A Future on Trust. A novel

Front matter

OJN" TRUST flrfo CEfirap Elnisorm Edition of iTio&cIs BY " R I TA." Price 2s., Picture Boards ; 2s. 6d, Cloth Gilt ; 3s. 6d., Half Morocco. (Postage 4d. each.) DAME DURDEN. MY LADY COQUETTE. VIVIENNE. LIKE DIAN'S KISS. COUNTESS DAPHNE. FRAGOLETTA. A SINLESS SECRET. FAUSTINE. AFTER LONG GRIEF AND PAIN. TWO BAD BLUE EYES. London : J. & R. MAXWELL, Milton House, 14 & 15 Shoe Lane, Fleet St., AND 35 St. Bride St., Ludgate Circus, E.C. And at all Railway Bookstalls, Booksellers, etc. ON TRUST A NOVEL in LIN A N^YILL, AUTHOR OF "A IIOMANT QUEEN," ETC. ETC. LONDON: JOHN and ROBERT MAXWELL, MILTON HOUSE, SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET, ISO 35 ST. BRIDE STREET, E.C. [All rights reserved,] $efa (Jfjeap SSmform Œuition OF E. S. DREWRY'S NOVELS Price 2s., Picture Boards; 2s. 6d., Cloth Gilt 3s. 6d., Half Morocco.

(Postage 4d. each.) ONLY AN ACTRESS. ON DANGEROUS GROUND. BAPTISED WITH A CURSE. A DEATH-RING. VERE DELMAR. THE CLOUDS BETWEEN THEM. LOVE'S LABOUR GAINED. London : J. & R. MAXWELL, Milton House, 14 & 15 Shoe Lane, Fleet St. AND 35 St. Bride St., Ludgate Circus, E.C. Ani at all Railway Bookstalls, Booksellers, etc. CONTENTS. CHAP. PACK I. THE FUTURE UNFOLDS ..... I II. TOO BRIGHT TO LAST . . . . . .II III. ON THE SHORES OF SUNNY FRANCE . . .26 IV. IN CIRCE'S TOILS ...... 44 V. at honour's call . . . . . -53 VI. THE WOOING O'T -67 VII. " MEN WERE DECEIVERS EVER " . . . -85 VIII. THREE FRIENDS . . . . . .102 IX. FAR WEST . . . . . . .12 1 X. THE OLD NEST . . . . . . 1 37 XI. THE ANGEL OF DEATH PAYS A VISIT . . . l6l XII. THE SKEIN OF THE FUTURE TANGLES . . 171 XIII. HOMEWARD BOUND . . . . . -194 XIV.

HAROLD GOES ON BUSINESS . . . . .212 XV. THE CHAINS GROW HEAVIER . . . -2 23 XVI. A LIGHT STEP AND A SAD HEART . . .231 XVII. THE TIME GROWS SHORT ...... 242 XVIII. A STOLEN PARADISE . . . . .258 XIX. WHICH WILL IT BE ? ...... 273 XX. SEEN IN THE FUTURE . . ... .288 #e&j ÆJj.ap JHntfotm lEtution OF MRS. JOHN KENT SPENDER'S NOVELS. Price 2s., Picture Boards ; 2s. 6d., Cloth Gilt ; 3s. 6d., Half Morocco. (Postage 4d. each.) MR. NOBODY. BOTH IN THE WRONG. HER OWN FAULT. JOCELYN'S MISTAKE. TILL DEATH US DO PART. MARK EYLMER'S REVENGE. PARTED LIVES. GABRIELLE DE BOURDAIN. BROTHERS IN LAW. London: J. & R. MAXWELL, Milton House, 14 & 15 Shoe Lane, Fleet St., AND 35 St. Bride St., Ludgate Circus, E.C. And at all Railway Bookstalls, Booksellers, etc. AND ON TRUST

Chapter I. The Future Unfolds

" Tell me my fate!" he cried, seizing her hand; " Thy fate ?" she answered, " tell me rather mine !' Austin. It was the 20th of March, one of those sweet mild days that cheat one. into believing that spring is again going to be all that poets sing of her — a fair consistent maiden, with a genial smile, if cool nature ; not the modern coquette, with her honeyed sweetness of one day and chilling frown of the next. The early dinner at the rectory was just over, the children dispersed to nursery and schoolroom, and the parson was meditating upon his sermon for the morrow — always a hard task to the worthy man, for his ideas were scant, and twenty years of mental vegetation in a remote country parish had not tended to increase them. However, he made a point of meditating every day after dinner, for, unlike most other mortals, an early meal seemed to stimulate rather than dull u Trust. 2 his powers of thought.

As he mused, he paced up and down the gravel-path in front of the house, now and again, like the good gardener he was, giving an anxious glance at the tender green shoots and baby buds that were putting themselves so bravely to the fore, ignorant of the cold welcome that might so soon check and nip their thriving growth. " Dear, dear ! " sighed the poor man. " There's that rose ! If it goes on at this rate it is safe to be done for when the cold winds come. Why can't things keep within bounds ? However, it seems the same in everything. Here am I, with thirteen children, the last only a week old, and no possible or probable chance of preferment before my death. My buds have many a cold storm to weather, Fll be bound. Well, Agatha, what now ? Does your mother want me ? " " No," replied Mr. Forsters eldest daughter ; " I only came to say that, as she seems so quiet and comfortable, I will go down to the village for an hour, and see a few people, and perhaps take the school on my way.

I have neglected my work terribly of late." " Not your first, your home duty, my dear," replied her father, with pardonable pride, the load of care lifting for a moment from his worn face as he looked at this, the eldest, and flower of his large flock. He gazed after her, too, for some time after she had left him, and was far on her way down the steep hill leading from the rectory to the village of Melbury. Her slight, supple figure, in its plain home made clothes, was perfection in his sight ; her fair sweet face, with its soft bloom and grey eyes, framed in a mass of chestnut hair, to his partial mind was equal to that of any of England's vaunted beauties. She was the image of her mother when he wooed and won her ; and there could be no surer claim than that for the younger Agatha Forster to set herself up as a beauty, at all events in Melbury.

She had a very fair opinion of herself, too, this country maiden, in spite of having lived for seventeen years in seclusion, far from madding crowds and the bustle of society. There is no surer way of gain ing a high estimate of yourself than by queening it all your life in a place, where there are no rivals, where no comparisons can be made, and where there are no jealous detractors to insinuate doubts as to your perfection. Now and then you may wish to place your claim above dispute by measuring strength with some one your equal ; your sovereignty seems too easily won and maintained. But if you value your peace of mind, rest satisfied with your laurels, though they may have cost you nothing ; better be a commonplace hero, with peace of mind, than be for ever struggling to gain and keep a place in the busy world, where the prizes are so few and far between, and the hlanks so disproportionately numerous.

Agatha walked quickly on, stopping now and then to exchange greetings with some parishioner ; to in quire if Johnny had clothes to go to school in; if granny's rheumatism were better ; or if Mary would like another pudding. Then came questions about her own mother and the new baby; for the villagers B on Trust. 4 of Melbury were fond of their parson and his wife, and considered each of the thirteen olive branches, as they successively appeared, as being in some way or other their own special property. " And what's the baby to be called, Miss Agatha ? " asked Mrs. Helm, the schoolmistress, and for the ninth time since she left home the girl replied : " We have not quite settled yet, but most likely it will be Lois." " And a good holy name that will he, miss, begging your pardon, for I don't call to mind yours in the Scriptures, and I always was one who knew my Bible well, as that blessed babe will the same, if she take after her she is called by, and her good father will see to that."

".We will hope so, Mrs. Helm," replied Agatha, gently, as she turned to speak to the pupil-teacher. The schoolmistress was not a favourite with her ; there was too much of sanctimonious cant, mixed with a leaven of worldly gossip, to please her rather fas tidious mind. " And have you seen the new gentleman who's come to the ' Swan,' Miss Agatha?" said Mrs. Helm, who, having done her moral duty, now charged into her secular vein. " He's a fine, well-spoken man, so Mrs. Green tells me, and seems to have no need of money. He's come down to see the bit of property left him by his godfather, old Mr. Maurice, aud means to make a good stay; so I was told by Brown, the ostler, who looks after his horse, for he has brought that with him — quite the gentleman — and his carriage too." " I heard my father say he had seen him," was Agatha's rather short answer.

" Good-afternoon, Mrs. Helm. I must not stay to take a class to-day, my mother may be wanting me ; but I will soon come again, and do a long afternoon's work. And don't forget to send to the rectory for those books, please ; my father particularly wants the children to begin them at once." " I won't forget, miss. Good-day ; and it is a true good work you do when you come to teach these children their duty. It's a grave responsibility, is my line of life, miss — one almost too heavy for me by times. Oh, there's the new gentleman, miss, driving by now in his dog-cart ! It looks very dark ; I hope you won't get caught in a shower, and you've no cloak or umbrella or anything with you." " Never mind, Mrs. Helm. It looked so fine when I started, I never thought of rain. I'll make a run for it; and, after all, it is only to change when I get in.

It may keep off yet ; the clouds are still a good way behind." But the wind swept up the heavy clouds faster than Agatha had imagined, and in her haste she had chosen the upper road, a rather nearer way to the rectory, but altogether destitute of any kind of shelter. A drop or two pattered down at first, making her break into a run. Then the fury of the storm burst. The hailstones beat into her face, stinging it with actual pain ; the rain drenched her clothes, till they clung wet and heavy around her; while the wind blew in such fierce gusts that it was impossible to make any speed against it. There was not even the shelter of A Futtire on Trust. 6 a tree or high hedge, and from the leaden blackness of the sky the rain bade fair to last for an hour or two at the least. The sound of wheels and horse's hoofs behind made her look round.

The humblest conveyance, a donkey and sand-cart, would not be despised at such a moment, while as for a baker's or brewer's waggon it would be a godsend. Yet no such friendly luck. It was the strange gentleman who had driven past the school as she was leaving. She would rather battle on through hail, wind, and rain than beg assistance of a stranger and an equal. Maurice Kelly, however, took the matter out of her hands into his own. Pulling up his horse, he stooped down from his high seat, and called through the howling wind : " Miss Forster, may I give you a lift ? I am sure it is not fit for you to be walking such weather as this." Agatha was about to refuse when a fresh shower of hail full in her face made her turn and fly to the dog-cart for refuge, and in another moment they were driving quickly along in the direction of the rectory.

" I am afraid it would be useless to offer you an umbrella, even if I had one," said Maurice, laughing, and breaking the silence which had lasted some minutes, and had begun to grow oppressive. " Besides, I am too wet to care now," rejoined Agatha. " After a certain point of dampness, one becomes utterly callous to appearances, and nearly so to feeling ; at least, while one is out ; indoors it is different." " Here we are, then, and you can begin realizing that you are wet, if you have not already enter tained that idea. Can you get down by yourself? I daren't leave the horse, he may bolt, and then I should have to walk and brave the elements; not nearly so boldly as you were doing when I over took you, I expect, for, to tell the truth, I am not one half so energetic." " How do you know that I am so ?

" asked Agatha, in a slightly frosty tone. " Have I not lived three weeks in this hot-bed of gossip you call Melbury ? Why, you have been pointed out to me dozens of times ; how else do you think I should have known you? And each time some wonderful tale of your activity and goodness was appended. I honestly confess it was with trepi dation I offered you a lift, both from fear of insulting your independence and also from a wholesome awe of your superiority ; it was quite a relief when you climbed up and began to talk like any other ordinary young lady." The rector came out as the carriage drew up at the door, lamenting, in one breath, over his daughter's drenching, expressing his gratitude to Mr. Kelly, and earnestly pressing that gentleman to stay to tea. He was apt to get flurried by any unusual event, any thing out of the ordinary course ; and his daughter arriving home dripping, under the escort of a hand some young stranger, was not a circumstance that happened every day.

"We are all total abstainers from principle and economy, Mr. Kelly," he naively observed ; " but a A Ftiture on Trust. 8 cup of hot tea might prevent your catching cold. Do come in. Agatha, my dear, run up and change directly, or we shall have you laid up, and one invalid at a time is quite enough in a house. I am very sorry rny wife cannot receive you, Mr. Kelly ; but 11 you will stay to tea (it shall be made directly) we shall be only too charmed ; and any clothes of mine are quite at your service, for you must get out of those wet ones as quickly as possible." But Mr. Kelly declined all offers of tea, shelter, and clothes, preferring to drive straight back, and put his horse and himself to rights at the hotel. But he would call to-morrow, if he might ; if only to assure himself that Miss Forster had taken no harm from her wetting.

There was nothing to thank him for ; he was only too pleased to have been of the slightest service ; his only regret was that he had not come up sooner, and so been of real use in saving Miss Forster from such an awful drenching. Mr. Kelly called next clay, and was so pleased with his welcome that the visit was repeated, not once, but often. Indeed, so constantly was he to be seen climb ing the hill to the rectory, either riding or on foot, that village gossips began to talk, and to surmise that " he didn't go there for nothing." Neither did he ; for one fine day, three months later, Maurice left Melbury, carrying away with him, besides his horse, dog-cart, and general effects, a fair young wife, whom he had wooed and won in the old rectory among its rose bushes and prim gravel walks ; and who gave herself in all love and trust to this goodly stranger, the first to bring a glimpse of romance into her hitherto quiet life, and teach her the first rudiments of love and passion.

A more prudent father than Mr. Forster would have inquired into the character and position of his future son-in-law, his present means of support, and provision for the future. But that was not the old man's way. " No," he argued, " they love each other, and where that divine gift exists, man has no right to interfere. My daughter knows her duty, and will do it, and prove to her husband a true help-mate, that pro mised prize that is above rubies. Mr. Kelly's beha viour is that of a gentleman, and he comes regularly to church. Why should I pry into his worldly affairs that do not concern me, and so sell my daughter at what I consider a fair price ; she takes him for better or worse, and I leave to Providence which of the two it is." Such was the rector's argument — an easy one for his own simple conscience ; a pleasant one for the young man, who was charmed to get his own way without any disagreeable questions and possible dis putes; and just the one most acceptable to a romantic, ignorant girl of seventeen.

So all parties were satis fied, and Agatha went forth, a child-wife, to her new duties and responsibilities, with no warnings, no fore bodings as to the future ; only loving words from parents and relations, and rough blessings from the villagers, among whom she had lived and grown up from girl to womanhood. In this way we often let our most precious gifts slip from our keeping, while we hoard and treasure a comparatively worthless thing — new useless lamps for the priceless old one ; a day's pleasure against a lifetime of misery. Our moralists have told us the story times out of number ; we have proved it for our own selves ; but it is no good. We do the foolish act, we make, with bitter regret, promises of amend ment, and then we gaily go and sin once more. Then comes the final reckoning, when it is no good to bemoan ourselves and think of the future, for the sum of our lives will be cast up, and well for each if the balance is not too heavy on the wrong side ; on the right it never can be with us poor, time-serving mortals.

The old rector would rue the day he parted so lightly with his child. To any less simple a nature, the very fact of Maurice Kelly's reticence about his past and future would have proved that there was something in it he wished to hide, a fact or two that would not redound to his credit or further his present designs. But he had had his way now, and Time, that keen old detective, would unfold the tale, as he does most of them, when it suited his purpose in the future.

Chapter II. Too Bright To Last

And dreams in their development have breath And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy. Byron. Maurice and Agatha were married on the 2nd of July. The first month of their married life was passed in London, a novel experience to the girl, who had never before been twenty miles away from Melbury. The constant noise and bustle of the busy city wearied her, the hot summer air lacked the country freshness to which she was accustomed, while the crowded pavements and dangerous crossings made her cling to her husband with a fervour that bored the young man, whose foot was on his native heath in the midst of the busy whirl of town life, when the season wanes and every form of excitement is crowded into the few short weeks that are left to pleasure's votaries. Agatha could not understand the amusement of struggling up a staircase for twenty minutes, only to be landed in a room where the thermometer stood at ioo degrees, there to get wedged in a corner for half-an-hour, every person in the room being utterly strange to her; she had not even the comfort of Maurice's company, for her husband, with the ease of long practice, would edge through the rooms, or else join the charmed circle of black coats congregated by the doorway, returning in time to lead her down the staircase, and, putting her in a cab, send her back to the hotel, he himself pro testing that a walk was necessary after the stewing process he had undergone for the last two hours.

These walks generally lasted for a couple of hours or so — long after Agatha had laid her tired head on the pillow and fallen into the deep sleep of youth, which even hurrying cabs and all the noises of a large hotel were powerless to banish. Her faith in her husband was implicit, and, even were it not, her utter ignorance would prevent her having the slightest suspicion as to how the time passed away from her was employed. Her only source of regret was now and then when it rained, and she fretted over the thought that " Maurice would have such a wet walk." They were sitting together one morning in the Park, watching the few riders trotting up and down the Row, some indulging in a real good gallop, far beyond regulation pace, unchecked by the stern guardian of the law and the road, for Goodwood and hot weather had thinned the equestrian ranks to an almost incredible degree.

Suddenly Maurice exclaimed : " By Jove, Agatha, it's awfully slow being left alone in town like this. Why absolutely we've not seen a soul to speak to this morning : the streets are like an oven, and the Park is a desert." This was hard on London's aristocratic play ground, where the grass, brown indeed in patches after its hard summer's work, only served to throw up more strongly the trim brightness of the many-hued beds of flowers that line the drive in their variegated bravery ; the trees were one mass of dark green shady foliage, under which the chairs, empty now for the most part, were thickly congregated, if Hyde Park were a desert, it was a wilderness pleasant to be in, and blossoming like the rose, very different from the general acceptation of the word. But it is the fashion to abuse London out of the season as much as it is vaunted when that time is at its height ; and as Maui'ice was a town mouse " pur sang," his force of language was natural and excusable.

" We can't stand this much longer," he continued, with a half-suppressed yawn. Matrimony was not so exciting a pastime as love-making, as he was beginning to feel to his cost. Agatha was a dear little thing, that he al ways said to himself and his friends, one or two of whom had hinted that Mrs. Kelly was " very quiet ; " but how could you expect a little country maiden like that to have all the fun and go of a real town girl ? He wished, however, that she would be a little more lively at times, take a little more interest in his friends, and not be so confoundedly cool and reserved with them, especially the gentlemen, when they tried to make themselves pleasant. " We can't stand this much longer," he repeated, Agatha having taken no notice of his first remark, only staring fixedly before her at the "Alexandra Hotel," and wondering if Jessie, the eldest daughter now at home, went to the school as often as she had done in Melbury.

Dear old place, they would all have just finished dinner, that pleasant scrambling meal, when often there was barely enough to satisfy in holiday time the thirteen or so healthy, hearty appetites. And yet, in the midst of discomfort and pinching, they had always been happy, poverty had never soured and embittered their joyous young lives ; if they had to go without a thing they wanted, why there it was ; it could not be had, and they must do the best they could without, and if they had dreamed of grumbling or fretting, the rest of the pack would have been down on the unlucky malcontent, and have made short and sharp work of the aggrieved one's laments. " I can't compass Goodwood this year, Epsom and Ascot hit me too heavily," continued her husband. "So I think the best thing will be to pack up our things and cross to-morrow to Boulogne for a week or two ; we can look round us there and settle future plans at our leisure, while it is not half a bad place to amuse oneself in for a time.

Would you like it, eh, Agatha?" " Oh, Maurice," she replied in awe-struck tones, Melbury, its inhabitants and school, vanishing from her mind, scattered to the four winds in the greatness of her surprise. " Do you really mean it ? Are you really going to take me abroad ? " " Well, why not ? We can't stay in town, that's quite clear, unless we wish to migrate to Hanwell, Bedlam, or some such interesting region. Where else would you prefer going ? Surely not to Melbury just yet ? We might as well wait for the proverbial Christmas gathering to pay that visit." "No, I want to go abroad; it has been the dream of my life to see foreign places, only father always said he never could afford to take us a tour, or even send us to school in Germany, though we all begged to go. Just fancy never hearing a word of English spoken, and to listen to every one, even the children, speaking French ; and then the different country, and the quaint old towns and cathedrals ; I shall spend all my days in the churches ; and, best of all, Maurice, dear, having you quite, quite all to myself."

He laughed a little uneasily at her raptures, but ignored her last remark. " Don't be too sure, child, of finding so marked a difference between Boulogne and your native country ; remember it is only a couple of hours from Folkestone ; you can hardly expect so short a diattmoo of time to produce so startling a condition of affairs ao you imagine. Never mind, dear," seeing the happy ex pression fading from her face — that face which had grown so much graver and older even in the week or two of married life — " I have no doubt you will manage to enjoy Boulogne very much, and you can speak French to your heart's content, even if they answer you in English." It was two o'clock by this time ; and the riders had all gone home to lunch, leaving them pretty nearly in possession of the Park, so Maurice and Agatha, rising, sauntered slowly along till they reached Stan hope Gate, where, hailing a hansom, they were driven ba:k to their hotel.

How different the Park looked to what it had been only a week before. Then, there would have been crowds of well-dressed people also wending their way home after their morning lounge in the Row ; now, there were only a few workmen stretched at length on benches under the trees, sleeping away their hour of rest, and some country cousins, walking about, and looking at every object they passed on their way to and from the Albert Memorial— that goal of all rural sight-seers. Has any one ever seen those flights of steps without some pilgrims ascending aud descending thereon, or the figure, in its gilded glory, without beholding groups gazing steadfastly for the first time on Albert the Good? One would think that the stream of people to whom this monument is a novelty was exhausted ; but naturally new enterpriziug genera tions are springing up, and in these days of travel and cheap excursions there will soon be few who do not make their yearly peregrination to London as religiously as the Jews of old to their Temple and their ceremonies.

It was two o'clock next day when the Kellys reached Boulogne. All the way down from Charing Cross to Folkestone Agatha had sat forward in her corner of the railway carriage, noting with keen eyes every detail of the landscape as it flew past. Travelling with her was too unusual an event to allow of her leaning back half asleep, now and then glancing at a morning paper, as her husband was doing. Once she tried to make him share in her excitement as for the first time she saw the hop-gardens, with their tall, stiff rows of poles supporting their graceful, clinging burdens, but he responded so languidly and looked so bored with her raptures that she did not try a second time to make him a sharer of her interest. Yet it gave her a little pang. Before they were married, he had always been ready to listen to any speech of hers, even on the most trivial village subject, encouraging her to run on, while he sat by, now and then putting in a word, or asking a question, just to show his appreciation of the story.

Now, when she made any little remark on the scenery, or something that struck her as new and uncommon, he would either take no notice at all, or pass it off with a yawn and the observation, " My dear child, don't expect me to go into raptures over things I have seen dozens of times. You will soon get accustomed to them, and be as bored with their repetition as I am myself." It is hard to get used to your gingerbread when it is given you plain and without the gilt you have been accustomed to. But the time must come for all of us. Even the most pampered and petted of Fortune's favourites has one day to go out and face life in its stern reality without any of the gloss and glamour of the ideal. To some it comes early, when they are little more than children ; and perhaps it is better when it is so, before we have grown used to having all our paths made smooth for our feet, and all our pleasures heaped ready to our hands ; it is harder then to give up the luxuries which we have grown to look upon as necessities, and prize only as our right.