Guide, Philosopher, and Friend

Front matter

A -YD FRIEND. Frontispiece. 1 Phillis turned and held her hand out to her.'— See page 32. i AND FRIEND. BY MRS. HERBERT MARTIN, AUTHOR OF 'BONNIE LESLEY,' 'FOR A DREAM'S SAKE,* etc. etc. GRIFFITH AND FARRAN, SUCCESSORS TO NEYVBERY AND HARRIS. WEST CORNER OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, LONDON. E. P. DUTTON AND CO., NEW YORK. The Rights of Translation an.i of Reproduction are Reserz'ed. .CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. AT ST. CLEMENTS, 7 II. HOW THINGS CAME ABOUT _\ HI. PHILLIS' 'DAY OUT,' 36 IV. PHILLIS LOSES HER SITUATION, .... 46 V. A PROPOSAL 59 VI. PHILLIS ACCEPTS, . . . . . . . 73 VII. A NEW AS. ECT, ?>\ VIII. FROM ARCADIA TO HAUVLON 93 IX. MRS. MOLYNEUX AND SON 102 X. MR. EDGAR MOLYNEUX OF THE INNER TEMPLE, . I 16 XI. FAIRLY LAUNCHED, 130 3' XII. THE BROWNING HOUSEHOLD I46 XIII. AN EAST-END CURATF, 162 XIV.

THEATRICALS AT THE MOl.YNEUXEs', . . 1 72 XV. A PEOPLE'S CONCERT, I*>5 XVI. PUT TO THE TOUCH, 193 XVII. GIRLS' SECRETS, aOI XVIII. LOVERS AND FRIENDS, 2l6 COX TEXTS. 6 rAe;E CHAPTER xix. prospects, .....••• 227 XX. SURPRISES, PLEASANT AND OTHERWISE, . . . 236 XXI. THE OLD LOVER AND THE NEW FRIENDS, . . 249 XXII. VERY NEARLY ! 2"1 XXIII. THINKING BETTER OF IT, ..... 273 XXIV. LOUISA BECOMES A MOLYNEUX, .... 2S2 XXV. CHANCE AND CHANGE, ...... 292 xxvi. 'one and one, with a shadowy third,'. . 300 XXVII. MR. OGILVIE 'REMEMBERS' PHILLIS, . . . 3H XXVIII. MR. HARRISON LAYS DOWN THE LAW, . . . 319 XXIX. PERVERSE SCRUPLES, 33-i XXX. DONE AND DONE 34^ XXXI. ANXIETIES, ........ 355 XXXII. AT FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING, . . . 364 XXXIII. CONCLUSION, 37S J ■0

Chapter I. At St

CLEMENTS. HHl &M T was the tourist, otherwise called the silly, « 111 season some years ago. St. Clements, jail 8B| being a fashionable seaside resort, boasting not only fine coast scenery, but also a ' monster' hotel, was crowded. It was the hour of table d'hote, and the guests in the afore-mentioned hotel were assembling, or had assembled, in the long dining-room. Here were many types of the tourist kind — not all, for the Imperial was exclusive. ' Cook's ' were not admissible, and the society was fairly good. Here were couples in the first glamour of the honeymoon, profoundly unconscious of any existence outside their rose-tinted sphere, full of deeply interesting confidences, looking into each other's eyes between the prosaic intervals of the menu. To each other they were Alpha and Omega, to the general public more or less objects of disgust.

Here were families, lively, noisy ; monied and rampant ; quiet and haughty ; pretty girls, grey suited youths, elderly ladies. With most of the diners we have little interest. There is only one group at the long table with whom I hope to make you intimately acquainted. It was a party of four, at present silently engaged in eating. They were indeed usually a silent group, and when they spoke it was in subdued tones. A great family likeness between the four — father, mother, son, and daughter — marked them with its mysterious touch ; even the father and mother had grown alike, it seemed, in their pilgrimage together. Both had an expression of a certain mild resignation and watchfulness, — an expression which it seems to me peculiarly marks the English rustic, alike the farmer and the agri cultural labourer.

The old man — for he looked old : a stranger would have guessed him seventy ; he was in reality but sixty — was of a universal mahogany tint, with scanty grey hairs that had a way of appearing blown about by an invisible wind ; a large hooked nose ; a long, thin-lipped mouth ; cheeks. and forehead much wrinkled ; a look of simple, innocent good faith almost childlike and really pathetic. His spare, tall, loosely hung figure was clad in ill-fitting cloth ; his neck seemed uneasy in its high white collar ; his brown, horny hands grasped the knife and fork as if they were implementsof great weight. When he spoke, which was very seldom, his voice was remarkably small, high, and with a curious flavour ofa remote dialect. His wife resembled him in the expression of half-wondering innocence, but she was in every way less subdued.

She talked more and more loudly. Whereas he was thin, she was decidedly embonpoint, had once been handsome before years and weather had coarsened and altered features and skin ; and yet she was not coarse - looking, nor vulgar, although her stiff, handsome silk was of a strange hue and fearfully and wonderfully made. The daughter was short and plump and fair, pleasing-looking, but not exactly pretty ; her blue eyes had an appealing expression, her colour went and came. .She looked about her half timidly, half curiously, as if constantly interested in her surroundings. Her features were not well finished off, and her chin ran into a somewhat thick and short throat ; but her colouring was attractive, her hair being a bright reddish yellow, her eyes widely opened, a very bright light blue, with long light eyelashes, and her cheeks pure rose colour.

The young man was of an almost gigantic build, io GUIDE, PHILOSOPHER, AND FRIEND. towering six feet two or three, with shoulders of Herculean breadth and massiveness. He was natu rally fair like his mother and sister, but burnt to a clear brown ; yellow-haired, with his father's nose, and eyes unlike the rest of the family, heavy-lidded, dark grey, — more difficult eyes to read. His smile had some humour in it ; his voice was deep, low pitched, and sometimes difficult to hear distinctly. There had been a considerable silence, which was broken by the mother saying in a half whisper : ' There, Loo ; there is the titled lady just come in with the nice-looking girl ! How late they are ! Those must be the two seats kept for them, beside the fat little clerical gentleman — Rev. Anstruther, isn't he, Richard ? ' ' Have you found out their names, George?' the girl addressed as Loo asked her brother, with an extraordinary earnestness. 'Yes,' her brother answered in his deep under tone; 'the old lady is called Lady Derriton — the widow of an Irish peer ; the young one is her com panion, Miss Carr.' ' Lady Derriton ! ' the mother repeated slowly, almost with awe. 'Ah, she looks aristocratic ' — ' And sour-tempered,' the old man put in, with his infrequent dry smile, which drew the long mouth a little to one side. ' The young miss must have a pretty stormy time of it with her, I reckon.' Tlie objects of their remarks had taken the seats opposite, ' beside the fat little clerical gentleman,' who greeted them with many bland smiles and bows.

Lady Derriton, being particularly cross, and at the best of times by no means a sweet-tempered old lady, responded curtly, but condescended to enter into conversation as soon as she had taken her soup and grumbled enough at it and at the menu. This widow of a scampish Irish viscount was a sharp faced, wrinkled old woman with an air of distinction in spite of a toilette both shabby and untidy. A black lace shawl covered her head instead of a matronly cap ; her small, thin, bent figure seemed to be bundled up rather than dressed in rusty black silk ; her tiny, lean, wrinkled hands were covered with heavy rings which seemed always about to drop off, but never passed the prominent knuckles. She had a high, thin, aristocratic voice, and a little unmiith ful laugh like 'the crackling of thorns under a pot' Once she had been a beauty and a coquette, highly educated and a bit of a blue-stocking ; the beauty and the coquetry had sunk into ashes long years ago, the literary tastes and the tinge of blue survived to redeem her from mere insignificant, sharp-tempered decay.

Her companion, Phillis Carr, had somewhat a clouded look to-day on her changeable face. She was a girl who often attracted admiring looks, though no one ever decidedly pronounced her at first to be very pretty. Her figure was so slender, it made her appear a little woman ; but she was not short Her throat was small and fine, her wrists and waist were in exact proportion — her whole physique, like her face, singularly refined, of the delicate and sensitive order of creation, but by no means weakly or sentimentally so ; on thc contrary, a courageous spirit lighted her brown, or rather hazel eyes, which looked upon the world with a mixture of amusement and thoughtfulness. Her fine brown eyebrows were peculiarly shaped, which gave her face, somehow, a wistful look not carried out by any other feature except her mouth when she was neither smiling nor talking, when it drooped slightly and was half plaintive.

At such moments Phillis had the air of one who was suffering a little, silently ; then when the amused smile returned, the whole countenance was piquant and merry. Her nose and chin might be nutcracker at some future day. She had a most decided, self willed, cleft little chin. The brown hair was not curled or touzled over the broad, low sorehead. It was rolled back and worn high, so that the shape of the head and throat was clearly seen. Something gave her a foreign look. She would have made a capital Charlotte Corday in the French dress of the period. The old people opposite (they boasted the unpre tending name of Browning, by the way) gazed at the elderly lady; the young ones looked at the girl. 'What a pretty dress!' Louisa murmured. 'I wonder who made it. I should like one like it.' ' It would not suit you,' George returned briefly.

Meanwhile Lady Derriton and Mr. Anstruther talked away on the other side of the table. A glass of wine and a good deal of polite flattery had chased away the crossness of the old lady. She was now chatting and laughing loud. She did not seem to care who heard her — she was the great lady at table. Most of those present were canaille ; what did it matter? Mr. Anstruther did not quite like it, there were so many glances cast their way. He talked softly himself, in a purring tone ; but his companion would not lower her high-bred voice, and Miss Carr coloured a good deal, looked down, and played rather impatiently with her bread. ' It is fearfully hot and stuff)',' Lady Derriton said, suddenly breaking off in an animated speech on the iniquities of Gladstone. ' Reach me that ice, Phillis.' The ice stood in front of the Browning family ; in fact, it was their own.

Mr. Anstruther hastened to anticipate Miss Carr, and laid hold of the pail containing the clinking morsels. The old gentleman opposite looked calmly at thc retreating ice and at him. 'You're kindly welcome,' he said in his slow, peculiar voice, ' but it's mine.' Mr. Anstruther let it go with a somewhat dis mayed, 'I beg your pardon.' ' What does he say ? ' Lady Derriton asked, regarding Mr. Browning through her eyeglass. 'It is that gentleman's ice, Lady Derriton,' her companion said hastily, and as she spoke an uncom fortable blush rose in her face. ' You're kindly welcome,' Mr. Browning repeated still more deliberately than before, 'if you'll pass it over again.' ' Father,' Louisa murmured in a low, uncomfortable voice, 'you should not have said it was ours! ' 'Why not, my dear?' he asked. 'I paid for it, anil if it begins the round, it will not come back here, I'm thinking.' Mr. Anstruther, feeling rather uncomfortable, pripped a lump into Lady Derriton's claret, and returned the ice with a bow. ' Who are those queer-looking folks ?

You know everybody, Mr. Anstruther,' Lady Derriton said after her survey. She lowered her voice just the slightest degree in the world, but it was by no means inaudible to those across the table. Mr. Anstruther answered in a whisper: 'There is quite a queer story about them. They have just come in fora considerable property upon the termination of a Chancery suit, as nearest of kin to an eccentric old miser. And before that they were, I believe, quite humble people — the old man a farmer in a very small way, not much more than a peasant proprietor. Ten thousand a year, they say, but put it at less than that.' ' Poor wretches ! And they will never be easy now, always struggling to be on an equality with gentlefolks and never attaining it. Some will toady them, of course ; but they will always be outsiders in really good society.' These words reached at least two of the party under discussion with cruel distinctness.

Phillis, raising her eyes with a thrill of acute vexation, saw that a deep crimson had flooded the innocent face of the girl opposite ; and she met the heavy-lidded grey eyes of the brother with a very decided expression of intelligence. He did not, however, look either ashamed or mortified. ' Oh dear ! ' thought Phillis ; ' the ordeal of these table d'hote dinners ! When will it be over ? Would anything teach Lady Derriton a decent regard for other people's feelings, I wonder ? ' The dinner over at last, Lady Derriton was the first to push back her chair and rise. She gave her neighbour a far more gracious bow than that with which she had greeted him, and drawing her drapery of black lace round her bent shoulders, she walked towards the door, followed by Phillis with her cushion. Once in their own sitting-room she estab lished herself on her sofa. ' Bring me the book I was reading — E/ia,' she said in her imperious tone ; ' put the glass of water beside me, cover up my feet, and then you can go out if you like.' Phillis was waiting and longing for this permission, the delicious liberty of her day.

She was that uncomfortable thing, Lady Derriton's poor relation. The relationship was kept somewhat dark, the poverty very evident. Lady Derriton considered that she was doing a great deal for that 'poor creature, Philip Carr's' daughter, in giving her board and lodging and twenty pounds a year. Phillis had no near relations. When her father died, she had lived with her cousins the Baileys in the country, occasionally visiting another cousin, Mrs. Molyneux, in London, till some one reminded Lady Derriton of her existence, and suggested that she might take the place of her departed companion. Lady Derriton sent for the girl to look at her, and was favourably impressed by her being ladylike and having read Charles Lamb, Miss Edgeworth, and Miss Austen. The Baileys were not rich, and every one advised Phillis not to lose ' this chance,' as it was called.

She had come to live with the sharp-tempered, stingy, clever, selfish old lady, and had, at the time of which I speak, been a year in her employment. Not an easy or delightful service by any means. Phillis herself 'had a temper,' a warm and sensitive one, plenty of pride ; a nature responsive to affection, and easily hardened by lack of it ; a very woman in many weaknesses, but with a certain fund of courage and spirit which helped her, in spite of these weaknesses, from sinking into helpless non-resistance to circumstances. She did not love Lady Derriton, — nobody did, — but she did not positively dislike her in general. There were times when the old blue-stocking was both interesting and amusing company. In a good humour, she was almost agreeable in spite of her invariable touch of sarcasm ; in a bad one, she was particularly the reverse.

To-day Lady Derriton had been peculiarly trying She had spent great part of it in grumbling ; the rest in railing against modern girls, their affectations, fastness, extravagance, ignorance, frivolity. Some how she made it all sound personal, though Phillis was neither fast, affected, nor extravagant. It was a deep relief to be outside thc hotel, and to breathe in sweet, fresh, salt air, silent from the sound of that discontented voice. Phillis hastened to her favourite place on the shore, the cove nearest to the hotel, where the bold rocks stood out to breast the B waves ; and in all the hollows of them there were crystal -clear pools of water, now reflecting the crimson glow of the sky which was lit up with the sinking glory of the sun. Phillis climbed her usual rock ; the top of it made a'sort of arm-chair, in which it was a luxury to rest and watch the sunset which was a usual evening exhibition to the visitors at St. Clements.

The great dark cliffs above shut off the land, the shining sea seemed settling down into rest, the sky overhead was covered with rosy fleeces, nearer the horizon there were spaces of clear green, then deep crimson, then a field of gold in which the sun was setting. Phillis was hardly thinking at all, she was only lazily enjoying herself. She heard voices approaching, but did not listen to them till very deep manly tones suddenly came up to her in distinct words. ' It is no good at all your bothering'yourself about it all so much, Louie. We can't be like people born to it, you know — why should we trouble to try ? ' ' But it does bother me,' a plaintive voice returned in almost tearful utterance. ' Of course men don't care. You don't feel little things as I do ! I know my dress isn't right, nor my ways.

I have to watch and see how other folks do, and even then somehow I can't get right. I heard what that old lady— what's her name? — said at dinner, and I noticed how different that nice pretty girl, her companion, looks to what I do.' Probably poor Louisa Browning might have lengthened out her complaints much further, had Phillis been willing to sit still and hear ; but she was not of the stuff of listeners and peepers. She got up hastily, intending to descend by the back of the rock — rather a steep one — and make her way to a more private retreat ; but her foot slipped, and instead of climbing down at the back, she slid over the smooth stones which sloped towards the sea and landed gracefully with both her feet in a pool of sea water, which she sent flying over the two dismayed people below, completely destroying the gloss of Miss Browning's evening dress.

It was comic enough, but not one of the three saw the comic in it at first. Phillis stood in the pool, blushing up to her eyes ; Louisa stared at her blankly, while shaking the drops from her skirts. George gazed at her too, with an amazed expression, as if she had dropped out of the sky, whose glow seemed reflected upon her face. ' Oh, I beg your pardon,' Miss Carr cried at last, recovering herself enough to perceive the mischief she had done not only to her own pretty red stock ings, but to the other's dress, and stepping on to dry land. 'I was sitting on the rock and slipped. I am so very sorry to have spoilt your diess.' GUIDE, PHILOSOPHER, AND FRIEXD. 20 ' Oh, pray don't mention it,' Louisa returned with genuine earnestness. ' It is worse for you : your feet are soaked ; you had better make haste in and get dry.' ' Oh, no ! ' Phillis said, smiling ; 'sea water never gives cold, you know, and I could not bear to lose the sunset.

Please let me wipe your dress — that is more important.' Louisa, however, seemed to care nothing at all about her dress ; she was only bent on another object, that of making acquaintance with the young lady who had so abruptly introduced herself. ' If you are really not going in yet,' she said half timidly, but with direct simplicity, 'do you mind taking a turn with us? You are the young lady who is staying with Lady Derriton, I know. Our name is Browning.' ' I live with Lady Derriton,' Phillis answered, quite ready to smile and be friendly, which was natural to her ; ' and I have noticed you often. Perhaps I had better not sit with wet feet ; so I shall be very glad to walk about. I can never bear missing my evening treat.' 'What is that?' Louisa asked, gazing stedfastly at Phillis with so frank an admiration that it could not possibly be rude ; ' seeing the sunset ? ' 'Yes.

It seems to me one never sees it properly inland. Is not the sky splendid to-night ? ' ' Yes, very,' Louisa answered, with a brief glance round, which did not, however, seem to find so much interest in nature as in human nature. George glanced at Phillis, and then followed her eyes over the sea and sky. He looked thoughtful : something seemed to awaken in him a new perception. Louisa only looked uneducated to what was just now filling Phillis' soul with delight. ' St. Clements is a pretty place,' George said slowly, speaking for the first time. His voice almost startled Phillis, and made her look at him. It was a curious voice, very deep, as I said, almost like the note of a bass bell ; it had a very melancholy sound : the heavy-lidded grey eyes had a mournful look in them too ; but this tone and this expression very often are purely physical phenomena, and do not mean that there is any pathos in the life of the soul.

Except for this, George Browning seemed only a good-tempered, far from handsome, young giant, towering above the slight figure beside him, who walked between the brother and sister. ' Yes, beautiful,' Phillis answered, rather absently. ' I suppose I ought to say " beautiful," ' he rejoined, smiling. ' " Pretty " is a paltry word for rocks and cliffs, isn't it ? ' ' Oh, I did not mean to correct you,' she answered, rather confused, but a little bit tickled by his AXD FRIEND. 22 remark. ' There, the sun is gone ! I am afraid I ought to go in.' ' But you will let us know you — if Lady Derriton does not mind,' Louisa urged eagerly. 'You will speak if we meet in the morning without her ? We know no one here, and it is so dull!' ' Louie,' her brother remonstrated, and with a heightened colour, ' you are going a little too fast !

Lady Derriton is not likely to want to know us.' ' Lady Derriton cannot prevent my speaking to whom I like,' Phillis said hastily, anxious not to hurt the girl, whose simple, open face had won upon her ; ' I shall be very glad.' 'Thank you,' Louisa cried emphatically; 'I do feel so shut out and lonely sometimes, when every one is chatting. And I'll tell you all about who we are when you have more time. I suppose you really must go now ? ' ' I am afraid I must,' Phillis said with a cordial smile. ' Good night. By the bye,' she added, ' my name is Carr. Now we know a little about each other.' 'We'll walk with you up to the hotel steps, Louisa said, reluctant to lose her new acquaintance ; ' father and mother are sitting out on the terrace. Mother can't walk far, the rocks hurt her feet so.' After they had parted, Phillis meditated with much amusement over her rencontre.

Louisa Browning was so naive, so very unlike any girl she knew, and yet at the same time so utterly natural, that it was a pleasant sensation to come across her. The next time Phillis encountered Mr. Anstruther, who knew all about every one, she asked him more of these Brownings. ' They are good sort of people, aren't they ? There is nothing against them ? ' ' Nothing in the world, except that they are very humbly born. The old gentleman was, as I told Lady Derriton, a mere yeoman ; a man who pro bably followed the plough himself, while his wife made the cheese and the butter. I believe the son had some education when there was an inkling of this property coming to them. But they are simple, uneducated rustics, all of them, I expect.' ' I rather like their looks. I have had a little talk with the girl.' 'And what does her ladyship say to that?' the clergyman asked with his sly little snigger. ' Oh, she does not know,' Phillis returned with a careless toss to her head ; ' I am not accountable for all my doings, Mr. Anstruther.' •*8S^S>£«a

Chapter II. How Things Came About

HILLIS had not told Lady Derriton of her peculiar introduction to the Brownings, but she was not in the least sly, and she made no secret of greeting Louisa next morning with a smile and nod, which produced a beaming return. . . ' Why on earth do you bow to these people, Phillis ? ' the old lady asked sharply. ' I had a little talk last evening with Miss Brown ing. She is a nice, unassuming girl, Lady Derriton.' ' Well, don't bring me into it ! They are just mushrooms, brought into social existence by a stroke of fortune — mere vulgar yokels, Phillis. I am goin" to lunch at Cary Court to-day ; I shall not take you. Mrs. Blunt will look after you.' HOW THINGS CAME ABOUT. 25 Phillis' spirits rose perceptibly. She had been afraid of being taken on this stately visit to Cary Court, a ten miles' drive inland ; to have to sit by silent while Lady Derriton and her old friends talked about things and people utterly strange to Phillis, gossip about the past, old repartees dished up, old gaieties recalled.

And instead of this she was to have an ' off day,' as slang would have it, and be free to go and come as she chose ; for Mrs. Blunt's chaperonage was quite nominal. She did not show her relief and pleasure, but her spirits rose fast. Phillis' barometer was always up and down. She saw Lady Derriton into the hired, old-fashioned carriage and pair which she affected on such solemn excursions ; her maid, a thin, genteel, and depressed person of nervous habits, accompanied her with the air of a victim. Phillis turned and ran up the hotel steps with light, gay feet. She met her new friend, Louisa Browning, in the hall, elaborately buttoning a pair of gants de Suede which extended some way up her plump arms. 'Good morning,' Phillis said brightly; 'another lovely day ! I have got a holiday, and mean to make the most of it.

Lady Derriton has driven out, and will be away till evening.' ' Oh, I wonder if you would come with us,' Louisa said with flattering eagerness. 'Might you? We are all going to drive to Wearmouth caves and picnic in the cove, — it is spring tides, and the caves will all be to be seen. It would be so nice. You know, it is rather dull, just one's family always ! ' 'I don't know, as I have no family,' Phillis answered. ' You are very kind. I should like to come ; but Lady Derriton left me in charge of Mrs. Blunt' ' Could not you manage ? ' Phillis thought a moment. ' I will go and speak to Mrs. Blunt. Where shall I find you ? ' ' Oh, come into our parlour — sitting-room; it is No. 4. Do try and manage it, Miss Carr ! ' It was agreeable to one who was generally snubbed to be thus desired, and Miss Carr was peculiarly open to such flattery.

She liked to be admired, as most sensitive girls do, and it was an unusual luxury. Mrs. Blunt did not see any harm in her going ; the Brownings were perfectly ' respectable ' people, she said, and one day's excursion would not matter : it led to nothing. So Phillis put on her most becoming gipsy hat and went to No. 4. Her knock was answered by a call ' Coom in,' the rustic sound of which betrayed the elder Mr. Browning, who did not even attempt to hide the accent of his county, which was part of his very self. Before Phillis could open the door, however, it was HOW THINGS CAME ABOUT. 27 done for her, and she almost came into collision with the huge figure of ' son George,' as his father was apt to call him. Blushing a little, but with the pretty self-possession which natural girls acquire in good society, Phillis made her greetings to Mr. and Mrs. Browning and the younger man.

Preparations for the day's excursion were very visible : the table was covered with baskets suggestive of sandwiches, tarts, soda water and sherry ; a vulgar black bottle or two of Bass boldly proclaimed themselves ; here was a camp-stool, there a comfortable red shawl. Phillis was received with cordial simplicity. ' Coom, now, this is good of you,' the old man said. ' You'll make quite a party of it. We've got a bit tired of each other, just us four every mortal day. Loo is as pleased as Punch to make a friend. Where is Loo, Missis ? ' ' Gone to fetch a parasol, father. George, go and see if the chaise is come. Have you been to Wearmouth Caves, Miss — Miss' — ' My name is Carr,' Phillis answered. ' No, I have not ; I have been nowhere except along the inland roads. Lady Derriton can't walk, and all the pretty excursions about here mean a scramble.' ' That's just what frightens me,' Mrs. Browning said with rather a dismayed face. ' I can walk well enough on level ground, but these rocks do try me dreadful — dreadfully.