'Twixt Will and Will not

Front matter

NEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES. TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. By Eleanor Holmes. Author of ' The Price of a Pearl,' &c. 3 vols. TOO LATE REPENTED. By Mrs. Forrester, author of 'Viva,' 'My Lord and my Lady," &c. One volume. 6s. MICHAEL DAUNT. By the Author of 'Dr. Edith Romney,' ' The Winning of May,' &c. 3 vols. COMING OF AGE. By Elizabeth Neal, Author of ' My Brother Basil,' ' Witness my Hand,' &c. 2 vols. HER DEBUT. By Mrs. Herbert Martin, Author of 'Bonnie Lesley,' 'Suit and Service,' &c. 3 vols. LONDON: HURST & BLACKETT, LIMITED. BY JESSIE L. NICHOLSON IN ONE VOLUME. LONDON : HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1895. AU Rights Reserved.

Chapter I

' I REALLY think, Jenny, as Mr. Micawber very properly said, " the first step to be taken is to go and see the Medway." ' ' You cannot think of travelling north in such weather as this, Rhoda,' replied Jenny, de cisively, and without deigning to notice the allusion to Mr. Micawber and the Medway. ' Why, only last night, Paul was reading about a train being blocked somewhere in Scotland, and there is more snow to come.' ' I know, but this does seem the very thing ;' and Rhoda looked down at the Church Times she held, and read from it : ' " A clergyman's B wife, in delicate health, desires the companion ship of a young lady, who must be an experienced housekeeper, a pianiste, and good reader. A comfortable home and liberal salary offered. Apply personally, or by letter, Vicarage, Briarcliffe, Yorks." 1 am an experienced house keeper,' continued she, modestly, ' and I can play as well as most young ladies and read aloud better than some, and I have a presenti ment that, if I go and see this clergyman's wife, we shall be mutually pleased with each other.' ' Very likely,' acquiesced Jenny, in a lugu brious tone, ' but a comfortable home may mean anything, and a liberal salary may mean any thing, and we shall certainly have another fall of snow before morning.' ' Yes, I know ; but then something must be done ;' and Rhoda laid the Church Times down amongst other papers and books, mostly of a theological character, on the escritoire, and turning to her sister added decisively, 4 Yes, I will go to-morrow.' Then, fearing further opposition might weaken this resolve, she quickly changed the subject. ' There, baby is awake, and Paul said he would be in at five.

Let us try and get a bit straighter before he comes.' She pushed Jeuny into a rocking-chair near the fire as she spoke, and dragging a little bundle from the sofa thrust it gently into her arms. Then kneeling on the hearthrug she soon caused a merry blaze to come dancing over the crackling coals. The sisters were not alike. Both were tall, and there all resemblance ended. Jenny's pale, golden hair might be lustre less, but it was never untidy. Her clear, blue eyes were mild in their expression, and her delicate, shell-like, pink complexion gave her a fragile appearance. She had a tall, slender figure and looked well in gowns that cling. As for Rhoda, her rebellious nut-brown hair was never very straight. It arranged itself in little burnished curls above her brow. Her grey eyes were unfathomable in their chang ing lights ; sometimes they were tender, often b2 merry, always kind.

She had less colour than her sister, but the hue of perfect health was imprinted on her cheeks. Her figure was beautifully formed, and all her movements were graceful. She was rarely idle, and yet she seemed the embodiment of repose. ' I wonder what I shall do when you have gone V murmured Jenny, disconsolately, as she sat rocking her baby whilst her more energetic sister picked up the children's discarded toys, straightened the table-cloth, and rubbed her duster over the keys of the piano. ' Just as you did before I came,' replied Rhoda, smiling. ' You will soon be quite well again, and then in the summer, when you can have] the drawing-room and nursery in use, it will be so much easier to keep things tidy.' ' Yes. This isn't a comfortable way of going on ;' and Jenny cast a dissatisfied look round the room, which was small, and had the air of being drawing-room, dining-room, study, and nursery all in one.

It was simply the price of coals which made this arrangement necessary. In the summer, Jenny had had art-muslin curtains draped about her drawing-room fire place, and her friends had called it ' such a pretty room,' and liked it all the better for being cool. Now, when these inexpensive draperies must be superseded by burning coals, the draw ing-room had to be abandoned, except on Wed nesday afternoons, when Jenny was ' at home.' Then, in that regretted summer-time, her two little boys had been banished with their toys into one of the spare bed-rooms, and there they had played together merrily enough, and no one had been disturbed by their shouts and joyous laughtei-. Then the room which was now such an omnium ejatherum was the dining-room, and it had not looked so small and over-crowded when the piano had been in the drawing-room and Paul's escritoire in his study.

Jenny had been married nearly six years, but, during her father's life-time, there had been no need to practise these small economies. He had been rector of a rich Midlandshire parish, and, as such, had been iu receipt of an unusually large income. His wife had died young, and Jenny had been installed as mistress of his house at an early age. It was not a difficult position. The rector was an easy going man, very good-tempered, and almost too readily inclined to look on the bright side of things. When his consent was asked to his daughter's marriage with a curate possessed of no private means, he gave it unhesitatingly. ' It is what your mother did,' he told Jenny, with his genial smile ; and to himself he added softly, ' And I don't fancy she ever regretted it.' He liked to think that his girls were sur rounded with comforts and luxuries, but he made no provision for the future.

Why should he when he felt life so strong within him, and when, as he often told himself, Ponsonby was sure to get preferment, and Rhoda would marry? The end had come very quickly. A neglected cold, a few days' sharp illness, and all was over for him as far as this world is con cerned ; but, unfortunately, Ponsonby had not got preferment, and Rhoda had not married. She had succeeded Jenny as housekeeper at the Rectory, and her father's sudden death brought an even greater change into her life than it did into Jenny's. But she was physic ally stronger than her sister, and her buoyant disposition enabled her to meet privations more courageously. It is true that the near prospect of being obliged to go amongst strangers to earn her daily bread weighed heavily upon her spirits, and she shrank from the ordeal like any other sensitive girl.

But she could not remain with Paul and Jenny now they no longer needed her, and, because she knew how deeply they would deplore her leaving them, she forced herself to speak cheerfully of the approaching separation. As she moved about the little room, duster in hand, her face had not a cloud upon it. She had barely finished her work when a man's step was heard in the hall, and, an in stant later, Paul entered. He was rather below the middle height, and could hardly be described as good-looking, though he had a pleasant, scholarly face and kindly brown eyes. He was still well under forty, but his hair was thin, especially above the temples, and this made him look older than his age. He always dressed well, and as became a clergyman. The air without was cold, and, on entering, he went at once to the fire, which, thanks to Rhoda's efforts, was now burning cheerily enough, and dropped a small bunch of Christ mas-roses into Jenny's lap. ' Where did you get them, Paul 1" she asked, her face brightening. ' The rector sent them.

He has a goodly show in his garden, but he intends to get them all before the snow comes. He prophesies a very heavy downfall.' ' Yes, that's just what I have been saying,' replied Jenny, triumphantly, as she gathered up her flowers, ' and here is Rhoda talking of going to that place in Yorkshire to-morrow. It is perfect nonsense, I tell her.' Instead of replying to his wife, Paul turned to Rhoda. ' Briarcliffe is worth eight hundred,' he said. ' I looked it all out in Crockford when 1 was at the Rectory. The vicar is the Reverend Al gernon Smedley; he is aCambridge man and took honours — low down in the list of wranglers. He was ordained deacon in eighteen forty-three, so now he will probably be seventy-four or five. He is the author of a history of the parish of Briarcliffe — he has been there over twenty years — and of a small volume of sermons.' ' Yes, you have learned all that off very nicely, Paul,' exclaimed Jenny, before Rhoda could reply, ' but I don't see that it amounts to much.

Did you learn anything about Mrs. Smedley?' Paul laughed. ' Crockford is silent concerning her.' ' Then I can't see that we are any nearer. ' Oh, yes, we are, Jenny,' said Rhoda. ' If they have an income of eight hundred they are sure to have a nice house and plenty of servants, just as we had at home. It really does seem the very thing for me,' she added, after a moment's reflection, ' and I am sure it is very un usual to offer a " liberal salary." ' ' That may mean anything,' persisted Jenny. ' My own opinion is that it is something very much smaller than a " small salary." ' Paul laughed again. ' Come and give me some tea, Jenny,' he said, seating himself at the table. Jenny committed her baby to the care of the small general, who had succeeded the cook and housemaid of more opulent days, and turned her attention to making the tea.

Her two little boys came in, and were lifted into their high chairs. When they were present they not unfrequeutly monopolised the conversation, and did to-night. It was not until Jenny had carried them off to bed and Paul and Rhoda were alone that the subject of her projected journey was again reverted to. Then Rhoda spoke. ' You really think it is best that I should go to-morrow, don't you, Paul V He was leaning against the chimney-piece, looking down dejectedly into the fire, and did not reply immediately. When he did, it was with an earnestness that was almost fierce. ' I am awfully sorry, Rhoda,' he said. ' Why are you awfully sorry ?' she questioned, smiling ; but she thought she knew. ' If I asked you to stay with us you would refuse,' he went on, vehemently, ' and I don't even know if I have any right to ask you ; but it is too bad to let you go just so soon as we can get along without you.

I can't think,' he added, more calmly, ' what we should have done without you during the last six months.' ' It was well for me that there was something for me to do — that 1 was wanted somewhere,' replied Rhoda, gravely ; and then more lightly, ' But this isn't such a very tragic affair, after all. I am not going hundreds of miles away. Why, if these Smedleys — didn't you say their name was Smedley ?— are not very agreeable, I can tie on my bonnet immediately after breakfast and be back here in time for tea.' ' Promise me you will,' he exclaimed, eagerly. - If they put upon you — or anything, you know, you will come back ? We haven't much to offer you, but, at least, you shall have a hearty welcome.' Rhoda was touched by his kindness, and the required promise was given rather tremulously.

Then the smile, which was never long absent, once more broke over her mobile features. ' I can assure you,' she added, merrily, ' I have not the least intention of making a martyr of myself.' Jenny returned whilst she was speaking, and would have raised further objections to the proposed journey, but Rhoda persisted in con sidering the matter settled. ' I will show you how I mean to charm Mrs. Smedley,' she said ; and, so saying, she went to the piano, and there ended the discussion by beginning to play Schumann's lovely ' Schlum merlied.'

Chapter II

None of Jenny's prognostications had been verified in the morning. The clouds still hung near the earth, aud were dark and sullen ; but no more snow had fallen during the night. Rhoda had remained fixed in her determina tion, and, when she came downstairs, she was already in her travelling-dress. ' You see there has been no snow, Jenny,' she said, triumphantly, as she took a seat at the breakfast-table over which her sister was presiding. ' No, but it will come,' replied the mistress of the house, nothing daunted. Then she urged Rhoda to make a good break fast,'if she really meant to go,' and supplied her plate with the best of everything that was on the table. The two boys were in a state of unflatteringly pleasurable excitement. They were constantly slipping down from their high chairs and run ning to the window to see if the fly that was to convey their Aunt Rhoda to the station was coming yet.

It came at last, and then she was driven away in company with Paul. The train was due when they reached the station, and Paul went to get the ticket and make some inquiries concerning the journey. He was back again almost immediately. ' I find I can only book to York,' he said, as they walked along the platform together. ' You will have twenty minutes to wait there ; then you go to Kirby Langdale. There is no station at Briarcliffe.' Whilst speaking, he opened the door of a compartment in which two ladies and a gentleman were already seated, and, as Rhoda took her place, he followed to lift her bag on the bracket. Then it was time to say good-bye. * Until to-morrow evening,' he said, taking her outstretched hand and stepping down to the platform as the train began to move. 'Yes, I will come back to-morrow, unless Jenny's predictions are fulfilled.' She leaned forward to speak to him through the window, and, as she did so, a light flake falling slowly downwards attracted her attention. ' See, is it beginning now?' she asked. ' It looks like it.

Good-bye.' He lifted his hat, and stood watching the train until it was out of sight ; then he walked home. When he arrived there the snow was falling fast. Meanwhile the train had sped many miles northwards, and Rhoda's thoughts were too full}- occupied to observe her companions. She was thinking of Jenny and the boys one minute, and the next trying to picture her life at Briar cliffe should she find favour in the eyes of Mrs. Smedley. After a time she grew weary of such vague imagining, and became conscious that the two ladies were talking a great deal. At first it was all about the weather, the deep snow, and the wonderful drifts near their homes. Then other subjects followed, and Rhoda, who listened as one in a dream, heard a confused jumble of names — Jack, Bruce, George, and Lydia — with out in the least knowing what the conversation was about.

She noticed, however, that, though the ladies did all the talking, each addressed her observations to the gentleman, who made a monosyllabic reply, when reply was absolutely necessary. Rhoda thought he looked tired and undoubt edly bored. He was sitting in the far corner of the carriage, opposite herself, aud she saw that he was a fair-complexioned man, tall and distinguished looking, though not, strictly speaking, hand some. His hair, which had originally been of a golden blonde, was now mingled with grey. It was thick, and might have been curly if it had not been so closely cropped. His light blue eyes were quick and keen-sighted, but had crows'-feet at the corners. Rhoda took in these peculiarities at a glance, but could form no idea as to his age. His face was one that might look old to-day and young to-morrow, varying according to his mood, and it was characterised by a slightly resentful expression, as if the world had not gone well with him.

The two ladies sat in a hue with herself — it was therefore more difficult to form an opinion as to their appearance. She decided, however, that the elder lady was tall ; that she had a lean, aristocratic face, and grey hair. That her mouth and chin were resolute, aud that she looked like one accustomed to rule. She addressed the gentleman as 1 Charles,' and with a downrightness that seemed to bespeak the elder sister. There was also a family resemblance. The younger lady was a fair, fat woman of eight-and-twenty, with a pretty complexion, and cheeks that dimpled when she smiled. She C always leaned forward when speaking, and her manner was intense, no matter how trivial the remark to which she gave utterance. The conversation was about an amateur concert, iu which both ladies appeared to be greatly interested. ' I do wish you would come and hear me sing, Mr. Burke,' the younger said, in a coaxing tone. ' Now do promise.' ' I'm afraid I can't, Mrs. Fox.' ' Why not ?

Don't you think he might come, Bertha ? ' Certainly he might, but I don't suppose he will. I know you dislike concerts, Charles,' she continued, addressing her brother, ' but when are you coming to see us ?' ' When you have been to see me,' he replied, smiling. ' Not before ?* 'No.' 'Then you may expect me as soon as the snow goes and it is possible to get about. Bella will be coming also to see Mr. Lorraiuc.' TWIXT WLLL AND WILL NOT. 19 ' Yes,' said Mrs. Fox, enthusiastically, ' 1 will go when you do. It is so dull at home,' she added, plaintively, ' when there is no one at the Grange.' ' I am sure it must be. We will consider it settled, Charles,' the elder lady declared, again addressing her brother. ' I think it is my duty to come and rouse you up occasionally. You are becoming misanthropic' Mr. Burke smiled, but did not refute the charge. 'If George accompanies me,' resumed his sister, ' we shall be able to stay a fortnight, aud I will bring Lydia to amuse Jack.' ' Bring Lydia to amuse Jack,' slowly repeated Mr. Burke, with au altogether unlooked-for ex pression of interest. 'Yes.

You have no objection to that, I suppose ?' ' I have every objection,' he said, gravely. Then he smiled. ' I want Lydia to amuse me.' ' She shall amuse you both,' replied the lady, terselv. C The train was slackening speed. The ladies began to collect their parcels, and Mr. Burke rose and threw aside the plaid which was wrapped about his legs. ' You will have a cold drive,' he said, as he stepped down to the platform and turned to assist them. ' Indeed we shall. I hope you have plenty of wraps in the carriage, James.' The latter half of the sentence was addressed to a tall footman who came forward on seeing them. He replied in the affirmative, and the lady turned again to her brother. ' Good-bye, Charles, and give my love to Jack,' she said, and shook hands with him in rather a stately fashion.

After which Mrs. Fox held out a tightly-gloved hand. ' You have grievously disappointed me, Mr. Burke,' she said. ' I had quite counted on your being at the concert.' ' I am unfortunate,' he murmured stupidly, and Rhoda wondered whether he was exceptionally dull to-day, or was he altogether without the gift of repartee ? ' Why do you hate concerts so much V de manded the lady, with playful insistence. ' The room gets over-heated and one is obliged to sit in a draught.' ' I give you up after that,' exclaimed Mrs. Fox, laughing, though she was not very well pleased. 'Good-bye. Perhaps you will remember to tell papa and Bruce you have seen me, and give them my dearest love.' ' I will.' He lifted his hat to the ladies, and re-entered the train. Then he pulled up the window, and, after again incasing his legs in the plaid, took up the Times which was lying unopened on the seat beside him.

Rhoda expected to see him look happier now he was alone, but some time afterwards when she again glanced across at him she saw that, though he was reading steadily and but rarely turned the paper, his face wore just the same wearied expression. Meanwhile the train sped onwards, and Rhoda grew tired of seeing nothing but the white banks of snow piled high on either side of the line, and wished the journey were at an end. She con sulted her watch. Two hours must pass before they reached York, and even then there would be a long, cold drive before her. She wondered how far Briarcliffe was from the station, and whether a road had been cut through the snow. She noticed that the snow was very deep here, and that they seemed to be going deeper into it. It had been cleared from the railway line, or the train could not have pro ceeded.

Presently she again fell to musing over her lot. She thought about the coming interview with Mrs. Smedley until it became quite formid able, and she felt her spirits sinking lower and lower. But it was ridiculous to make herself miserable by brooding over the inevitable. What could she do to beguile the time ? She could not even look through the window now, for the glass was blurred, and everything seen through it appeared to be steeped in a white fog. She took up the Daily Telegraph she had brought with her and turned to the parliamen tary news, determined to read, like Mr. Burke, whether she were interested or not. One minute passed, two, three, perhaps ten, and she read steadily on. Then something happened. What it was she never very well understood. The engine shrieked and seemed to leap in the air, like a frightened steed.

The shock was felt along the whole line of the train. Carriages jolted one against another, and the occupants were shaken from their seats. Sounds of every description filled the air — a banging of doors and rattling of chains ; screams, and cries, and groans, and curses. Then, for a breathing space, there was silence, and Rhoda found herself sitting upright in her corner, with her toes on the foot-warmer, as if nothing had occurred. The silence was very brief. One by one the passengers recovered from their fright, and then the carriage windows were let down with every sign of impatience, and anxiotrs voices were heard clamorously demand ing to know what was the cause of the disaster. Had she been alone, Rhoda would probably have done the same. Now she waited for her companion to act. He did nothing.

When the shaking made it impossible to read, he laid aside his paper. And now he sat motionless and indifferent, as if the accident in no way concerned him. Rhoda strained her ears to catch any sound from without that might explain the situation ; nothing reached her but a confused murmur of voices. What was said was wholly unintelli gible. She kept quiet until she could bear it no longer ; then she questioned Mr. Burke. 'What do you think has happened?' she asked. ' Blocked,' he said, laconically. ' Do you think anyone is injured V ' Possibly.' Rhoda said no more. She was angry with him for his curt replies. Once again she drew out her watch. They must have been stopped more than twenty minutes. Would they ever go on again ? She had read about trains being snowed up, but it was surprising how little she knew about it.

Could they telegraph for aid, or were they try ing to cut a way through the drift ? The latter, she believed. Time passed. Outside she could hear the hard breathing of the men as they dug away at the mountain of snow around them. How long would it take them to get through it ? One hour ? two ? six ? or ten? She did not know, but the suspense became intolerable. She would not address Mr. Burke again, but something she must do. Perhaps it would be possible to get out and walk about. Influenced by this idea, she rose and let down the window. ' Believe me, it is better not to leave the train.' It was Mr. Burke who spoke in a tired, com plaining voice, as if he too was weary of confinement. 'TWIXT WILL AND WILL XOT. As soon as she looked out, Rhoda knew that he was right. The snow was falling thick and fast.

It lay all around, deep, and soft, and cold, it covered everything — everything but the gaunt, black engine which, like a hideous monster, was puffing and panting, but powerless in its grasp. She saw the men toiling with their spades — working as only Britons can work in an emergency. Then she drew up the window, and shivered as she returned to her seat. There was nothing for it but to wait with such fortitude as she could command. But the cold was intense, and she was not very warmly clad. If only she had been alone, and could have stamped her feet, and beaten her hands together ; anything to induce circulation. She was numb, half dead with cold — and she was hungry too. Would they ever get to York ? Despair was overtaking her when Mr. Burke rose solemnly, and, with a determined look that increased the resemblance he bore to his sister, he came towards her. 'You will take cold,' he said. 'You must allow me to wrap this round you,' and without waiting for permission he proceeded to cover her with his plaid. ' Indeed, no,' said Rhoda, making a faint remonstrance. ' You want it yourself.' He looked at her in his grave, half-cynical way, and then smiled. ' I believe, in your inmost soul, you are thinking I might have offered it before,' he said.

Rhoda was disconcerted. Something of the sort had indeed occurred to her. 'I hope you are not a thought-reader,' she replied, with an accusing blush. 'No. I have no accomplishments, but in self defence I think I ought to say that if I had offered it earlier you would have refused it.' Rhoda was still further disconcerted. She felt that if she had not been so very cold she would not have allowed him to wrap her up in this submissive fashion. ' I am sure you must be a thought-reader,' she repeated, laughing, and was conscious that her retorts were becoming even more stupid than his had been to Mrs. Fox. ' I did not even venture to offer you this be fore,' he continued, not heeding her reply, as he took a spirit-flask from his pocket and proceeded to pour a few drops of its contents into a little glass that fitted over the stopper. ' But I cannot drink it like this,' she objected. 'Try.' He stood beside her whilst she sipped at it, and there was a look of amusement on his face ; but lie said nothing more.

When she gave him back the glass, he refilled it for himself, and then returned to his seat and hastily took up the Times. From the very way iu which he glared at it, Rhoda was sure he was not reading, and it annoyed her to think that he should be so afraid of her speakiug to him. She did not feel in the least disposed to hazard another remark — it was not pleasant to be snubbed. However, she could not long feel uncharitably towards the man to whom she was indebted for the sweet sensation of warmth now stealing over her, no matter how surly he might be. She wondered if he was cold. He had, she perceived, turned up the collar of his ulster. It was but a poor substitute for the shawl he had parted with. Once or twice she thought of returning it, but he so evidently deprecated any conversation that she decided to keep it and say nothing.

Perhaps soon they would be able to go on. Or were they starting now ? The carriage in which she was seated was banged into the one behind it, and then Yes, they were really going. The sudden movement directed her thoughts into quite a new channel. The train by which she had intended to travel from York to Kirby Laugdale would have de parted long since. Would there be another about to start, or would she have to wait ? Most probably she would have to wait, but for how long she could not tell. It might be very late before she reached Briarcliffe. Too late perhaps to see Mrs. Smedley. But this was not all. Much more snow might fall during the night, and she had no wish to repeat her present ex perience. Suppose she had to stay at Briar cliffe for several days ? This might easily happen, but it would be very inconvenient.