Hopes and Fears

CHAPTER XXII

When all is done or said,

In th' end this shall you find,

He most of all doth bathe in bliss

That hath a quiet mind.-LORD VAUX

Robert had promised to return in the end of March to be present at the Assizes, when the burglars would be tried, and he did not come alone. Mr. Crabbe judged it time to inspect Beauchamp and decide for his wards; and Lady Bannerman, between Juliana's instigations, her own pride in being connected with a trial, and her desire to appropriate Phoebe, decided on coming down with the Admiral to see how matters stood, and to give her vote in the family council.

Commissions from Mervyn had pursued Robert since his arrival in town, all for Bertha's amusement, and he brought down, by special orders, a musical-box, all Leech's illustrations, and a small Maltese dog, like a spun-glass lion, which Augusta had in vain proposed to him to exchange for her pug, which was getting fat and wheezy, and 'would amuse Bertha just as well.' Lady Bannerman hardly contained her surprise when Maria, as well as Mervyn and Phoebe, met her in the hall, seemingly quite tame and at her ease. Mervyn looked better, and in answer to inquiries for Bertha, answered, 'Oh, getting on, decidedly; we have her in the garden. She might drive out, only she has such a horror of meeting any one; but her spirits are better, I really thought she would have laughed yesterday when Maria was playing with the kitten. Ha! the dog, have you got him, Robert. Well, if this does not amuse her, I do not know what will.'

And at the first possible moment, Mervyn, Maria, and the Maltese were off through the open window. Robert asked what Phoebe thought of Mervyn. She said he was much stronger, but the doctor was not satisfied that the mischief was removed, and feared that a little want of care or any excitement might bring on another attack. She dreaded the morrow on his account.

'Yes,' said the elder sister, 'I don't wonder! A most atrocious attempt! I declare I could hardly make up my mind to sleep in the house! Mind you swear to them all, my dear.'

'I only saw Smithson clearly.'

'Oh, never mind; if they have not done that, they have done something quite as bad; and I should never sleep a night again in peace if they got off. Was it true that they had packed up all the liqueurs?'

Phoebe exonerated them from this aggravated guilt.

'I say, my dear, would you tell the butler to bring up some of the claret that was bought at Mr. Rollestone's auction. I told Sir Nicholas that he should taste it, and I don't like to mention it to poor Mervyn, as he must not drink wine.'

'There is some up,' said Phoebe; 'Mervyn fancies that Bertha liked it.'

'My dear, you don't give Bertha that claret! you don't know what poor papa gave for it.'

'If Bertha would only enjoy anything, Mervyn would be overjoyed.'

'Yes, it is as Juliana says; it is nothing but spoiling that ails her,' said Augusta. 'Did you say she was in the garden? I may as well go and see her.'

This Phoebe withstood with entreating looks, and representations that Bertha had as yet seen no fresh face, and was easily startled; but her sister insisted that she was no stranger, and could do no harm, till Phoebe had no choice but to run on and announce her, in the hope that surprise might lessen the period of agitation.

In the sunniest and most sheltered walk was a wheeled chair over which Miss Fennimore held a parasol, while Mervyn and Maria were anxiously trying to win some token of pleasure from the languid, inanimate occupant to whom they were displaying the little dog. As the velvet-bordered silk, crimson shawl, and purple bonnet neared the dark group, a nervous tremor shot through the sick girl's frame, and partly starting up, she made a gesture of scared entreaty; but Lady Bannerman's portly embrace and kind inquiries were not to be averted. She assured the patient that all was well since she could get out of doors, the air would give her a famous appetite, and if she was able to drink claret, she would be strong enough in a day or two to come up to Juliana in London, where change and variety would set her up at once.

Bertha scarcely answered, but made an imperious sign to be drawn to the west wing, and as Phoebe succeeded in turning Augusta's attention to the hothouses Mervyn beckoned to Robert, rather injudiciously, for his patient was still tremulous from the first greeting. Her face had still the strangely old appearance, her complexion was nearly white, her hair thin and scanty, the almost imperceptible cast of the eye which had formerly only served to give character to her arch expression, had increased to a decided blemish; and her figure which had shot up to woman's height, seemed to bend like a reed as Mervyn supported her to the sofa in the school-room. With nervous fright she retained his hand, speaking with such long, helpless hesitation that Robert caught only the words 'Juliana-never-'

'Never, never,' answered Mervyn; 'don't fear! We'll prevent that, Robert; tell her that she shall not fall into Juliana's hands-no, nor do anything against her will.'

Only after repeated assurances from both brothers that Augusta should not carry her off in her present state, did she rest tranquilly on the sofa, while Mervyn after waiting on her assiduously, with touching tenderness, as if constantly imploring her to be pleased, applied himself to playing with the dog, watching her face for some vestige of interest, and with so much gratification at the slightest sign of amusement as to show how melancholy must have been the state compared with which this was improvement.

After slowly attaining her present amount of convalescence, she had there stopped short, without progress in strength or spirits, and alarms constantly varying for her head, spine, and lungs, as if the slightest accidental cause might fix permanent disease in either quarter; and to those who daily watched her, and knew the miserable effects produced by the merest trifles, it was terrible to think that her destination was in the hands of a comparative stranger, urged on by the dull Augusta and the acid Juliana. Mervyn needed no severer penalty for having forfeited his right to protect his sisters; attached to them and devoted to Bertha as the anxieties of the spring had rendered him. The sight of Bertha had so far modified Lady Bannerman's scheme, that she proposed herself to conduct the three to Brighton, and there remain till the London season, when the two younger could be disposed of in some boarding-school, and Phoebe conducted to Albury-street. Mr. Crabbe did not appear averse to this offer, and there was a correctness about it which rendered it appalling to those who had not Phoebe's quiet trust that no part of it would be allowed to happen unless it were good for them. And she found her eldest brother so much subdued and less vituperative, that she thought him quite obliged by her experienced counsel on his housekeeping and cookery, breaking up his present establishment and letting the house for a year, during which she promised him all facilities for meeting a young widow, the wealth of whose stockbroking husband would be exactly what his business and estate required, and would pay off all his debts.

Phoebe saw indications on Mervyn's countenance which made it no surprise that he was in such a condition in the morning that only copious loss of blood and the most absolute rest to the last moment enabled him to go to W--for the trial. Miss Charlecote had undertaken the care of Bertha, that Miss Fennimore might take charge of Maria, who was exceedingly eager to see her brother and sister give evidence.

There is no need to dwell on the proceedings. It was to Phoebe on a larger scale what she had previously gone through. She was too much occupied with the act before God and her neighbour to be self-conscious, or to think of the multitudes eagerly watching her young simple face, or listening to her grave clear tones. A dim perception crossed Lady Bannerman's mind that there really might be something in little Phoebe when she found the sheriff's wife, the grande dame of the hunting field, actually shedding tears of emotion.

As soon as Mervyn's own evidence had been given he had been obliged to go to the inn and lie down; and Phoebe wished to join him there and go home at once. Both Robert and Sir John Raymond were waiting for her at the door of the witness-box, and the latter begged to introduce the sheriff, who pressed her to let him take her back into court to Lady Bannerman, his wife wished so much to see her there and at luncheon. And when Phoebe declared that she must return to her brother, she was told that it had been settled that she was to come with Sir Nicholas and Lady Bannerman to dine and sleep at the sheriff's next day, after the assize was over, to meet the judges.

Phoebe was almost desperate in her refusals, and was so little believed after all, that she charged Robert-when the sheriff had taken leave-to assure Augusta of the impossibility of her accepting the invitation. Sir John smiled, saying, 'Lady Caroline scarcely deserved her,' and added, 'Here is another who wishes to shake hands with you, and this time I promise that you shall not be persecuted-my brother.'

He was a thin, spare man, who might have been taken for the elder brother, with a gentle, dreamy expression and soft, tender voice, such as she could not imagine being able to cope with pupils. He asked after her brother's health, and she offered to ascertain whether Mervyn felt well enough to see him, but he thanked her, saying it was better not.

'It could not have been his doing,' thought Phoebe, as she went up-stairs. 'How strong-minded Cecily must be! I wonder whether she would have done Bertha good.'

'Whose voice was that?' exclaimed Mervyn, at his door above.

'Sir John Raymond and his brother.'

'Are they coming in?'

'No; they thought it might disturb you.'

Phoebe was glad that these answers fell to the share of the unconscious Robert. Mervyn sat down, and did not revert to the Raymonds through all the homeward journey. Indeed, he seemed unequal to speaking at all, went to his room immediately, and did not appear again when the others came home, bringing tidings that the verdict was guilty, and the sentence penal servitude. Lady Bannerman had further made a positive engagement with the sheriff's lady, and was at first incredulous, then highly displeased, at Phoebe's refusal to be included in it. She was sure it was only that Phoebe was bent on her own way, and thought she should get it when left at home with her guardian and her brothers.

Poor Phoebe, she did not so much as know what her own way was! She had never so much wished for her wise guardian, but in the meantime the only wisdom she could see was to wait patiently, and embrace whatever proposal would seem best for the others, though with little hope that any would not entail pain and separation from those who could spare her as ill as she could spare them.

Dr. Martyn was to come over in the course of the ensuing day to examine Bertha, and give her guardian his opinion of her state. There was little danger of its being favourable to violent changes, for Augusta made a descent on the school-room after dinner, and the morbid agitation thus occasioned obliged Miss Fennimore to sit up with the patient till one o'clock. In the morning the languor was extreme, and the cough so frequent that the fear for the lungs was in the ascendant.

But Augusta, knowing of all this, believed her visit to have been most important, and immediately after breakfast summoned Robert to a conference, that he might be convinced that there must be no delay in taking measures for breaking up the present system.

'We must hear what Dr. Martyn says.'

'I never thought anything of Dr. Martyn since he advised me to leave off wine at supper. As Juliana says, a physician can always be taken in by an artful woman, and he is playing into her hands.'

'Into whose?' said Robert, unable to suppose it could be Phoebe's.

'Come, Robert, you ought not to let yourself be so blinded. I am sure it is more for your interest than my own, but I see you are as simple as ever. Juliana said any one could hoodwink you by talking of altar-cloths and Anglo-Saxons.'

'Anglo-Catholics, possibly.'

'Well, it is all the same! It is those nonsensical distinctions, rather than your own interests; but when you are cut out, and depend upon it, she will lose no time in his state of health-'

'Of whom or what are you talking?'

'I never thought well of her, pretending to drink nothing but water; and with that short, dry way, that I call impertinence; but I never thought she could be so lost till last night! Why, when I thought I would just go and see how the child was-there, after calling himself too ill to come in to dinner, there sat Mervyn, actually drinking tea. I promise you they looked disconcerted!'

'Well they might be! Bertha suffered half the night from that sudden visit.'

'And you believe that, Robert! Well! it is a convenient blind! But if you won't, we shall do our best to shame them, and if she dares it, we shall never visit her! That's all!'

Her drift here becoming revealed to Robert, his uncontrollable smile caused Augusta to swell with resentment. 'Aye! nothing on earth will make you own yourself mistaken, or take the advice of your elders, though you might have had enough of upholding Phoebe's wilfulness.'

'Well, what do you want me to do?'

'To join us all in seeing that Miss Fennimore leaves the house before us. Then I will take the girls to Brighton, and you and the Actons might keep watch over him, and if he should persist in his infatuation-why, in the state of his head, it would almost come to a commission of lunacy. Juliana said so!'

'I have no doubt of it,' said Robert, gravely. 'I am obliged to you both, Augusta. As you observe, I am the party chiefly concerned, therefore I have a right to request that you will leave me to defend my interests as I shall see best, and that you will confide your surmise to no one else.'

Robert was not easily gainsaid when he spoke in that tone, and besides, Augusta really was uncertain whether he did not seriously adopt her advice; but though silenced towards him, she did not abstain from lamenting herself to Miss Charlecote, who had come by particular request to consult with Dr. Martyn, and enforce his opinion on Mr. Crabbe. Honora settled the question by a laugh, and an assurance that Mervyn had views in another direction; but Augusta knew of so many abortive schemes for him, and believed him to be the object of so many reports, that she treated this with disdain, and much amused Honora by her matronly superiority and London patronage.

Dr. Martyn came to luncheon, and she endeavoured to extort from him that indulgence hurt Bertha, and that Mervyn needed variety. Failing in this, she remembered his anti-supper advice, and privately warned Mr. Crabbe against him.

His advice threw a new light on the matter. He thought that in a few weeks' time, Bertha ought to be taken to Switzerland, and perhaps spend the winter in the south of France. Travelling gave the best hope of rousing her spirits or bracing her shattered constitution, but the utmost caution against fatigue and excitement would be requisite; she needed to be at once humoured and controlled, and her morbid repugnance to new attendants must be respected till it should wear off of its own accord.

Surely this might be contrived between sister, governess, and German nurse, and if Mr. Fulmort himself would go too, it would be the best thing for his health, which needed exemption from business and excitement.

Here was playing into the governess's hands! Mindful of Juliana's injunctions, Lady Bannerman announced her intention of calling heaven and earth together rather than sanction the impropriety, and set off for her party at the sheriff's in a mood which made Phoebe tremble lest the attractions of ortolans and Burgundy should instigate the 'tremendous sacrifice' of becoming chaperon.

Mervyn thought the doctor's sentence conclusive as to Miss Fennimore's plans, but to his consternation it made no change in them, except that she fixed the departure of the family as the moment of parting. Though her manner towards him had become open and friendly, she was deaf to all that he could urge, declaring that it was her duty to leave his sisters, and that the change, when once made, would be beneficial to Bertha, by removing old associations. In despair, he came to Miss Charlecote, begging her to try her powers of persuasion for the sake of poor Bertha, now his primary object, whom he treated with spoiling affection. He was quite powerless to withstand any fancy of Bertha in her present state, and not only helpless without Miss Fennimore, but having become so far used to her that for his own sake he could not endure the notion of a substitute. 'Find out the objection,' he said, 'that at least I may know whether to punch Augusta's head.'

Honora gratified him by seeking an interview with the governess, though not clear herself as to the right course, and believing that her advice, had she any to give, would go for very little with the learned governess. Miss Fennimore was soft and sad, but decided, and begging to be spared useless arguments. Whether Lady Bannerman had insulted her by hinting her suspicions, Honor could not divine, for she was firmly entrenched within her previous motive, namely, that it would be wrong to remain in a family where first her system, and then her want of vigilance, had produced such results. And to the representation that for her own sake the present conjuncture was the worst in which she could depart, she replied that it mattered not, since she saw her own deficiencies too plainly ever to undertake again the charge of young ladies, and only intended to find employment as a teacher in a school.

'Say no more,' she entreated; 'and above all do not let Phoebe persuade me,' and there were tears on either cheek.

'Indeed, I believe her not having done so is a most unselfish act of deference to your judgment.'

'I know it for a sign of true affection! You, who know what she is, can guess what it costs me to leave her above all, now that I am one in faith with her, and could talk to her more openly than I ever dared to do; she whose example first showed me that faith is a living substance! Yes, Miss Charlecote, I am to be received into the Church at St. Wulstan's, where I shall be staying, as soon as I have left Beauchamp.'

Overcome with feeling, Honora hastily rose and kissed the governess's forehead, her tears choking her utterance. 'But-but,' she presently said, 'that removes all possible doubt. Does not Robert say so?'

'He does,' said Miss Fennimore; 'but I cannot think so. After having miserably infused my own temper of rationalism, how could I, as a novice and learner, fitly train that poor child? Besides, others of the family justly complain of me, and I will not be forced on them. No, nor let my newly-won blessing be alloyed by bringing me any present advantage.'

'I honour you-I agree with you,' said Miss Charlecote, sadly; 'but it makes me the more sorry for those poor girls. I do not see what is to be done! A stranger will be worse than no one to both the invalids; Lieschen has neither head nor nerve; and though I do not believe Phoebe will ever give way, Bertha behaves very ill to her, and the strain of anxiety may be too much for such a mere girl, barely twenty! She may suffer for it afterwards, if not at the time.'

'I feel it all,' sighed Miss Fennimore; 'but it would not justify me in letting myself be thrust on a family whose confidence in me has been deceived. Nobody could go with them but you, Miss Charlecote.'

'Me! how much obliged Mervyn would be,' laughed Honora.

'It was a wild wish, such as crosses the mind in moments of perplexity and distress; but no one else could be so welcome to my poor Bertha, nor be the motherly friend they all require. Forgive me, Miss Charlecote; but I have seen what you made of Phoebe, in spite of me and my system.'

So Honor returned to announce the ill-success of her mission.

'There!' said Mervyn; 'goodness knows what will become of us! Bertha would go into fits at the sight of any stranger; and such a hideous old catamaran as Juliana will be sure to have in pickle, will be the death of her outright. I think Miss Charlecote had better take pity on us!'

'Oh, Mervyn, impossible!' cried Phoebe, shocked at his audacity.

'I protest,' said Mervyn, 'nothing else can save you from some nasty, half-bred companion! Faugh! Now, Miss Charlecote would enjoy the trip, put Maria and Bertha to bed, and take you to operas, and pictures, and churches, and you would all be off my hands!'

'For shame, Mervyn,' cried Phoebe, crimson at his cavalier manner.

'It is the second such compliment I have received, Phoebe,' said Honor. 'Miss Fennimore does me the honour to tell me to be her substitute.'

'Then if she says so,' said Mervyn, 'it is our only rescue!'

If Honor laughed it was not that she did not think. As she crossed the park, she felt that each bud of spring beauty, each promised crop, each lamb, each village child, made the proposal the more unwelcome; yet that the sense of being rooted, and hating to move, ought to be combated. It might hardly be treating Humfrey's 'goodly heritage' aright, to make it an excuse for abstaining from an act of love; and since Brooks attended to her so little when at home, he could very well go on without her. Not that she believed that she should be called on to decide. She did not think Mervyn in earnest, nor suppose that he would encumber himself with a companion who could not be set aside like a governess, and was of an age more 'proper' and efficient than agreeable. His unceremonious manner proved sufficiently that it was a mere joke, and he would probably laugh his loud, scoffing laugh at the old maid taking him in earnest. Yet she could not rid herself of the thought of Phoebe's difficulties, and in poor Bertha, she had the keen interest of nurse towards patient.

'Once before,' she thought, 'have I gone out of the beaten track upon impulse. Cruel consequences! Yet do I repent? Not of the act, but of the error that ensued. Then I was eager, young, romantic. Now I would rather abstain: I am old and sluggish. If it is to be, it will be made plain. I do not distrust my feeling for Phoebe-it is not the jealous, hungering love of old; and I hope to be able to discern whether this be an act of charity! At least, I will not take the initiative. I did so last time.'

Honor's thoughts and speculations were all at Beauchamp throughout the evening and the early morning, till her avocations drove it out of her mind. She was busy, trying hard to get her own way with her bailiff as to the crops, when she was interrupted by tidings that Mr. Fulmort was in the drawing-room; and concluding it to be Robert, she did not hurry her argument upon guano. On entering the room, however, she was amazed at beholding not Robert, but his brother, cast down in an armchair, and looking thoroughly tired out.

'Mervyn! I did not expect to see you!'

'Yes, I just walked over. I thought I would report progress. I had no notion it was so far.'

And in fact he had not been at the Holt since, as a pert boy, he had found it 'slow.' Honor was rather alarmed at his fatigue, and offered varieties of sustenance, which he declined, returning with eager nervousness to the subject in hand.

The Bannermans, he said, had offered to go with Bertha and Phoebe, but only on condition that Maria was left at a boarding-house, and a responsible governess taken for Bertha. Moreover, Augusta had told Bertha herself what was impending, and the poor child had laid a clinging, trembling grasp on his arm, and hoarsely whispered that if a stranger came to hear her story, she would die. Alas! it might be easier than before. He had promised never to consent. 'But what can I do?' he said, with a hand upon either temple; 'they heed me no more than Maria!'

Robert had absolutely half consented to leave his cure in the charge of another, and conduct his brother and sisters, but this plan did not satisfy the guardian, who could not send out his wards without some reliable female.

He swung the tassel of the sofa-cushion violently as he spoke, and looked imploringly at Honora, but she, though much moved, felt obliged to keep her resolution of not beginning.

'Very hard,' he said, 'that when there are but two women in the world that that poor child likes, she can have neither!' and then, gaining hope from something in her face, he exclaimed, 'After all, I do believe you will take pity on her!'

'I thought you in joke yesterday.'

'I thought it too good to be true! I am not so cool as Phoebe thought me. But really,' he said, assuming an earnest, rational, gentlemanly manner, 'you have done so much for us that perhaps it makes us presume, and though I know it is preposterous, yet if it were possible to you to be long enough with poor Bertha to bring her round again, I do believe it would make an infinite difference.'

'What does Phoebe say?' asked Honor.

'Phoebe, poor child, she does not know I am come. She looks as white as death, and got up a smile that was enough to make one cry, but she told me not to mind, for something would be sure to bring it right; and so it will, if you will come.'

'But, Mervyn, you don't consider what a nuisance I shall be to you.'

Mervyn looked more gallant than Robert ever could have done, and said something rather foolish; but anxiety quickly made him natural again, and he proceeded, 'After all, they need not bother you much. Phoebe is of your own sort, and Maria is inoffensive, and Bertha will have Lieschen, and I-I'll take my own line, and be as little of a bore as I can. You'll go?'

'If-if it will do.'

That odd answer was enough. Mervyn, already leaning forward with his arms on his knees, held out one hand, and shaded his eyes with the other, as, half with a sob, he said, 'There, then, it is all right! Miss Charlecote, you can't guess what it is to a man not to be trusted with his own sisters!'

These words made that bete noire, John Mervyn Fulmort, nearly as much a child of her own as his brother and sister; for they were in a tone of self-blame-not of resentment.

She was sufficiently afraid of him to respect his reserve; moreover, he looked so ill and harassed that she dreaded his having an attack, and heartily wished for Phoebe, so she only begged him to rest till after her early dinner, when she would convey him back to Beauchamp; and then left him alone, while she went to look her undertaking in the face, rather amused to find herself his last resource, and surprised to find her spirit of enterprise rising, her memories of Alps, lakes, cathedrals, and pictures fast assuming the old charm that had erst made her long to see them again. And with Phoebe! Really it would be almost a disappointment if the scheme failed.

When she again met her unwonted guest he plunged into plans, routes, and couriers, treating her as far more completely pledged than she chose to allow; and eating as heartily as he dared, and more so than she thought Phoebe would approve. She was glad to have him safe at his own door, where Phoebe ran to meet them, greatly relieved, for she had been much disturbed by his absence at luncheon.

'Miss Charlecote! Did you meet him?'

'I went after her'-and Mervyn boyishly caught his sister round the waist, and pushed her down into a curtsey-'make your obedience; she is going to look after you all.'

'Going with us!' cried Phoebe, with clasped hands.

'To see about it,' began Honor, but the words were strangled in a transported embrace.

'Dearest, dearest Miss Charlecote! Oh, I knew it would all come right if we were patient; but, oh! that it should be so right! Oh! Mervyn, how could you?'

'Ah! you see what it is not to be faint-hearted.' And Phoebe, whose fault was certainly not a faint heart, laughed at this poor jest, as she had seldom laughed before, with an abandon of gaiety and joyousness. The quiet girl was absolutely thrown off her balance, laughed and cried, thanked and exclaimed, moved restlessly, and spoke incoherently.

'Oh! may I tell Bertha?' she asked.

'No, I'll do that,' said Mervyn. 'It is all my doing.'

'Run after him, Phoebe,' said Honor. 'Don't let Bertha think it settled!'

And Bertha was, of course, disappointingly indifferent.

Lady Bannerman's nature was not capable of great surprise, but Miss Charlecote's proposal was not unwelcome. 'I did not want to go,' she said; 'though dear Sir Nicholas would have made any sacrifice, and it would have looked so for them to have gone alone. Travelling with an invalid is so trying, and Phoebe made such a rout about Maria, that Mr. Crabbe insisted on her going. But you like the kind of thing.'

Honor undertook for her own taste for the kind of thing, and her ladyship continued, 'Yes, you must find it uncommonly dull to be so much alone. Where did Juliana tell me she had heard of Lucy Sandbrook?'

'She is in Staffordshire,' answered Honor, gravely.

'Ah, yes, with Mrs. Willis Beaumont; I remember. Juliana made a point of letting her know all about it, and how you were obliged to give her up.'

'I hope not,' exclaimed Honor, alarmed. 'I never gave her up! There is no cause but her own spirit of independence that she should not return to me to-morrow.'

'Oh, indeed,' said Augusta, carelessly letting the subject drop, after having implanted anxiety too painful to be quelled by the hope that Lady Acton's neighbourhood might have learnt how to rate her words.

Mr. Crabbe was satisfied and complimentary; Robert, rejoiced and grateful; and Bertha, for the first time, set her will upon recovering, and made daily experiments on her strength, thus quickly amending, though still her weakness and petulance needed the tenderest management, and once when a doubt arose as to Miss Charlecote's being able to leave home, she suddenly withered up again, with such a recurrence of unfavourable symptoms as proved how precarious was her state.

It was this evidence of the necessity of the arrangement that chiefly contributed to bring it to pass. When the pressure of difficulty lessened, Mervyn was half ashamed of his own conquest, disliked the obligation, and expected to be bored by 'the old girl,' as, to Phoebe's intense disgust, he would speak of Miss Charlecote. Still, in essentials he was civil and considerate, and Honor carefully made it evident that she did not mean to obtrude herself, and expected him to sit loose to the female part of the company. Divining that he would prefer the start from home not to be simultaneous, and also favouring poor Bertha's shuddering horror of the direct line of railway to London, she proposed that the ladies should work their way by easy journeys on cross lines to Southampton, whilst Mervyn settled his affairs at the office, and then should come to them with Robert, who had made it possible to take an Easter holiday in which to see them safe to their destination in Switzerland.

Phoebe tried to acquiesce in Miss Charlecote's advice to trust Mervyn's head to Robert's charge, and not tease him with solicitude; but the being debarred from going to London was a great disappointment. She longed for a sight of St. Matthew's; and what would it not have been to see the two brothers there like brothers indeed? But she must be content with knowing that so it was. Mervyn's opposition was entirely withdrawn, and though he did not in the least comprehend and was far from admiring his brother's aims, still his name and his means were no longer withheld from supporting Robert's purposes, 'because he was such a good fellow, it was a shame to stand in his way.' She knew, too, rather by implication than confession, that Mervyn imagined his chief regrets for the enormous extravagance of the former year, were because he had thus deprived himself of the power of buying a living for his brother, as compensation for having kept him out of his father's will. Whether Mervyn would ever have made the purchase, and still more whether Robert would have accepted it, was highly doubtful, but the intention was a step for which to be thankful; and Phoebe watched the growing friendliness of the long estranged pair with constantly new delight, and anticipated much from Mervyn's sight of St. Matthew's with eyes no longer jaundiced.

She would gladly, too, have delayed the parting with Miss Fennimore, who had made all her arrangements for a short stay with her relatives in London, and then for giving lessons at a school. To Phoebe's loyal spirit, it seemed hard that even Miss Charlecote's care should be regarded as compensating for the loss of the home friend of the last seven years, and the closer, dearer link was made known as she sat late over the fire with the governess on Easter Sunday evening, their last at Beauchamp. Silent hitherto, Miss Fennimore held her peace no longer, but begged Phoebe to think of one who on another Sunday would no longer turn aside from the Altar. Phoebe lifted her eyes, full of hope and inquiry, and as she understood, exclaimed, 'O, I am glad! I knew you must have some deep earnest reason for not being with us.'

'You never guessed?'

'I never tried. I saw that Robert knew, so I hoped.'

'And prayed?'

'Yes, you belonged to me.'

'Do I belong to you now?'

'Nay, more than ever now.'

'Then, my child, you never traced my unsettled faith?-my habit of testing mystery by reason never perplexed you?'

Phoebe thought a moment, and said, 'I knew that Robert distrusted, though I never asked why. There was a time when I used to try to sift the evidence and logic of all I learnt, and I was puzzled where faith's province began and reasoning ended. But when our first sorrow came, all the puzzles melted, and it was not worth while to argue on realities that I felt. Since that, I have read more, and seen where my own ignorance made my difficulties, and I have prized-yes, adored, the truths all the more because you had taught me to appreciate in some degree their perfect foundation on reasoning.'

'Strange,' said Miss Fennimore, 'that we should have lived together so long, acting on each other, yet each unconscious of the other's thoughts. I see now. What to you was not doubt, but desire for a reason for your hope, became in poor Bertha, not disbelief, but contempt and carelessness of what she did not feel. I shall never have a sense of rest, till you can tell me that she enters into your faith. I am chiefly reconciled to leaving her, because I trust that in her enfeebled, dependent state, she may become influenced by Miss Charlecote and by you.'

'I cannot argue with her,' said Phoebe. 'When she is well, she can always puzzle me; I lose her when she gets to her ego. You are the only one who can cope with that.'

'The very reason for keeping away. Don't argue. Live and act. That was your lesson to me.'

Phoebe did not perceive, and Miss Fennimore loved her freedom from self-consciousness too well even for gratitude's sake to molest her belief that the conversion was solely owing to Robert's powers of controversy.

That one fleeting glimpse of inner life was the true farewell. The actual parting was a practical matter of hurry of trains, and separation of parcels, with Maria too busy with the Maltese dog to shed tears, or even to perceive that this was a final leave-taking with one of those whom she best loved.