Olive Roscoe, or The New Sister, etc

Front matter

$2 tbe same autbor. THE HEIRESS OF WYLMINCTON. Price 5s. TEMPLE'S TRIAL. Price 5s. MAUD MELVILLE'S MARRIAGE. Price 3s. 6d_ VILA'S TRUST. Price 3s. 6d. WINNING THE VICTORY. Price 35. 6d. BIRDIE'S RESOLVE, AND HOW IT WAS ACCOMPLISHED. Trice =__. Gd. DULCIE'S LITTLE BROTHER ; or. Doings at Little Monksholm. Price 2S. 6d. DULCIE AND TOTTIE ; or. The Story of an Old-Fashioned Pair. Price as. 6d. DULCIE'S LOVE STORY. Price _. 6d. FIGHTING THE GOOD FIGHT ; or. The Successful Influence ofAVell Doing. Price 2s. 6d. TRUE To THE LAST; or. My Boyhood's Hero. Price 2S. 6d. SIR AYLMER'S HEIR. Price 2S. T. Nelson and Sons, London. Edinburgh, aud New York. '".I tall, slim girl, with a figure at once graceful and a . T.NELSON _• SONS . Olive Roscoe OR THE NEW SISTER BV E. EVERETT-GREEN AUTHOR OF "THE HEIRESS OF WYLMINGTON," " WlNT^NG THE VICTORY, " FIGHTING THE GOOD FIGHT," " TEMPLES TRIAL," 'maud melville's marriage, etc.

WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS T. NELSON AND SONS London _ Edinburgh, and New York CONTENTS. I. OLIVE, .... .... .... .... .... 9 II. A STRANGE STORY, .... .... .... .... 27 III. WYATT'S PLACE, .... .... .... .... 46 IV. THE UNKNOWN FATHER, .... .... .... 64 V. BROTHERS AND SISTERS, .... ... .... 83 VI. THE RECLUSE, .... .... .... .... 101 VII. FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS, .... .... .... 119 VIII. FINDING WORK, .... .... .... .... 140 IX. olive's CRUSADE, .... .... .... .... 160 X. THE THREE-CORNERED HOUSE, .... .... 179 XI. A CLOUD IN THE SKY, .... .... .... 197 XII. A WEDDING AT WYATT'S PLACE, .... .... 215 XIII. AN EXPLOSION, .... .... .... .... 234 XI\\ ROLFE LESTER, .... .... ..., . .. 255 XV. SUMMER DAYS, .... .... .... .... 276 XVI. "ON STRIKE," .... .... .... .... 297 XVII. THE PIT PONIES, .... .. . .... .... 317 XVIII.

TO THE RESCUE! .... .... .... .... 338 XIX. THE SECRETS OF SEVERAL HEARTS, .... 3G1 XX. IN THE OLD HOME, .... .... ... 379 XXI. AVEDDING BELLS, .... .... ... .... OLIVE ROSCOE.

Chapter I. Olive

The first sweet breath of spring was in the air. The faint fragrance of primroses stole to the senses, borne by the light, balmy breeze. The buds on the trees were SAvelled almost to bursting, and upon chestnut and sycamore tufts of delicate young green were already hanging out. Birds were carolling joyously. The blue of the sky was soft and tender, flecked with fleecy cloud. Away in the distance, framed by the overarch ing boughs of the trees which fringed the deep lane and made it like an avenue, the sea sparkled and laughed in the sunshine, its murmur mingling pleasantly Avith the sounds of rural industry and gladsome animal life. Olive Roscoe paused in her walk at this point to gaze about her with eyes that drank in great draughts of beauty, her heart glad with that wonderful neAv gladness which comes to us as by a natural inheritance at every recurring spring-tide.

Although she knew the OLIVE. 10 scene by heart, although she had been brought up from earliest infancy amongst the deep lanes of this South Devon parish, and knew eA'ery field, every tree, every face belonging to it, yet there were ever-recurring mo ments Avhen she must needs pause to study, to think, to admire it all almost as though she were a stranger, and to feel that there were neAv beauties always to be found, and must always be, let her live there from childhood to old age. A dainty x-ision herself, this bright-faced maiden of tAventy summers — a tall, slim girl, Avith a figure at once graceful and active ; a face full of intelligence and eager enthusiasm, tempered by a thoughtful sweetness which gave it an indefinable charm ; features not specially re markable, but clearly cut and stamped by considerable individuality ; a clear skin, tanned a little by exposure to sea-Avind and sunshine, but still preserving its softness and freshness and bloom ; a pair of large grey ej'es, singu larly clear and steadfast in expression, shaded by v-ery long, black lashes ; and hair of a bright, rich brown, wav ing crisply off the face, and Avound about the head in a coronet of heavy plaits.

Such Avas the picture presented by Olive upon that bright spring afternoon ; and one pair of eyes, Avatching her unobserved from the shelter of an adjoining field, thought her exceeding fair. Her dress was very simple — pale grey in colour, with knots of black ribbon about it, indicating slight mourning. A large black hat shaded the face, and the only touch of colour avus made by a feAv golden primroses fastened at the throat. OLIVE. 11 Olive carried on her arm a basket, which Avas an in dication that she was about to visit some of her uncle's parishioners doAvn in the cottages near to the sea. This lane led straight thither, and was trodden by her feet many times in the week. Perhaps that Avas why Rolfe Lester had been leaning over that gate for full half an hour already in the half -formed expectation of seeing her.

As she approached, he flung aAvay the end of his cigar and vaulted lightly oA'er the bars. The girl's face lighted at sight of him, although the soft colour in her cheek did not deepen. " I thought perhaps you Avould be coming this way, Olive," he said. " I've got my boat down in the bay ; Avhen you've done your errands of mercy, let's go for one last sail together. It won't seem a proper farewell to the old sea unless you come Avith me." Olive smiled frankly. She had boated and played Avith Rolfe eA'er since they had been children together. His father was squire of the parish where her uncle was rector. They had grown up in almost brotherly and sisterly relationship. Even the breaks which Rolfe's school and college life had brought with it had hardly served to mar this sort of pleasant camaraderie ; and now that the young man was actually going away from Polworth, to begin a career quite different from any originally de sired for him, the girl had often wondered Avhat life Avould be like Avithout him.

Her errands were quickly accomplished ; then the pair stepped into the little boat in which so many voyages had been taken, and they were soon gliding OLIVE. 12 over the laughing Avaves, full of enjoyment of the warm balmy air, of the easy free motion, and of unfettered liberty to talk to each other of past, present,' and future. " Do you think you will like it, Rolfe ?" asked Olive ; "it is such a different thing from AA-hat Ave planned for you." " Yes ; but then we ahvays planned that I was to turn out a sort of Admirable Crichton (wasn't that the name of the beggar people are always quoting ?), or a genius of the first water, who would carry everything before him, and just take the pick of the plums of life. Only, unfortunately, the creature turned out to be just an ordinary fool, like all the other fools of felloAvs one meets by the shoal, and nobody seemed to desire his services, or to see a glorious career opening out before him.

And when that happens, one must do the best one can. Beggars can't be choosers." Olive shook her head slightly, smiling the Avhile. " You could have done better at Oxford, Rolfe, if you had tried, and had not been so given up to games." " I could," he answered at once. " I was lazy, I own. and I did think far more about the fun than about any thing else. All the same for that, Olive, I don't believe things Avould haA-e been a bit different if I had done my level best to succeed. I've seen enough to know that I should be nowhere amongst the clever men of my year ; and the future of first-class men of brilliant talents is often a very uncertain and gloomy thing in these days. They are often thankful to pick up masterships and OLIVE. 13 tutorships at a couple of hundred a year, with no great prospect of advancement.

It's a blue look-out, I can tell you. I hadn't been long at Oxford before I began to see that. I knoAv it Avell enough now." " And you can't be content to stay at home and look after the estate with your father, and try to get things round by care and economy and judicious nursing ?" Rolfe shook his head decidedly. " My father is doing all that, and doing it far better than I could ever hope to do ; for he has patience and experience, and I fear I have neither. No, no, Olive. I am pledged (in my heart) to clear off those mortgages whilst I have my youth and strength ; and I'll do it yet, I trust, and free my dear old dad of the burden which has always been weighing him down. He and my mother are quite content with the quiet life at the old house together ; but it Avould not do for me. I delight O J O in the old place as a home to come back to for a breath ing-space ; but to live there, now that I haA'e all my manhood's strength and courage in me, would be more than I could stand.

They understand. They do not Avish it. In some ways I believe they are really happier alone, Avith the prospect of flying visits from me, than if they had their tumultuous and energetic son always with them. You know Avhat I mean, Olive ? Old people have their ways, and don't like to be disturbed by new methods or new ideas. It is better for us all that I shall go. And though this berth is not the one I should have sought for, it may turn into a very good thin"- for me. Everybody is taking to business now. OLIVE. 14 The land game is about Avorked out. This cousin of my father's, Avho has lost both his sons so sadly, may end by making me a partner or something. I intend to be very steady and industrious, and to throw all such energies and talents as I possess into learning the business thoroughly.

I've had my fling of fun and idleness, and I'm ready for hard work now. I've got a double motive for wishing to ' make my pile,' as the Yankees say, and coming home at last to clear my ancestral home, and see my dear old father relieved in his old age of the burden which he has always borne. I mean to do my very best, and to do it with my might." This Avas a long speech for Rolfe to make, and Olive heard him with approbation and sympathy. She kneAV very Avell that to see his estate free from debt was the dearest object of Mr. Lester's heart, and that since entering upon man's estate Rolfe had secretly pledged himself to the task. Until lately he had not seen at all clearly Iioav the thing was to be accomplished ; but within the last few weeks an offer had come to him from a kinsman in the north of England, and a prospect of no small promise had opened up for him.

His father's cousin was a large iron-master Avith Avorks of considerable magnitude, and having recently lost both his sons in a deplorable ice accident, had made a liberal offer to Rolfe Lester, AA-ho had visited him from time to time, and was something of a favourite. The young man had accepted the offer promptly and gratefully, Avith the full concurrence of his father, and he Avas to commence his new life almost at once. There would be OLIVE. 15 hard work to do, and some of it Avould not be congenial ; but it was not all to be mere desk-work, and the young man felt confident of ultimate success. He knew that such a chance as this does not come twice to a man, and he was firmly resolved to do his utmost to make his way in the world, and to give the best he had in him in the discharge of his duties.

Olive warmly approved this way of looking at the matter. Rolfe showed to great advantage at this crisis of his life ; his native manliness and strength of purpose were showing out through the crust of boyishness and immaturity Avhich had hitherto made Olive ahvays feel as though she were the elder of the pair, instead of two years the younger. The youth was looking his very best, too, to-day in his white flannels, donned for the first time that season, his bright dark eyes glanc ing and sparkling with animation, his handsome face full of earnestness and purpose, as he spoke of the future and his resolution. Olive was too familiar with him to notice very often how handsome a man Rolfe Avas growing ; but to-day she Avas struck by this, and felt a sense of sisterly pride and pleasure in the fact.

Into Rolfe's eyes there had crept a neAv look, and one that was so unfamiliar to Olive that she did not understand its meaning in the least. When Rolfe leaned forward and touched her hand, she looked at him with a frank smile, and let his rest upon it. She looked him full in the face as he spoke the next words, their meaning only slowly dawning upon her meantime. " Olive, I spoke of a double motive for striA'ing for OLIVE. success in my new life. The one referred, of course, to my father, and my desire to see the purpose of his life fulfilled ; but the other has reference to myself, to my own future, to my own desires and hopes. Can you guess at all Avhat my great hope will be for my own future ?" She Avas silent, looking at him Avith grave, bright eyes, her heart beating just a little faster than its wont, although she scarcely kneAv why, eA-en when his fingers closed closely over hers and his words came with greater earnestness and intensity.

" I think you must know, Olive. We have been so much together — so much to each other. How can I think of life apart from you ? We may haA-e to wait. We are still young. I must not be selfish to grasp at my happiness too soon. But tell me, are you willing to Avait ? Can you trust me as I trust you ? Can you be content with Avhat I haA'e to offer ? Will you keep the place for me in your heart which you hold in mine ? Olive darling, you knoAv Avhat I mean . Will you some day be my wife ?" She could not but understand then. The colour rose in her cheek. She looked at him, and then aAvay over the shining sea. There was a strange thrill runninr> through her the AA'hile ; but she Avas quite calm and self-possessed — more so, a great deal, than he was. " Rolfe, how can I tell ?" she asked, as simply as a child.

" You are A'ery dear to me, hut I haA'e always thought of you as a brother. You haA-e been a kind, dear brother to me all these years ; but I haA'e never thought of — " OLIVE. 17 " But you will think of it noAv, will you not ?" he interrupted eagerly. " I too have not thought of it so very long. It seemed enough to go on as we always have done, until I had to face the thought of going away to a new life. That opened my eyes. I could not bear the thought of separation from you, Olive, unless I had some certainty that I should come back to find you un changed. I cannot think of life without you. You seem part and parcel of my future welfare. Do you understand how I feel ? Can you not give me some hope ?" In spite of its earnestness, it was a A'ery boyish appeal ; but Olive had no experience in these matters.

It was the first proffer of loA-e which had ever been made her, and it was made by one whom she dearly loA'ed, although hitherto she had regarded him as a brother. Still, it was true enough that life in Polworth without him would be a strange thing to look forward to, and that it was easier to contemplate their liA'es running side by side in the future than to think of them diA'erted into totally different channels. She seemed to have a fleeting glimpse of the pleasure the squire and his wife would take in an engagement between her and Rolfe, the little filial services she might render them, the joyous meetings with Rolfe on his flying visits home, her warmer than sisterly interest in his probable successes, and the future life spent Avith him in the quaint old manor-house, which had always seemed to her an ideal of Avhat a home should be.

All these thoughts passed through her mind Avith lightning-like rapidity, and to many an inexperi- (910) OLIVE. enced girl they would haA'e been sufficient to settle the crisis of her life in that one moment. But Olive was possessed of a great fund of reflective thoughtfulness and sound judgment, and though moved by Rolfe's appeal, was not Avon in a moment. " I do not know Avhat to say to you, dear Rolfe," she answered gently, " it has all come upon me so quickly. You must give me time to think, to find out what it all means." " But I am going aAvay to-morrow," he urged. " Yes ; but you will be coming back again. Think, Rolfe ; you are sure to be home for Christmas." " Christmas ! that is eight months off. You don't mean to keep me Avaiting for eight months for an answer ?" Olive could not forbear a little smile, " Listen, Rolfe, and don't interrupt so often.

Eight months is not a very long time really. Your mind Avill be full of other things. You will be too busy to Avrite love-letters or to think much of me. No ; do let me speak. I want you to understand. I think it would be better for both of us to wait. I will think about what you have said. I know you haA-e done me the greatest honour a man can do a woman. I want to be sure that I am worthy of it, that I can give you an adequate return for what you offer me before I ansAver you. I do love you, Rolfe — indeed I do ; but I am not sure that I love you in the right way. I think when you are gone for a longer time than before that I shall be able to find this out. And you may OLIVE. 19 perhaps — Avell, I Avon't say that if it will vex you. But at least let us wait. I am sure it Avill be better."

" And then some other felloAV will come and snap you up." Olive's clear laugh rang out at that ; and Rolfe stopped half aggrieved, but not without a lurking de sire to join in her laugh. " 0 you silly boy ! What other felloAV, as you call it, ever does or is likely to come to Polworth ?" " The unlikely is ahvays what happens," muttered Rolfe, trying to assume a tragic air. Olive shook her head at him smilingly. " You know you don't believe that yourself. " Perhaps I don't," he answered candidly ; and then, after a moment's reflection, he added, " Olive, Avill you promise me one thing, if I consent to wait for my answer till Christmas ? Will you promise not to let any other fellow make love to you till this matter be tAveen you and me is decided ? " He spoke with real earnestness, and Avith a frank straightforwardness that approved itself heartily to Olive.

She put out her hand and laid it in his. " I promise you that, Rolfe, AA'ith all my heart." He held her hand closely in his. " There is a chance for me then, Olive ? You do care for me a little even now ? " " I care for you very much indeed, Rolfe ; I think, after your parents, nobody can care for you more. I think I shall miss you more than you will miss me, and look forward more eagerly to your return. Won't that OLIVE. 20 do for the present ? Can't you be content with that ? I am sure it is best for both of us to leave things as they are for the present." " I can't say I am content," he answered, smiling ; " but at least I submit. You will write to me sometimes, Olive, as you always have done ? If nothing is to be changed between us, you need not stop your letters, need you ? " So Olive promised to write as before from time to time ; and they parted on the shore with the usual brotherly and sisterly kiss — Olive not liking to withhold it at that fareAvell moment, although dimly aware that there was that now between them which made the re sumption of the old easy familiarity not quite possible.

Nothing to be changed — things to be left as they were ! It is so easy to say those words and to lay down the law, but how impossible is it always to abide by the injunction ! As Olive walked up the deep lane towards the rec tory, she was keenly aware that during the past hour something had come into her life that Avould thenceforth be a new and perhaps a perplexing element in it. She had gained something ; for is not love always a gain ? O O ' %i o But she had lost something too. Some of the responsi bilities of Avomanhood had suddenly been thrust upon her, and it seemed as though the door had finally closed upon her fast-vanishing childhood. She could not tell Avhether she were most glad or most sorry at what had passed betAveen herself and Rolfe that afternoon. Her feelings were too much mixed aud too tumultuous for OLIVE 21 analysis.

There could not but be a throb of pride and happiness and joy in feeling herself thus beloved by one so dear to her; and yet she was not certain that her heart Avas truly touched. She had that vein of romance in her nature which throbbed beneath the Avonderful sensations she read and dreamed of. Certainly Rolfe's words had not roused that slumbering emotion of which she sometimes felt herself capable. But then, was that after all only a figment of her own imagination ? She could not tell. She did not knoAv what to belieA-e. She did not much Avish now ever to feel that magic thrill ; for she realized that in spite of the words " Nothing is changed," she had consented to that Avhich would make her rejection of Rolfe at some future time a very difficult matter. Rapidly there passed before her mind's eye a vision of the next feAv months : Rolfe gone, but perhaps having breathed a hint to his parents Avhich would seem to give them a sort of claim upon her time and affection — a claim Avhich Olive kneAA' well would be Avillingly and ungrudgingly given ; for she loved the squire and his frail, semi-invalid wife second only to the uncle and aunt Avith whom her orphaned life had been passed.

The months would fly by apace in quiet, happy monotony, as they had always done hitherto. Rolfe would come back at Christmas, to be the life and soul of the place. And then — unless he himself had changed, and Olive did not think that likely — he would claim her ansAver ; and AA'hat could that answer be other than a yielding of herself in accordance Avith the desires of all about her. and Avith OLIVE. 22 the feeling that she was fulfilling the destiny mapped out for her by circumstance ? She saAv it all, and she did not shrink from contem plating the picture; for she loved Rolfe sincerely, al though she had never realized till to-day that his love for her was of a different calibre from her own towards him. To pain him would cause her keen pain ; to reject him she felt would be well-nigh impossible.

She loved him — of that she was quite sure. Why then that feeling of doubt and perplexity in looking forward to the future ? Olive shook her head half impatiently, as though to dismiss the haunting misgiving. " It will all come right in the end," she said, with the fearless optimism of youth ; " I won't think any more about it noAv. I shall get used to the thought in time. And nothing more will happen till Christmas." She had by this time ascended the slope from the shore to the little green plateau shaded by grand old trees, Avhere stood the grey square-toAvered church and the long, Ioav, quaint rectory house with its old-fashioned garden, velvet laAvns, its sun-dial and pigeon-house. The village lay behind, in a dip of the undulating green doAvnland, just hidden from view, but quite near, nest ling, as it were, beneath the shadoAv of the old church.

Olive seldom approached her home without feeling for it a conscious thrill of loA-ing admiration. She had been so Avonderfully and peacefully happy here all her life, fully content with the daily round of studies, duties, and pleasures. Her uncle had made her his companion latterly for two hours daily in his study, Avhere he had OLIVE. 23 taught her Latin and Greek, and opened out to her mines of wonderful and fascinating lore. She had had good governesses and masters during her girlhood, and was well educated Avithout being " crammed " — a thing O O of which Dr. Marshall, her uncle, stood in wholesome aAve and detestation. None of the neAv-fangled desires after revolt and " liberty " had assailed OliA'e's mind. She had probably never heard of a wanderja.hr ; certainly she had never craved after any such thing her self.

She had been twice abroad with her uncle and aunt, and had visited many localities of interest in her OAvn country, but she always ended by saying and thinking that home was best ; and in her labours of love for the poor and sick about her, every person amongst Avhom was like a friend, she found full sufficiency of interest, and as much love as her heart could desire. The rectory door stood always open save in very cold Aveather, and in the square panelled hall were great bowls of primroses and Lent lilies, which it was Olive's pleasure to gather and place there. The house seemed deserted as she passed through the hall on her way to her room. Her uncle was absent from home. Her aunt was probably in the parish. No children had the rector and his wife, but Olive had been to them as their own.

She passed lightly up the shalloAV-stepped oak staircase, humming a little tune to herself, and passing down a long corridor, opened a door at the end Avhich led into a large square westerly room Avhich was her own peculiar sanctum. It was a bright, home-like room, lighted by a long OLIVE. 24 mullioned casement, and by a modern French window to the south, Avhich led out upon a httle balcony. It Avas full of traces of girlish occupation — books, music, flowers, needleAvork rather jumbled up together, with a superficial air of comfortable disorder which escaped real untidiness. But to-day Olive stood startled and spell bound in the doorway, not attempting to advance into the room, for it seemed to her as though some strange metamorphosis had taken place there since she left it two hours ago.

A great trunk stood near to the door O O of communication leading to the little bedroom beyond. This trunk Avas open, and she saw within it, packed as if by skilled hands, a number of sombre garments, eA-i dently designed for some person in deep mourning ; whilst upon the bed in the smaller room, which she could see through the open door as she stood, lay a black crape-trimmed dress of soft silk, relieved by a tiny ruching of Avhite at the throat and wrists, but otherwise all black, with that sombre crispness of aspect which new mourning always carries with it. Olive adA'anced into the room in great perplexity. What did it all mean ? She knew that her uncle, Dr. Marshall, had recently lost a sister, Mrs. 'Roscoe, whom Olive had never seen, although she was wearing her slight mourning for the unknoAATi relative.

Her uncle had gone avray for the funeral, and now had gone north a second time, she did not knoAv why. She had fancied her aunt preoccupied during these last days. Certainly she had been absent and preoccupied, and Avonderfully gentle in her manner towards Olive. Suddenly the girl OLIVE. 25 put up her hand to her head, as if struck by a sense of doubt and bewilderment. Her name was Roscoe too. She had ahvays known that Dr. Marshall's tAvo sisters had married Roscoes, brothers, and had believed herself the child of the one who had died years ago ; but had anybody ever told her so ? Had she ever, indeed, been told anything about her parents ? She had talked of them herself sometimes, not often ; for she was so little conscious of the lack of pa rental love and guidance that she had never felt herself orphaned, and had been content to behaA'e and to feel herself as the true daughter of the house.