonely road by the sea late that night — couldn't account for the strange way in which it seemed to blend with every sound and thought, and ring in every one of those breaking waves ; but so it was, and so it will be always.

Chapter III

A HERO. The morning rose again, sunny, bi'ight, and scorching, as usual, and my hero of the gray frieze coat and wide-awake hat, namely, Charles Okedon, Esq., of Beau manoir, Llanaber, Carnarvonshire, Wales, had sauntered down to the village, down the principal street, and up the steps of the " Sporting Hotel." " The Bus not in yet, I suppose, Jones ?" "Not yet, sir; but she can't be long in coming now. Expecting some one, sir ?" " Yes, a gentleman." " Maybe you'd step inside, sir ?" " No, no, thanks ; I'll just wait here." And he sat down on one of the cross benches constructed in the porch of the NEVER — FOR EVER. hotel door, and having chucked away the stump of his used-up cigar, lit another, and provided himself with a newspaper, settled himself comfortably, with his hat pulled down over his eyes, to await the coming of the expected gentleman.

Tic, tic, tic, went the solemn old clock in the hall; puff, puff, puff, from the big mild cigar, and still no sign of the Bus. Had it, like the well-known slidingpicture in the magic lanterns of our youth, gone down holus bolus with its precious freight into the still blue water of the straits ? No fear of that, I fancy — no fear of the strong iron chains and bars of the great Menai Bridge coming to grief under so small a weight as the Llanaber Bus. Charles Okedon felt no kind of anxiety about his missing friend ; but the time fell heavily on his hands ; the local newspaper contained no interest for him; he would take a stroll just as far — weU, as far as the corner of the Green, the corner of the stone terrace, just to see if there was wind enough for a sail, that was all. So once again the frieze coat and wide awake were put under weigh, and pitched NEVER — FOR EVER. 25 and rolled down the street, past the rows of Httle houses, with their open doors and muslin curtains; past the two small un pretending towers which formed the en trance into that ivy-grown desolate old ruin, the castle, and on still a little further.

" Jolly the sea looks," spoken in an admiring undertone by the individual with the cigar. Very jolly, indeed, it looked seen through the gap made by a sharp turn to the right, flanked on one side by the moss-covered castle wall, and on the other by the long stone side of that very eligible residence, No. 1, Queen's Terrace; blue, blue sea, backed by tall blue mountains, crowned by a bluer sky, and studded here and there with little white specks, houses or cattle, might be either, to a casual observer, very indistinct and far off. The lazy individual strolled on still further down past the corner house, on to the Green, on still till he reached the old boat, his favourite position. " Such a jolly view from just there," he always said. NEVER — FOR EVER. That depended a good deal, I should say, upon whether one sat facing the blue sea and mountains, and with one's back to the ugly stone terrace, or vice versa, with one's back to the blue sea and one's face to the stone terrace; but I rather fancy Charles Okedon, Esq., did not care very particularly for good scenery, in fact, could scarcely have known the difference, as he far more frequently took up his position facing the stone houses and scorched Green, disregarding altogether the brilliant scene behind him.

" Confound those abominable Venetian blinds," was his first remark on looking on the scene before him, which was, as usual, the stony one. " What can be the use of keeping them down all the morning, I wonder ?" He sat down as he spoke on the old boat, and puff, puff, went the big cigar. " I suppose I shall hear the Bus from here," he continued; " or even if I don't, it won't matter much : he'll find his way without me, I daresay." He felt very cross and out of sorts. " The sun was so awfully hot, and there NEVER — FOR EVER. wasn't a breath of wind to cool one's face; hang it ! he wouldn't sit there any longer gaping at those everlasting green blinds ; the Bus must be in by now." And so, more pitching and rolling, and the gray coat and wide-awake hat and cigar all disappeared by the castle wall, and round the corner.

" Why the d ■ don't some of you take my traps in out of the dust and dirt, and bring them iu here ? and what the deuce is the good of telling me there's no way of bringing them up to the house ? I say they must go. D d if they won't. Haven't you got a wheelbarrow or some thing ? I never was in such a hole in my life. Oh, Okedon, old fellow, is that you ? Oh, all right ; I was beginning to think I had made some cursed mistake, and got among a lot of savages, or some thing." And a tall big man in a velveteen jacket and jerry hat held out a large brown hand to be shaken. " How are you, Jack — how are you, old fellow ? Oh, never mind the traps, they'll come up all right by-and-by. Come along, NEVER — FOR EVER. we've only a ten minutes' walk from here; I thought you were never coming." And the two men, arm-in-arm, walked leisurely down the street, and the dis turbed waiters had time to collect their scattered thoughts and the captain's scat tered luggage.

Twelve o'clock, and the Venetian blinds were raised now, and the windows were both open as wide as wide could be, so that the dazzling sun could shine full into the quiet drawing-room of No. 1, Queen's Terrace. It shone on two fair young heads which just appeared above the win dow-stool; one bent very low over an unseen book, and the other gazing with lazy eyes out on that perpetual view of sea and mountain. " How hot it is, Aggie. I am sure we shall both get sunstrokes, if we sit here much longer. "Yes, it's dreadfully hot." " I declare I'm nearly mad. I don't know what on earth we shall do with our selves all day. A walk would certainly be the death of me, and the rocks would be red hot. What shall we do ?" NEVER — FOR EVER. 29 " We can play croquet in the castle ; that would be just the thing."