Once! Twice! Thrice! and Away! A novel

Front matter

REMINGTONS' TRANSLATIONS. AT ALL LIBRARIES. By E. WERNER. Author of " Success and How he Won It," " Under a Charm, "&c RIVEN BONDS. Translated hy Bertha Ness. 2 vols., crown 8vo., cloth, 21/. SACRED VOWS. Translated by Bertha Ness. 3 vols. crown 8vo., cloth, 31/6. By EDMOND ABOUT. COLONEL FOUGAS' MISTAKE. Translated by J. E. Maitland. 2 vols., crown 8vo., cloth, 21/. THE LAWYER'S NOSE. Translated by .[. E. Maitland. 1 vol., crown 8vo., cloth, 10/6. By CHARLES DESLYS. IRENE'S DOWER. Translated by Mrs. George Henry. 1 vol., crown 8vo., cloth, 10/6. REMINGTON & Co., 5, Arundel Street, Strand, W.C. ONCE! TWICE ! THRICE! AND AWAY! a i&obd. BV MAY PROBYN. %axfoa\\: REMINGTON AND CO., 5, Arundel Street, Strand, W.C. 1878. [All. Rights Reserved.'] Œo ffi$ Jflonjn;, ani SL i!Ef)ousarrt! i^appg Hflnnortfs.

ONCE! TWICE! THRICE! AND AWAY! INTRODUCTORY. " The Spring she is a young maid, who does not know her mind." Old Song. gg^| SEPTEMBER day, bright, fresh, y&^xj delightful, everything lying golden in a golden sunlight; the broad sweeps of smooth velvety lawns ; the great wide-spread ing cedars ; the billowy stretches of park, broad grassy glades, and shadowing beech trees, tangles of tall fern, shy deer scattered here and there, and a distant vista of low E Once! Twice! Thrice! and Awat! gently-sloping hills, crowned with dark clumps of glorious Scotch firs. Dipping in the hollow lay Feversham Priory, the mellow sunlight warming the old grey pile into soft colour, and glowing upon the magnolia leaves that crept over the walls, till they shone like burnished bronze. A pale clear sky overhead, a faint, blue mist in the far distance, a still calm day looking back wistfully into the summer.

The only sound that stirred the silence was the low, subdued talking of two young men, under the sweeping cedars ; the one lying full length on the smooth turf, the other standing close by, with his back against the tree. There was not much likeness between them, for they were only half brothers. Skene Effington, the elder, dark haired, dark eyed, and somewhat pale, mouth and chin powerful, and full of self-reliance ; a broad low forehead, arched, well-marked eye-brows, and fine nervous hands. They Once! Twice! Theice! and Away! 3 were both tall, but the younger, Brian Fitz- Oswald, who lay all his length along the grass, looked a very Titan, mighty and magnificent in his indolent grace. There was little of the Irishman about him, spite of his name and blood. His thick wavy hair was bright with Saxon fairness, so was the soft silky moustache that drooped over his short upper lip.

Chapter I Love At First Sight

" There was no moment's space Between my seeing thee, and loving thee." Longfellow. HEY had all come out blackberrying in the Dell. There were many glades and hollows in Feversham Park, but this one had been known among them as "The Dell" as long, at all events, as Brian and Diamond could remember. The ground, golden and moss-covered, dipped suddenly towards the small gurgling stream, that brawled and babbled in the bottom. Behind, a bank rose precipitately twenty or thirty Once ! Twice ! Thrice ! and Away ! 39 feet, clothed with young bending ash trees, and a thick undergrowth of green. Above it stood a clump of tall, stately, glimmering beeches, looking down, like tutelary gods, over wide billowy stretches of park, and be yond, autumn woods and sunny meadows, and still beyond, the softly-sloping, blue, misty Wiltshire downs.

For the Feversham beeches were known as a landmark all over the county. Down the Dell, lying low and irregular, scrambling over the grassy floor, and nestling up the bank, were the bramble bushes, full of little wild fruit, showing ripe and black, hard and red, young and very green ; with here a spray of pale pink, starry flowers, blossom ing over late, and there, again, a branch turn ing before its time, stem and leaves glowing rosy-scarlet in the sun. The blackberry-gatherers clustered among the bushes under the westerly sunshine. They were a merry, light-hearted set. Brian Fitz- Oswald was there, doing little beyond watch ing the ladies. He and Diamond had ridden down to meet the Setons, four in number — Mrs. Seton, the wife of an old Indian officer, her two daughters, and her small schoolroom girl.

It was little Dolly's birthday, and Diamond had asked them all to come and " boil the kettle," and have tea in the Dell. She and Brian were engaged now. He had proposed several days ago, in few words and with little emotion, and she had said " Yes," with a certain sinking of the heart, and a vague conviction that she meant to have said "No." Since which they had be come exceedingly shy of each other, and it seemed to them the strangest thing in the world, although they had both been looking forward to it, with a mutual " hanging back " feeling, since they had come to years of dis cretion. Skene Effington was not of the party this afternoon. He Avas going back to his chambers the next day, for he was half afraid, poor fellow, to stay at Feversham, and see Diamond fall habitually, and as a matter of course, to Brian's share.

He was so willing, so longing to strain every nerve, to slave himself to death, so he might once take to his heart the golden-haired creature that his brother had only to stretch out a careless hand and take into fast wedlock. But in this family, as in the old fairy tales, the luck lay with the younger brother, and Brian's confidences had all unwittingly sealed his lips, and honor, which, after all, brings as much sorrow as good into the world, bound him to silence and great loneliness. Mrs. Seton sat under the trees, and glanced complacently at her two eldest daughters, whilst her plump white hands were busy knitting soft grey stockings for little Dolly's childish legs. Brian had subsided into his usual restful attitude on the grass, close to where Margie Seton stood dropping ripe purple blackberries into her deep basket, till her pretty fingers were stained crimson.

She was a tall, stately girl, with glowing auburn air, and a brilliant complexion, that was wont to blush into deeper, softer pink when her dreamy grey eyes met the eyes of the Hon. Brian. Though Margie was not a worldly young lady, and, of course, as her mother said, she would never dream of en couraging a man like young Mr. Effington, only called to the bar a year or two ago, not that he gave her any opportunity for encouraging him ; but that is neither here nor there. In the neighbourhood, the Seton girls were called " fine." They would not play lawn tennis at garden parties if there were more than four in the game, and those first-rate players. They never sang at dinner parties, unless they were sure of an appreciative Once ! Twice ! Thrice ! and Away ! 43 audience ; and if any one walked about or whispered, they stopped at once.

At balls they declined to be introduced to men unless they were particularly delightful, and preferred standing up half the evening to dancing with partners who had the misfortune to be out of .their own " set." Among this favoured few, Brian Fitz-Oswald was Margie's favourite partner. She flat tered the young man's vanity, and appealed to him as an authority, a thing which seldom happened to him ; and her mother played into her hands, and hoped great things of their intimacy at Feversham. The other sister, Blanche, stood a little apart among the brambles. She never talked much, but listened to her sister's soft prattle, and her mother's jovial anecdotes, with a quiet, half-cynical smile. Mrs. Seton wished that Blanche was more like other girls, and " could enjoy balls and parties, instead of only going to please her."

And Margie was a little afraid of the calm, pale sister, with her sad, brown hair, and low, serious forehead, who said such grave things sometimes, and fell, by fits and starts, into deep, anxious musings over the vanities of the world, or little Dolly's education. " Do you feel equal, Mr. Fitz-Oswald," asked Mrs. Seton, in a round, rolling voice, that vouched for her placid good-humour, " for all the festivities of twenty-one ? " " Oh, yes ! " said Brian, always slow Of speech. " The ball will be about the best of it all." " You are going to give a ball ? Oh, dear, how delightful," cried Margie, rapturously. " I do love dancing on that beautiful floor ; but then I forgot, oh, I beg your pardon, for I have not been asked yet." She looked at him with a pretty, arch glance out of her grey eyes, and then dropped them as they met his.

" Is the formality of invitation needed be- Once ! Twice ! Thrice ! and Away ! 45 tween you and me ? " he answered, with more feeling than usually found its way into his even voice. " The ball would be very dull without you — and your sister," he added as an afterthought. She smiled very sweetly. " I am glad you care a little for a dance with me. We have had a good many in our day, haven't we ? " said she, with the affecta tion of mature years, which it is the fashion for young ladies to adopt now. " And shall have a great many more on the twenty-seventh, if you are kind," returned Brian. " Suppose we engage to open the ball together, and that will ensure your coming early, you know." He laid his hand for a minute on the folds of her gown. She shook her head. " Hardly so early as that, I am afraid.

You had better ask mother." She moved very gently away, so that his hand slid softly from her dress, back to the grass, for Margie was the very soul of discre tion. An uncomfortable consciousness returned to Brian that he would be expected to open the ball with his gay little fiancee ; as, after that, he would be expected to do everything with her at his side. Well, never mind, when the time comes he must try and manage his dances as well as he could. But the thought had brought an un easy recollection of Diamond, and his relations to her. Where had she gone ? He should surely be more attentive to her. He raised himself on his elbow, and called to Blanche. " Miss Blanche, what has become of your playfellow ? I don't see her anywhere." Blanche and Diamond had gone through contemporary experiences of governesses and schoolroom scrapes, had had the same singing-masters, and " gone to the dancing " together — that closely-binding link in the era ! 47 of girlhood ; had compared notes very lately of coming-out balls, and a first season.

So they were supposed to be great friends ; but they did not get on very well now. Blanche thought Diamond a giddy, frivolous little thing, and Diamond declared Blanche was not half so " fit " since she had taken to going to church so often, and quoting con tinually Mr. Richardson, of S. Betha's. So Blanche answered rather coldly — " I don't know where she has gone ; she may be sketching at the pond." The pond lay a little beyond the Dell, clear, and brown, and still, in the September sunshine. It was half-hidden among the trees, whose bending boughs dipped and dabbled softly into the water. " That lane of water lying below — That piece of sky let in, that you do call A pond, but which I know To be a deep and wondrous world ; for I Have seen the trees within it: — marvellous things ! On one side, shadowed by drooping beeches, Once !

Twice ! Thrice ! and Away ! 48 stood the old, picturesque boat-house, and in the darkness within you could just see the little boat, moored, like a dim shadow. At this end, where the water met the flowing of the small, merry stream, the pond narrowed somewhat, and the trunk of a fallen tree was thrown across from bank to bank like a rude bridge. It was this mossy, weed-grown bridge, and the boat-house beyond, with its foreground of brown, glimmering pond, that Diamond was sketching, sitting on an old stump, her sketch-book on her knee, and her colours spread beside her on the grass. She wore her riding-habit — a costume that was peculi arly becoming to her slight, supple figure, and her delicatelychiselled face — the unre lieved black setting off in beautiful contrast the pale colouring of her golden hair, and softly tinted-skin.

The sketch was for Skene — she had pro mised it months ago, and thought that to-day was a good opportunity of fulfilling the pro-j mise. Dolly Seton was with her; she had filled the little painting-glass from the pond, with great delight, and renewed the enjoy ment incessantly, by emptying it as soon as the water became tinged with colour, and filling it again with fresh, wetting her dimpled arms to the elbow, and splashing her pretty high boots from toe to ancle. Now she stood by Diamond, with hands folded. Sometimes chatting confidentially, as small girls do ; sometimes watching silently the little hand that moved to and fro over the paper. "That is exactly like it," she would say, with the delightful, unmitigated approbation of childhood ; " how be-autifully you do it ; you paint much better than Margie."

" Do I ? " Diamond said absently, for she was intent upon her work. " Yes ; she never makes any shadows, and she does the sky so very, very blue. I think e Blanche paints most beautifully, don't you ? But then she doesn't paint those sort of things ; she does men, and women, and great heads of people." " Yes, she is so clever," assented Di, her head still full of her sketch. " Her last one," the little girl went on, in the most sociable tone, " is a poor young man, tied to a tree, and with a lot of arrows sticking into him." A somewhat crude account of St. Sebas tian ! But Diamond made no comment, being almost as innocent of the martyrology as little Dolly. " I will show it to you the next time you come," continued the little girl, " only Blanche says she will not show it to people who have no reverence.

She talks so much about reverence." Diamond suspended her brush for a minute, and dropped into conversation with Dolly. " Which of your sisters do you like best, Dolly ? " she asked, taking an unfair advan tage of the tete-a-tete. The little girl continued — "Oh, I hardly know. Margie ismuch the most good-natured. She never scolds or bothers, like Blanche does, except if I crumple her gowns. But Blanche always takes a great deal more trouble about me, when she does attend. She tells me lovely long stories, and makes lots of things for my dolls, when she is not too busy; but then, you know, she always is so very busy. She does as many lessons now she is grown up as if she was still in the schoolroom. I think it is so silly of her. You don't, do you ? " The girl laughed merrily. " I did as little as I could when I had a governess, and now that I have none, I don't do any at all."

" Yes ; that is just what I shall do when I am grown up," said Dolly, with much ap- Once ! Twice ! Thrice ! and Away ! proval. " I mean to ride about like you do, and enjoy myself without thinking about everybody else. I shall never fuss about what young men are going to call, after every party, like Margie does, and which of my dresses gentlemen like best. I think it is so stupid," said the little girl. Diamond's soft laughter broke forth de lightedly at these revelations. " And which of her dresses does she think Brian likes ? — that man over there, with the long legs." She bent over her painting again, and went on with her sketch, while she listened to Dolly's confidences. The golden afternoon was slipping softly by, and the sun was dropping rosily towards an early setting " in the bright slanting West."

Presently the little girl wandered away to pick more blackberries, popping them into her small, red mouth, instead of her empty rush-basket, messing her pink fingers with squeezing purple sloes, and soiling her boots with stamping on scarlet and orange fungi ; enjoying her birthday in the delicious way that little maidens of her age are wont to do. Diamond sketched on by herself in the stillness ; and somebody on the opposite bank, making his way through the thickly-clustered trees, slowly and somewhat dreamily, like one who moved in a little world of his own, came suddenly upon a picture fresh and beautiful as a new-created Idyll. A girl with the sweetest of sweet faces, framed in with green, bending, whisper ing* boughs ; the blue vault of heaven arched wide over her head ; the clear, still water looking up into her face.

A smile upon her lips, faint with her own young thoughts; smiling to herself, not to man or angel, as though she " In discreetness Kept the seoret of some happy dream. She does not care to speak." He watched delightedly the ever-changing fair and faultless curves of her slender throat, as she lifted her head for a minute, and then drooped it again over her work. And then, as he stood spell-bound, suddenly she sprang to her feet, and sent her high soft voice before her, ringing across to the child half up the bank. "Dolly, wait for me ; I am just going across to get a spray of red bramble-leaves for mamma's painting — I see such a lovely one on the other side." She gathered up her habit in one hand, and still holding her sketch and little riding hat in the other, came towards the tree flung across the water.

Its velvety trunk glowed in the warm light, and the water lay in a rosy ruffle under the blushing sky. The stillness of sunset fell upon the place. He held his breath and gazed, less at her, than at the beauty of the thing : and " She came on like coining fate." A minute he saw her stand hesitating, with her feet among the reeds and rushes, and sud denly she looked up, and he was all bewildered by the sweetness of her eyes — sweet and deep and blue as young March violets. She stepped upon the narrow, slippery bridge, and came fearlessly along, sure and quickly ; but midway, the dark dropping folds of her habit slipped down a little, and caught one of the pretty, tripping feet. She reeled with a little cry, dropping hat and painting, and stretching her hands wildly. But before the cry could have reached the other bank, the old tree shook and trembled under a swift, springing tread, and the girl was lifted off her feet, and, almost before she could breathe, set down dry and safe on the further side.

For a minute she stood half dazed by the suddenness of it, then looked up hastily, and meeting the smile of two dark eyes, cried out : " Oh, how could you ! how dare you 1 " so passionately that the young man half in voluntarily exclaimed — " I beg your pardon." " No, do not do that," she said, beginning to laugh, the hot colour fading from her face. "You did it so well; I should have said, I thank you very much." " Do you think vou are hurt ? " looking down very anxiously into her eyes. " Oh ! dear no ; but my sketch is hurt very much — quite spoilt, I am afraid." " Oh, that is a pity ! " said he eagerly, and catching up a long stick, lay down on the bank and essayed to reach the poor little soaked painting. " Indeed, it is no use ; water colour is not water-proof," she said, and laughed merrily at the smallness of her joke.

" Please not to trouble about it." " Well, but since I cannot save that," he answered, and came to her side again. " let me get the ' red leaves ' for you, you will hurt your hands with their great prickles." " Oh, did you hear?" She blushed a little. " Yes ; I am afraid, though I was not aware of it, that I am trespassing." "Yes, you are," she said frankly. " I am very sorry," he returned, all the time pulling and struggling at the brambles. " But people who trespass need not go ■eaves-dropping as well," the girl answered, gravely. " Pray forgive me ; I thought I could find a short cut from the station to Feversham riory. "You are going to Feversham?" asked Diamond, quickly, and she began to mock at her scruples at carrying on the conversation, if this young stranger man was bound for her father's house.

" Yes, on business ; you will tell me, per haps, how I may go the rest of the way, on (the hard high-road." " Well, you are in Feversham Park already," she answered, smiling; "so I don't think you need go out of it again now. The Priory stands over there in the hollow. I think we can see it from here. No — but it is just behind those Scotch firs." " Thanks, very much." He looked at her curiously, as though wishing to push his enquiries further. But he only gave her the spray of crimson leaves, with clusters of glistening black fruit peeping amongst them. " I hope you are not very much torn and mangled," she said, taking them from him with a smile in her deep violet eyes. " Only this scratch ! " he returned, and smiled back, " I hope the mark will stay for ever, for I shall account it always a scar of honour."

She coloured, and was silent, wondering why the gaze of his great dark eyes compelled her to look up to them. For him, he felt, as he stood there, bareheaded under the sunset, something like the prince in a fairy story, come forth to seek his fortune ; but did ever prince meet with so enchanting a princess ? " Shall I help you over ? You cannot get back alone, can you ? " " Oh ! I will go down to the real bridge," she said, hurriedly, " and cross there." So he had to turn unwillingly away, and go alone over the sunny park : his eyes,. dazzled with the sweetness of her smile, and his heart full of the soft ripple of her speech. He was in love for the first time in his life, and in love he abode till the clay he died. Lady Kilcoran sat alone in her pretty boudoir, enjoying the bright September day in her own gentle, languid fashion.

The brown blinds were drawn down, and the golden afternoon light fell dimmed and mellowed into the room — a room full of soft colour and dainty adornment. A step in the hall made her start up in her easy chair, with a look of anxious, nervous expectancy, but the next minute the respectful knock at the door brought back a vague but delightful sense of relief in the fact that her husband was many miles away from her, for a month or more. The butler came in with a note, and to say, " the gentleman was waiting, and would be glad to see her lady ship." The business-like ring of the message threw " her ladyship " into a state of no little trepidation. She was totally unaccustomed to receive unsupported " gentlemen waiting for an answer." The note was addressed to Lord Kilcoran, and his wife opened it, half wondering at her own temerity, half pleased at her sudden authority.

She read it hurriedly, amid exclamations of astonishment and uncertainty. " What am I to say ? I wish to heaven Katty were still here. How singularly un fortunately things turn out for us ! " Then she took up the letter, and read it a second time. It was from Mrs. Holmes, apologising for the long silence that had ensued upon the receipt of Lord Kilcoran's letter, and saying that Mr. Holmes had had a severe seizure the day before it arrived, and would be incapable for many months of doing any work. It went on to say that as the portrait in question was already begun, and as its hasty completion seemed an object, Mrs. Holmes had sent the letter by a fellow artist of her husband's, who had been for many years his pupil, and continued to paint in his studio : and ventured to suggest that if it wTould convenience his lordship, Mr. Wyld should undertake to finish the painting, as indeed he had done once or twice before, when her husband was pressed for time.

She added that she only made the proposition, because speed seemed the great point ; but she trusted that Lord Kilcoran would not accept it from any ■62 Once ! Twice ! Thrice ! and Away ! feeling of obligation, for she knew she only ex pressed her husband's wish, when she assured his lordship he must consider himself perfectly at liberty to employ any other artist he chose. Lady Kilcoran was glad her husband had not read the last sentence ; she knew it would have irritated and offended him to such a degree, that he would at once, and for no other reason, have dismissed the young man with contumely. But what to decide herself she knew not, and with her usual incon sistency, exclaimed, instantly — " If it had only come a day or two ago that Kilcoran might have settled it." As it was impossible to her to " settle " anything by herself, she went to the library, where Skene had told her he should be busy writing letters all the afternoon.

He was sitting at the writing table, but he did not look very busy. His head leaned dis consolately on his hand, and his eyes gazed away over the golden lawns, watching uncon- Once! Twice! Thrice ! and Away! 63 sciously the gambols of a little grey rabbit that sat up, washing its small funny face with its furry paws, and at the least sound scoured away into the shrubberies. Bffington rose hastily, as though ashamed of being discovered in the midst of his day dreams ; and Lady Kilcoran, holding the letter to him, said, in a plaintive voice — " It has happened so unfortunately, my husband will be so much annoyed." " I think," observed the young man, smiling a little, " there is matter here more for compassion than annoyance." " Oh ! of course, we are very sorry for poor Mr. Holmes," said Lady Kilcoran, fret fully, " but if the good woman could only have written a little sooner.

How am I to know what to answer ? And then this man coming down himself : it is so like artists, and those sort of people ; thoroughly Bohemian. It is all very awkward, and really I don't know what to do ! " " Well, let us talk it over," said Efnngton,. kindly, as though reasoning with an excited child. " Won't you sit down, Aunt Fanny > You will get tired." For he had got to call her so, though she was really no relation. She sat down help lessly in an arm-chair, and looked at him appealingly. " You see," he began, in a patient, argu mentative tone, for he knew she would change her mind a dozen times before she arri 7ed at a decision. " You see, Aunt Fanny, if you have quite a fresh man to do it, he will pro bably begin another picture, and it will take much longer, which is what Mrs. Holmes says.

And the portraits are to be done by Brian's coming of age ? " he asked, with a long sigh. " Yes, that is very true, but then I cannot tell what sort of man this Mr. Wyld is ; whether Kilcoran would like to have him staying in the house. You know how par ticular he is," she urged, half reproachfully, " and he may be a fast, disagreeable young man. I have heard that artists are such an odd set." " Dear Aunt Fanny, they are not wild people," Skene said, laughing. " Some of them are rather eccentric, perhaps, but Wyld is a particularly nice gentlemanly fellow." " Oh ! you know him ? " " Yes. I meet him often in London ; he is considered a very rising man. He has had several pictures already in the Academy." " Well, then, my dear boy, I really think we had better keep him," said Lady Kilcoran, much as if she was speaking of a new gardener.

" I suppose he will not have to stay very long ? Oh ! dear ! how I wish Aunt Katty were here ; she would know what Kilcoran would like me to settle :" which was strange, seeing that she, not Katty, was Kilcoran's wife. Before she had finally made up her mind, a long half hour had run by : and so when F she had been into the drawing-room to receive her guest, had tea brought, and told him that dinner was not till eight, she had only just time to sit down and write a hasty but humble letter to her lord, telling him what had taken place. She was still at the writing-table, when the sound of horses' hoofs and gay young voices announced the return of the two riders. Mr. Wyld had gone upstairs to dress for dinner, but Effington was in the room, peace fully reading. " Skene ! Skene ! come here," Lady Kilcoran cried.