The Project Gutenberg eBook ofAldyth's inheritanceThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Aldyth's inheritanceAuthor: Eglanton ThorneRelease date: October 8, 2024 [eBook #74544]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: London: The Religious Tract Society, 1891*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALDYTH'S INHERITANCE ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Aldyth's inheritanceAuthor: Eglanton ThorneRelease date: October 8, 2024 [eBook #74544]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: London: The Religious Tract Society, 1891
Title: Aldyth's inheritance
Author: Eglanton Thorne
Author: Eglanton Thorne
Release date: October 8, 2024 [eBook #74544]
Language: English
Original publication: London: The Religious Tract Society, 1891
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALDYTH'S INHERITANCE ***
Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
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BY
EGLANTON THORNE
AUTHOR OF "THE OLD WORCESTER JUG," "IDA NICOLARI,""THE MANSE OF GLEN CLUNIE," "THE TWO CROWNS," ETC.
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARDAND 164 PICCADILLY
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED,LONDON AND BUNGAY.
CONTENTS.
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CHAPTER
I. THE BLAND FAMILY
II. A NOVEL INTRODUCTION
III. GUY LORRAINE
IV. A LECTURE ON POETRY
V. A DAY AT WYNDHAM HALL
VI. DISAPPOINTMENT
VII. A MISCHIEF-MAKER
VIII. GOSSIP AND MISCONCEPTION
IX. MR. STEPHEN LORRAINE COMES TO AN UNDERSTANDING WITH HIS HEIR
X. HILDA BLAND'S PARTY
XI. CHRISTMAS AT WYNDHAM
XII. MR. LORRAINE SENDS FOR HIS SOLICITOR
XIII. SORROW AND JOY
XIV. A LONG-DEFERRED HOPE IS REALIZED
XV. ALDYTH WAKES FROM A DREAM
XVI. CONTRASTS
XVII. HILDA IS HAPPY
XVIII. A SUMMONS TO WYNDHAM
XIX. THE MISTRESS OF WYNDHAM
XX. UNWELCOME CHANGES COME IN FORTUNE'S TRAIN
XXI. GUY MAKES A DISCOVERY
XXII. A STRICKEN HEROINE AND A SHAMELESS SUITOR
XXIII. LOSSES AND GAINS
XXIV. A SECRET SORROW
XXV. HOW MRS. STANTON SPENT HER FIRST AFTERNOON AT WYNDHAM
XXVI. A FAREWELL
XXVII. AN ACCIDENT IN THE HUNTING-FIELD
XXVIII. KITTY SHOWS THE STRENGTH OF HER CHARACTER
XXIX. A MIND DISEASED
XXX. THE WRONG DISCLOSED
XXXI. HOW GUY WAS PACIFIED
XXXII. THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS
ALDYTH'S INHERITANCE.
THE BLAND FAMILY.
MRS. BLAND'S house stood in the High Street of the little town of Woodham. It was an old-fashioned, sedate-looking house, with a bow-window projecting on each side of the front door, and two rows of white-curtained windows above; but there was nothing prim about the garden which lay at the back of the house. This garden, with its wealth of sweet-scented flowers, its fruit trees, its sunflowers and hollyhocks standing out in rich contrast to the mellow red of the old walls, was a delightful place in which to spend a warm September afternoon.
About the middle of the garden, and bordering at its lower end the portion which, though not devoid of beauty, was obviously devoted to utility, was a strip of lawn shaded by trees. Here, on such an afternoon, Hilda Bland was lying, very much at her ease, in a hammock suspended between two sturdy trunks. She had a book in her hand, but reading was impossible, since Kate was on the path close by, chattering fast as she gathered flowers, and Gwen, her younger sister, was displaying great energy in her attempts to shake or knock down some of the ripe greengages that were visible at the top of the tall tree to which one end of the hammock was fastened.
"You won't get them that way, Gwen," cried Kate, as her sister threw a rake handle at the top of the tree, and it came rattling down through the branches.
"You are far more likely to break my head," said Hilda, from the hammock, "and you shake me dreadfully. You might have a little respect for my feelings."
"Nonsense; you are so lazy, Hilda! If you were anything of a sister, you would come and help me."
"Thanks for the suggestion, dear," said Hilda, sweetly, "but I prefer remaining where I am." And she threw herself back upon the cushions with an air of indolent grace.
At all times Hilda had rather a languid air. Of slender form, below the middle height, with a colourless complexion, and features regular and delicately formed, she had a frail appearance beside her more robust-looking sisters; but, in truth, her health was as good as theirs. Mrs. Bland used to boast that her girls were never ill, thanks to the care with which she had followed the common sense rules for the rearing of his children laid down by her deceased husband, who had practised as a surgeon at Woodham. There was a dreamy, absent look in Hilda's large blue eyes, which some persons found interesting, and others quite the reverse. To the unimaginative it was a sleepy, stupid look; but the more discerning saw in it the sign of a thoughtful, reflective nature.
There was but the faintest resemblance between Hilda and Kate, who was eighteen months older. No one could be less dreamy or indolent than Kate, or, as she was more often called, Kitty. With black hair, keen dark eyes, and a warm brown complexion, now, at the end of the summer, deepened to a gipsy-like hue, she looked very much alive. Her form was sturdy, though trim, her features of a decided character, the nose of the Roman type, the chin well rounded and somewhat prominent, the mouth firm, though ready enough to break into smiles. She was the eldest of Mrs. Bland's family of four, and had passed her twenty-second birthday, but strangers often took her for younger than Hilda, there was so much of the child about Kitty still. Hilda was the quiet one of the family, fond of reading and dreaming. Kitty was seldom still. She seemed made for a country life, and was as happy in the rigours of winter as in the summer's prime. Riding, rowing, skating, there were few healthy exercises in which she did not excel. Of the liveliest temperament, she was a great talker and rather satirical, but happily her nature was too sound and warm for her satire to be tinged with malice or envy.
"I wish Charlie would come," she said presently, as she flitted to and fro amongst the flowers; "it chimed four ever so long ago. There, the quarter is striking now."
"Did you ever know Charlie come straight home from school?" asked Hilda, as she turned over the leaves of her Browning. "Why are you in such a hurry to see him?"
"Oh, you know! I am dying to hear about that new master. The arrival of a stranger at Woodham is such an event."
"Is there a new master?" asked Hilda, indifferently.
"Oh, Hilda! How stupid you are! Don't you know that Mr. Ferris was to leave at the end of last term, and did you not hear Miss Lorraine say the other day that a gentleman from London was coming to take his place—a B.A. of Cambridge, she said he was?"
"I did not hear it," said Hilda; "but Miss Lorraine has always so much to say, I cannot pretend to listen to every word."
"Well, I should think you might have listened to that," returned Kate, whilst Gwen paused for a moment in her futile efforts to bring down the greengages, and turned to hear what her sisters were saying.
"Why? What about him? What is his name, and what has he to do with us?" asked Hilda, anxious to get information as speedily as possible, that she might resume her reading.
"I have not heard his name, and I do not know that he has anything to do with us," said Kate, rather lamely; "but I hope, for Charlie's sake, that he is nice; and, of course, I should like to know whether he goes in for boating and that sort of thing, and would be likely to join our tennis club."
"Oh, you are thinking of the tennis," said Hilda, languidly; but the next moment she started up with an exclamation of pleasure, as she saw who was coming down the path from the house, accompanied by Mrs. Bland.
The visitor was a tall, slight girl, wearing a fresh cotton gown and a wide straw hat, as simply dressed as a girl could be, yet with a certain becoming grace peculiar to the wearer. You might not have known at first sight whether Aldyth Lorraine was to be considered pretty; but you would have felt in an instant that she was charming.
Her features were neither regular nor delicately moulded. The chin was too long, the mouth too large, the lips perhaps a trifle too full for beauty; but when the lips parted they displayed the most white and perfect teeth, and her smile revealed the sweetness of a frank and loving nature. The large-brimmed hat hid the broad, finely-arched brow and the dark brown hair which rippled back from it, but could not dim the merry, happy light that shone in the grey eyes. There could be no question as to the beauty of those eyes, long in shape, of a deep violet-grey hue, and shaded by long dark lashes. But, whilst we may attempt to describe features, what words can give the charm of a sweet girl's face? Aldyth's had a charm which won many hearts. But perhaps the charm was rather in herself than in her face. That was winsome, because her heart was tender and true and sympathetic, full of kind feelings towards every one she met.
"To think of my finding you all at home!" exclaimed Aldyth. "I felt sure you would be at tennis this lovely afternoon, and that I should have a quiet chat with Mrs. Bland."
"I am sorry for your disappointment," said Kitty; "but there has been nothing to hinder your having a quiet talk with mother. The fact is, Clara Dawtrey has a party of her friends on the ground this afternoon." Kitty's lip curled as she spoke.
Aldyth's quick little nod expressed perfect comprehension.
"What a pity that girl is so loud in her manners," she remarked. "I feel sometimes as if I should like to give her a little hint, but I suppose it would do more harm than good. Aunt says that if she only knew the things that are said of her, even by the gentlemen she counts her admirers, she would alter her ways."
As she spoke, Aldyth was lifting a chair out of the summerhouse at the end of the lawn for Mrs. Bland.
"Gwen," cried Kitty, who had her hands too full of flowers to render assistance, "do you see what Aldyth is doing? How rude you are! It is time you went back to school."
"Never mind, Gwen," said Aldyth, laughing, as the girl rushed up too late to be of use; "it won't kill me to lift a chair. And it is cruel of Kitty to remind you that Monday is so near. Charlie has gone back to school to-day, has he not?"
"Oh, that is nothing; I wish I only went to a day-school," said Gwen, a big girl of fifteen; "but is not Kitty curious? She is dying to question Charlie about the new master. Do you know anything about him?"
"Some one else is curious, I think," said Aldyth, merrily. "All I know of him is that he is named John Glynne, and Aunt Lucy is trying to persuade herself that he is one of the Glynnes of Norfolk, and that she went to school with his mother. Ah, here is Charlie; now we shall hear."
A boy of twelve, satchel in hand, came bounding down the garden. But, boy-like, Charlie would yield but meagre replies to the questions with which the girls plied him.
Yes, he had seen Mr. Glynne, of course. He had taken their class for Latin, and they were to read Shakespeare with him on Friday afternoons. He did not know that Mr. Glynne was any different from other masters; he did not like him so well as Mr. Ferris. He had given them a lot to prepare, and he had come down "like a load of bricks" on one boy, whom he had caught with a book open beneath his desk. He said it was as bad as stealing to take the credit of knowing a lesson which had not been studied, and that he had hoped he was going to teach manly boys, and not "sneaks."
"He is quite right," said Mrs. Bland, warmly. "I hate to hear of boys doing such deceitful things. Charlie, it would grieve me beyond words to express if I thought you could act in such a way. But I am not afraid. I believe that my boy will always be true and straightforward in his conduct."
"All right, mother," said Charlie, hastily. "But, please, I want that half-crown you promised me. I'm off to Stubbs' now, about those rabbits." And no more information concerning the new master was to be drawn from him.
"Tiresome young monkey!" cried Kate, as Charlie ran off with his half-crown. "Aldyth, you have no idea how provoking a young brother can be. You have no brothers or sisters to trouble you."
"I have a brother and sisters," said Aldyth, "though they cannot certainly be said to trouble me."
"To be sure! I always forget those relatives of yours on the other side of the world," said Kate, carelessly. "I must say I could not feel much affection for half-brothers and sisters whom I had never seen."
"But I hope to see them some day," said Aldyth, colouring as she spoke; "and I write to them, and they write to me sometimes. I should be sorry to feel as if I did not belong to them. But I must be going. I only looked in to ask Mrs. Bland if I had bought the right kind of wool that mother wants me to send her."
"Oh, Aldyth, don't go yet!" exclaimed Hilda, springing up in the hammock, and well-nigh overbalancing herself. "Do try the hammock; it's delicious this afternoon. A thousand apologies for not asking you before."
"Not now, thank you, Hilda," said Aldyth; "I have my letter to finish for the mail."
Though Aldyth was on the friendliest terms with all the Bland family, Hilda was especially her friend. The two girls walked arm-in-arm to the garden door, and after a prolonged good-bye there, Hilda came back to her mother and sisters.
"Kitty," she said, "you should not have said that about Aldyth's relatives. I am sure you hurt her, for she thinks so much of them all. She is always writing to them, and she never forgets one of their birthdays, though they sometimes forget hers."
"I am very sorry," said Kitty; "but really it is absurd to suppose that she can care as much for her brother and sisters as if they had been brought up together."
"She may not care in the same way, but she certainly loves them; and as for her mother, it seems to me that Aldyth simply worships the mother whom she has never seen."
"She must have seen her," said Kate.
"Of course; but you need not be so absurdly literal, Kate. Aldyth was only two years old when her mother went to Australia. She cannot remember her."
"It always seems to me that Miss Lorraine is more truly Aldyth's mother," said Mrs. Bland. "She has had the care of her ever since she was a few months old, for shortly after Aldyth was born, Captain Lorraine's health began to fail, and then Mrs. Lorraine travelled about with him, and the baby was left with her aunt. I am sure Miss Lorraine feels that Aldyth is her child, and I believe she provides for her almost entirely."
"Yes, but Aldyth does not feel like that," said Hilda. "She is fond of her aunt, and very grateful to her; but she loves her mother best. She is always looking forward to her mother's coming to England. I wonder if she ever will come!"
"Poor Aldyth!" said Mrs. Bland, with a sigh.
"Why do you always say 'Poor Aldyth' when we speak of Aldyth's mother?" asked Hilda, quickly.
"Do I always say it?" replied Mrs. Bland.
"Yes, you do, mother, and I want to know why. I believe it is because you think that Aldyth's mother loves her eldest child less than her eldest child loves her. Is that it?"
"Well, perhaps," Mrs. Bland admitted. "I must confess I find it hard to understand how a mother could leave such a tiny child behind her in England, and let her grow up to womanhood without making an effort to see her. I can only suppose that the other children, born to her in Melbourne, have taken Aldyth's place in her heart, and that, absorbed in her home life, she thinks but little of her eldest daughter, and regards her rather as Miss Lorraine's adopted child than as her own."
"But she wants to come home, and her coming has often been talked of," said Hilda. "She tells Aldyth in her letters how she longs to see her."
"I dare say," said Mrs. Bland, drily; "but a mother's passionate yearning to see her child would have found out a way for them to meet before now, I think."
"You knew Aldyth's mother when she was a girl, did you not?" asked Kate. "Is Aldyth like her?"
"Yes and no," said Mrs. Bland; "Aldyth's mother was a lovely girl, and had most fascinating ways. Aldyth is more of a Lorraine, and yet she often reminds me of her mother. But there is a great difference—I hardly know how to explain it—but there is a great difference between them. Aldyth seems to have inherited her father's frank, loving nature together with her mother's brightness."
"Had not Mrs. Lorraine a loving nature?" Hilda asked.
"Well, not as a girl. She was the belle of this neighbourhood, and had many admirers, and that sort of thing makes same girls callous. Then her parents were poor and designing, and they hurried her into a marriage with Captain Lorraine, because they thought he was to be his uncle's heir. I do not believe she loved him, and she was too young to have an idea of the serious duties and responsibilities of married life. You know I think no girl should be married before she is one and twenty."
"And the marriage proved an unhappy one, I suppose?" said Kate.
"I fear so," said Mrs. Bland. "Stephen Lorraine strongly disapproved of it, and when his nephew married in spite of his disapproval, he would have nothing more to do with him. The captain was harassed with money difficulties, and, as his health failed, he grew morbid and depressed. I heard Mrs. Lorraine say once that living with him was like being continually with a wet blanket. She was easily consoled after his death, for within a year she married Mr. Stanton, and sailed for Australia."
"Poor Aldyth!" sighed Hilda. "It seems hard that her mother should desert her like that. Miss Lorraine is very kind; but she is so fussy and talkative; I should not like to live with her."
"I wonder if Aldyth will ever join her family," said Kitty, "and how she will like them if she does!"
"I almost hope that may never happen," said Mrs. Bland, "for I fancy it would mean disappointment for Aldyth."
"She will never know what it is to have such a dear little mother as you," cried Gwen, suddenly bestowing a warm hug on her mother.
Mrs. Bland laughed at Gwen's vehemence, but tears came into her eyes as she kissed Gwen.
The death of her husband, followed a year later by that of her eldest boy, three years younger than Hilda, had intensified the anxiety that almost invariably attends a mother's love; but Mrs. Bland was a wise woman, and kept most of her fears to herself, taking care not to worry her children. Thus it was that her girls grew up with the feeling that their mother was their best friend, and there was no constraint between them, though Hilda at times evinced a certain reserve of character which caused her mother some uneasiness.
Mrs. Bland's heart was so essentially that of a mother that its sympathies could not be bounded by her own home circle. The friends of her girls were her friends also, and responded gratefully to the kindness she showed them. As for Aldyth Lorraine, she was well-nigh as dear to Mrs. Bland as one of her own children. She had grown up with Kate and Hilda. They had been separated only during their school terms, Aldyth having been sent to a more expensive school than Mrs. Bland could afford for her daughters. Aldyth often said that Mrs. Bland was the most motherly woman she knew; and unconsciously the girl's thoughts of her absent mother, and her dreams of what their meeting would be, were largely coloured by what she saw of the love and confidence existing between Mrs. Bland and her daughters.
A NOVEL INTRODUCTION.
THE house in which Aldyth Lorraine lived with her aunt was scarcely ten minutes' walk from Mrs. Bland's. The High Street took a turn just above the Blands' door, and winding round to the left, ended at an open space where three roads met. To the left diverged the Tolleshunt and Longbridge roads. The road, which was almost a continuation of the High Street, was known as the London Road, and was the more fashionable part of Woodham. Here were the newest and smartest villas that the little town could boast; but here and there amongst them stood a house with a history, a history which went back through many generations, so that one might imagine the old dwelling to look with contempt on its modern, upstart neighbours.
Miss Lorraine's house was one of the old ones, and was known as Myrtle Cottage. It was not very convenient, but it was picturesque, having a thatched roof, and walls tapestried with ivy. It stood in a pretty garden, sheltered by a thick hawthorn hedge, and, as it was the last of the houses, and the road dipped sharply on the other side, it had a fine view of a wide expanse of flat country, green meadows and hedgerows, cornfields and copses, melting away into the exquisite blue of distance.
Leaving the Blands, Aldyth walked quickly to the cottage, but her haste did not prevent her pausing for a moment with her hand on the gate to gaze at the far-reaching prospect bathed in the mellow light of the lovely September afternoon. There was something to Aldyth very heart-satisfying in that broad, fair landscape, and she never wearied of looking at it.
But as she gazed now, she became aware that a young man was seated on the low bank at the other side of the road. For a moment she imagined that he was merely sitting there to enjoy the prospect, but another glance showed her that he was very pale, and there was blood on the handkerchief he was pressing to his temple; his cap lay in the dust, and leaning against the hedge, a few paces down the bill, was a bicycle, which seemed to have come to grief. Instantly Aldyth crossed the road, saying, kindly—
"I fear you have had an accident. Are you much hurt?"
"Oh, it is nothing, thank you," said the stranger, in refined, courteous tones; "I have had an awkward fall and cut my forehead, but the pain is nothing, if only it would stop bleeding."
"Won't you come in and let my aunt see what she can do for you?" said Aldyth. "This is her house, and she is rather clever at dressing wounds."
"You are very kind," said the young man, meeting Aldyth's glance with a pair of clear blue eyes that had a very penetrative gaze; "but I think there is no need to trouble your aunt; I shall be all right in a few minutes."
But a fresh spurt of blood from the wound made him press the handkerchief closer to his face, and the colour which had returned to it died away.
"Indeed, you had better come in," said Aldyth, earnestly. "You know you really cannot go home like that. People would stare at you so."
The last words had their effect. The young man's face broke into a merry smile.
"They would indeed," he said. "I had not thought of that. And the boys! What entertainment for them! Thank you, I will avail myself of your kindness."
"That is right," said Aldyth, making a movement as though she would pick up his cap, but he saw her intention and was before her, though stooping brought a return of the giddiness which he had at first experienced. She had to help him bring his bicycle within the garden, then she hurried on to the house, the stranger following with a slow and somewhat uncertain step.
Happily Miss Lorraine was at home. She was seated at her desk in the little drawing room which opened at one side of the front door. A great talker, Miss Lorraine was not less great as a correspondent. When not paying calls or entertaining visitors, she was generally to be found writing letters.
"Aunt Lucy, here is a gentleman I met at the gate. He has had an accident; he fell from his bicycle. Do come and see what you can do for him."
"My dear! An accident?" cried Miss Lorraine, springing up with alacrity.
She came bustling into the hall, a comely little woman, whose age it would have been difficult to determine, for her black hair was scarce touched with grey, her eyes bright; she moved and spoke briskly, and was always dressed in a dainty, becoming style. Of great energy, she loved to be of use in any way, and, as Aldyth knew well, was delighted by this unexpected call to render surgical aid.
Aldyth had not given a thought to the individuality of the stranger, but Miss Lorraine recognized the gentleman who had been pointed out to her that morning as the new master at the Woodham Grammar School. She welcomed him heartily, took him in hand at once in her quick, energetic fashion, and had soon sponged the wound and dressed it, not unskilfully, with lint and plaster.
"Now, Mr. Glynne, you must stay and take tea with me and Aldyth. Yes, indeed you must rest after such a shock, and the quieter you keep, the sooner the wound will heal."
"You are very kind," said John Glynne, feeling the attraction of the bright little home in which he found himself, and inclined to accept the invitation; "but you have the advantage of me, since you know my name, whilst I have yet to learn to whom I am indebted for such kind services."
"Oh, no one can be long a stranger at Woodham," said Miss Lorraine; "we have a curious faculty—have we not, Aldyth?—of finding out the history of everybody, and if you had been here more than one day, Mr. Glynne, you would have learned that I am Miss Lorraine, and this is my niece Aldyth. I am pretty well-known, having lived at Woodham all my life. And there are few persons in the neighbourhood who have not heard of my father, Dr. Lorraine, who practised as a physician here for many years. People would come miles to consult him."
"And did he leave no son to succeed to his practice?" asked Mr. Glynne.
"No," said Miss Lorraine, a shadow falling on her face; "I had but one brother, Aldyth's father, and he chose the army as his profession. Charlie Bland was my father's partner, and he succeeded him; but he died, poor fellow, a few years later. His widow and family live in that large house with bow-windows at the top of the High Street."
But Mr. Glynne had to confess that he was so new to Woodham that he had not yet observed the Blands' house.
"I fancy the name Bland has come before me to-day," he said. "Is there a boy at the school belonging to the family?"
"Yes, Charlie Bland goes to the school," said Aldyth. "He is a nice boy. I know him well, for the Blands are great friends of mine."
Miss Lorraine was moving to and fro between dining room and drawing room on hospitable thoughts intent. Nothing could please her better than that she should be the first lady at Woodham to make the acquaintance of the new master. As for John Glynne, he was beginning to regard his accident as a fortunate occurrence, since it had introduced him to this bright, good-natured woman and her charming niece. Aldyth felt considerable inward amusement as she talked to this wholly unexpected visitor.
"What will Kitty say?" she thought. "She will wish he had fallen from his bicycle at their door."
"Tea is ready. Will you come into the next room, Mr. Glynne?" said Miss Lorraine, rising to lead the way. "Now had you not better rest on the sofa? No, won't you really? Then you must take this easy-chair. There! You look quite interesting with your head bandaged."
At this remark the young man sprang to his feet and looked at himself in the mirror above the mantelshelf He coloured, and laughed as he saw the effect of the bandage.
"I hope it will not be necessary to appear before my pupils in this headgear," he said.
Catching his half-rueful, half-humorous expression, Aldyth broke into a merry laugh, in which her aunt joined.
"You need not fear that," said Miss Lorraine. "The wound will have stanched by and by, and I can remove that unsightly bandage. It really makes you look as if you had been fighting."
And the three laughed again.
"It is a punishment for reckless riding," said Mr. Glynne. "But I was unprepared for such a sudden descent. I thought Essex roads were guiltless of hills."
"So many persons suppose," said Miss Lorraine. "But Essex is really not so flat as it is represented to be. There are many hills about Woodham, are there not, Aldyth?"
"They seem considerable hills to us," replied Aldyth. "But I dare say people coming from hilly districts would not think much of them. From what part of the country do you come, Mr. Glynne?"
"I was brought up in Norfolk," he said, "but we have lived in London now for many years."
"Norfolk!" exclaimed Miss Lorraine, eagerly. "Was your father a clergyman in the neighbourhood of Yarmouth?"
"He was," said Mr. Glynne, looking surprised; "did you know him?"
"And your mother's name was Susan Staines before she married?" said Miss Lorraine, in her eagerness passing by his question.
"It was—then you know my mother?" said the young man, his face lighting up with pleasure. "How strange!"
"We were girls at school together; she was my great friend in those days," said Miss Lorraine; "but she went abroad to perfect herself in the foreign languages, and gradually our correspondence dropped. I heard some years later that she had married a clergyman, and was living near Yarmouth; then, after a while, I heard that her husband was dead. I have often longed to see her again. And now I see her son. How strange it seems!"
"My mother will be delighted to hear that I have met with an old friend of hers," said John Glynne. "I will tell her when I write to-morrow."
"Yes, do," said Miss Lorraine, "and give her my love—Lucy Lorraine's love. Tell her I mean to be your friend, if you will let me, for your mother's sake. For indeed you seem no stranger now."
"You have shown yourself a good friend to me already," said John Glynne; "but I am glad that you know my mother. It makes me feel at home with you."
"Are you her only child?" asked Miss Lorraine.
"No; there are three of us. I have a brother and a sister. I am the eldest. My mother was left with very limited means, and she has had a struggle to bring us up. But things are easier for her now, I am thankful to say."
"You have helped to make them easier," was Aldyth's quick thought, as she saw the expression his face wore when he spoke of his mother.
It was a good face, and more and more it won on her, despite the ugly bandage which concealed the square compact forehead, betokening a high order of intellect. The features were not handsome, but they were strong; the blue eyes had the kindest, frankest look in them, and the curves of the mouth and the peculiarly sweet smile told of a warm, true heart.
"He is a good son," was the conclusion at which Aldyth arrived intuitively, and the thought deepened the friendly regard in which she already held him. His age she judged to be about seven-and-twenty.
"So you have come to the Grammar School," said Miss Lorraine, after a moment's reflection. "Are you fond of teaching?"
"Yes," he said; but Aldyth saw that his face clouded a little. "I believe I like teaching, but I cannot say that I am very fond of the drudgery of teaching small boys. I had hoped to obtain a different kind of appointment, but it fell to another, and being offered this post at the Woodham School, I thought it right to take it. My mother does not like it for me, but I tell her the experience will be very salutary. I have lately been attempting University Extension Lectures."
"Have you?" exclaimed Aldyth, greatly interested. "Oh, I have heard of them—lectures on literature and science, with classes afterwards for those who are earnest students. How I wish we could have something of the kind here!"
"Why should you not?" he asked. "Surely there are enough people at Woodham to form a centre."
"There are people enough, no doubt," said Aldyth; "but I fear they are not sufficiently intellectual. They would not care to improve their minds. On what subjects do you lecture, Mr. Glynne?"
"Literature is my subject," he said. "I have lectured chiefly on Shakespeare and the poets."
"On Shakespeare! How delightful!" exclaimed Aldyth. "I would give anything to study Shakespeare with one who really understood him. I always feel my own narrowness and ignorance when I come to Shakespeare. And Wordsworth, I long to read him intelligently. I have always loved his poetry, though I hardly know why I love it so much. I should like to be able to appreciate it rightly. Some of his poems seem to me so much grander than others."
"There is no doubt that his work was unequal, and it is curious how unable he was to discern his own highest work," said Mr. Glynne; "but I am glad you love Wordsworth, Miss Lorraine, for I have a great enthusiasm for him, and it is but rarely I meet any one who shares the feeling. It is a bond of sympathy between us."
He looked at her with frank, boyish pleasure in his clear, bright eyes. Aldyth met his gaze unshrinkingly, but she too was conscious of a thrill of pleasure. To one whose life is bounded by a narrow circle, it is a great gain to find a friend who shares one's intellectual tastes and predilections.
"We must have some lectures this winter; I see no reason why we should not," said Miss Lorraine, in her quick, decisive way. "It would be a capital thing for the young people. Tell me how to set about it, Mr. Glynne, and I will see what I can do."
"Auntie!" cried Aldyth, in a tone of delight.
"You must get together a committee of ladies and gentlemen," said Mr. Glynne. "Appoint a local secretary, hire a room for the lectures, choose your subject, and apply to the University Extension Society for a lecturer, arrange the terms for the course of lectures, making them as low as you can without incurring debt, and issue bill and circulars announcing the lectures."
"All that is not difficult," said Miss Lorraine. "I will speak to some of my friends on the subject to-morrow. But you must give the lectures, Mr. Glynne. I will only move in the matter on that condition."
But Mr. Glynne would make no promise, though he appeared not unwilling to fill the post of lecturer if he found that his other engagements would permit him to do so. He sat talking to Miss Lorraine and her niece till long after it grew dusk, and when at last he walked away to his lodgings, there was no fear of any one's seeing the patch upon his temple.
The day's incident had given a brighter colour to the prospect of his sojourn at Woodham. Already he had made friends in the little town, and he felt sure that its inhabitants were simple-hearted, good-natured people, acquaintance with whom could yield only pleasure.
As for Aldyth, after he had gone, she awoke to the fact that she had quite forgotten the long letter to her mother which should have been finished that evening.
GUY LORRAINE.
ALDYTH rose early the next morning, that her letter might be finished and posted ere the morning mail went out. The clock had not long struck seven, when she threw wide her casement, and let in the fresh, delicious air. Birds were chirping beneath the eaves, and fluttering to and fro; the dewy grass was sparkling in the sun, and the garden looked most tempting; but Aldyth turned resolutely from the window, and seated herself at her writing-table.
One may often gain insight into a girl's character by a glance round her room. Aldyth's room, in which she took some pride, as girls do in a place that is their very own, revealed that she had a refined and cultured mind. There was nothing luxurious in its arrangements, but it was a pretty room despite the disadvantage, that, owing to the old-fashioned construction of the house, the ceiling sloped sharply on one side. Flowers stood in glasses on the dressing-table, and bees were buzzing over the mignonette planted in a box on the window sill.
Water-colour drawings adorned the walls, some of them painted by Aldyth, and some the gifts of school friends, and here and there were photographs Of Aldyth's favourite heroes—Carlyle, Ruskin, and Charles Kingsley, Tennyson, and Browning. The little wooden bookcase held a selection of books any girl might be proud to possess. There were daintily-bound editions of all our greatest poets, with some of our noblest works of fiction, and standard works of prose, too, showing that Aldyth did not read for mere entertainment, though in reading she found one of the highest pleasures of her life. For Aldyth loved books; she stinted herself of many of the pretty things girls love, that she might spend her pocket money on books, and at any time a bookshop had more attraction for her than a milliner's.
In a handsome frame on the mantelshelf stood the latest portrait of her mother which Aldyth had received. A similar one, reduced in size, Aldyth wore constantly in a gold locket, suspended by a slender chain from her neck. It was the photograph of a lady who might have been thirty years of age, but looked no older, with a beautiful face, faultless in form and feature, and luxuriant masses of hair dressed high on the crown of the head, after the fashion of the day. The pose of the head was queenly, the exquisite lips had a somewhat disdainful curl, as though conscious of their beauty. It was a face which demanded admiration; whether it would as readily call forth love, the portrait did not reveal. It is never safe to judge a person from a photograph.
This was Aldyth's beautiful mother, of whom she had dreamed all her life. Often did her eyes rest on the portrait with a sense of hungry, yearning love, and she longed for the time when she could look into her mother's face, and meet the kiss of her sweet lips. With passing years the longing came to have somewhat of the bitterness of a deferred hope. There were hours when it was positive pain to Aldyth to think of the love she had missed through the long separation from her mother. But her nature was too bright and hopeful for this thought to sadden her long. She was more wont to look forward to the perfect joy of the long-deferred meeting, and dream of the happiness that would then be hers.
Near Mrs. Stanton's portrait were portraits of the two daughters who had been born to her in Australia. They were taken as children, but even these juvenile portraits showed that the elder one, a girl about thirteen, had inherited the beauty of her mother, while the little one, dark, heavy-browed, and somewhat stolid-looking, was unlikely to develop good looks.
Aldyth's eyes turned instinctively to her mother's picture as she laid down her pen, after signing herself, "Your ever-loving daughter."
"Oh, mother! When will you come to me?" she cried in her heart.
If she could have had her own way, Aldyth would long ago have sailed to join her mother at Melbourne, but Mrs. Stanton had reasons for wishing that Aldyth should remain at Woodham with her aunt. Five miles from Woodham lay Wyndham, the family estate of the Lorraines, and at Wyndham Hall lived Aldyth's grand-uncle, an old bachelor, strong-willed, crotchety, eccentric, and possessed of considerable wealth.
Stephen Lorraine was the eldest and the last of three brothers, who had been well-known in the neighbourhood of Woodham. His brother William had practised as a medical man there, winning much love and honour, but he died at the age of fifty, leaving two children, a son and a daughter. The son, a handsome young fellow, was a great favourite with his uncle Stephen, and was looked upon as his heir. With his uncle's approval, he made the army his profession. Stephen Lorraine had a decided notion that his heir must conform to his will in everything, and as long as the young man did so, all went well.
But a time came in Captain Lorraine's history, when love proved stronger than expediency, and he dared his uncle's anger by marrying into an Essex family for which old Stephen had a particular dislike. It was an offence not to be condoned, and Stephen Lorraine at once announced his intention of leaving his property to the only son of his brother James, who had taken holy orders, and after officiating for a while as a curate at Woodham, had been presented to a living in the north of England. At his uncle's request, this young man, Guy Lorraine by name, came to Woodham, and took up his abode at the Hall. He brought with him a delicate young wife and a bright boy of two years.
Meanwhile Captain Lorraine, the discarded heir, disappointed in his married life and depressed by disease, was wandering from place to place, seeking health, and vainly hoping that his uncle would relent towards him. If the news of his death stirred a too late regret within the heart of old Stephen Lorraine, he showed no sign of it, unless the increased bitterness of feeling he manifested towards his nephew's widow might be so regarded. He hated the very name of Aldyth's mother, but he expressed a wish to see the little girl who had been left in the care of her father's sister at Woodham, and as soon as he saw her, Aldyth won her way to his heart.
A few months after the death of Captain Lorraine, Guy Lorraine's young wife also passed away, so that when Aldyth's mother finally left her to her aunt's care, Miss Lorraine—or Lucy Lorraine, as every one called her in those days—had as good as two motherless children to love and cherish. Little Guy and Aldyth were constantly together. If Guy were not spending the day at Miss Lorraine's cottage, Aldyth would be playing with him at the Hall, to her childish mind the most delightful place in the world; for Stephen Lorraine made a great pet of the tiny daughter of his favourite nephew. He would walk about the house and garden with the little damsel seated on his shoulder, clinging to his rough, wiry locks; and Aldyth's earliest rides were taken on a little Shetland pony, attached by a rein to the stout cob ridden by her grand-uncle. The servants at the Hall whispered to each other that the squire cared more for the girl than for the boy, and they found the cause in Aldyth's strong resemblance to her father.
But as young Guy grew into a robust, high-spirited boy, he too won his grand-uncle's affection; and when by his father's sudden death from an accident in the hunting-field he was made, as it seemed, the heir to Wyndham, most persons in the neighbourhood believed that it was Stephen Lorraine's intention that the cousins should marry, and Wyndham thus become the home and inheritance of them both. But up to the time at which our story commences, when the young people were both of age, no one had heard old Stephen give the least hint of any such intention. So far he had been content to let things take their course, judging perhaps from his past experience, that by active interference, he might defeat his own ends.
The old man had long outlived his two brothers, and he had seen several of the younger generation of his family pass away; but he was still hale and hearty, though in his eightieth year. Aldyth continued very dear to him, and he liked to have her often at the Hall. And it was because of her uncle's affection for her that Mrs. Stanton wished Aldyth to remain at Woodham. When the girl in her letters pleaded to be allowed to join her mother, Mrs. Stanton would reply that she felt it would be wrong to take Aldyth from the poor old man, who evidently found such comfort in her society.
"Do all you can to please your uncle, darling," her mother wrote. "Make it your duty to cheer his old age, and by so doing you may atone for the harm I did when married your father, and so deprived him of his uncle's favour. Who knows? He may even come to forgive poor me for your dear sake."
But as yet, Stephen Lorraine had shown no sign of forgiving Mrs. Stanton. He preferred to regard her as one who had no connection with him whatever, having passed out of his family when she married her second husband. To Aldyth he never named her mother.
As Aldyth, having finished her letter, ran down stairs, a young man was entering the house with the air of one who felt at home there. He was a tall broad-chested fellow, and his shooting suit well became his fine proportions. Of fair complexion, which the sun had brought to a warm hue, with light hair curling crisply over his forehead, well-cut features, and eyes that might pass for blue, he was a typical specimen of an English country gentleman, and most persons considered him very good-looking. He was carrying several brace of partridges strung together. At the sight of Aldyth, he smiled brightly, and lifted his cap with easy grace.
"Good morning, Aldyth," he said; "I'm an early visitor. I had to drive a fellow up to catch the first train, so I took the opportunity to bring cousin some birds. There are some for Mrs. Bland too, but I could hardly call on them before breakfast."
"No, really? I should have thought your audacity might have carried you so far;" said Aldyth, merrily. "However, in consideration of your bringing us those birds, we'll give you some breakfast, and then, if you like, I will walk down with you to the Blands, for I want to see Kitty."
"Kitty! I thought Hilda was your particular friend."
"So she may be, but Kitty is my friend too. I have something to tell her that will interest her very much." And Aldyth's eyes shone with amusement as she pictured Kitty's excitement when she heard her news.
"What's up? What has happened?" asked Guy, looking at her with curiosity.
But Aldyth only laughed in a tantalizing manner, and at that moment Miss Lorraine made her appearance.
"This is good of you, Guy," she said, lifting her face for him to kiss, for Guy had the place of a nephew in Miss Lorraine's heart. "I thought we should see nothing of you whilst you had such a shooting-party at the Hall. What fine partridges! You must be having good sport."
"Pretty fair," replied the young man; "the birds are not so plentiful as last year; the wet spring thinned the broods. Still, we made tolerable bags yesterday."
"So it seems," said Miss Lorraine, eyeing the birds with admiration, and immediately beginning to plan a little supper-party, to which Mr. Glynne should be invited. "How good of you to remember me! But here is the coffee—come in and get your breakfast. You must need it after your drive."
"When are you and Aldyth coming to Wyndham again?" inquired Guy, as he helped himself to some of Miss Lorraine's excellent ham. "Uncle was saying yesterday what a time it was since we had seen you."
"Well, you see, Guy, we feel rather shy of coming whilst you have a house full of gentlemen," said Miss Lorraine. "You don't want ladies about when you are so busy with the shooting."
"You forget that we do not shoot in the evenings," replied Guy. "Why can't you and Aldyth come down to dinner one evening? I should like you to see Captain Walker and Marriott. Marriott's awfully fond of music, and sings well. You might ask the Blands to come with you, and then we could have quite a musical evening."
"Well, perhaps; I must think about it," said Miss Lorraine, dubiously. "But you must ask the Blands, Guy, not I."
"All right; that's easily managed," said Guy.
"Why should you not bring Captain Walker and young Marriott here one evening?" asked Miss Lorraine. "Then I would invite the Blands and Mr. Glynne to meet you."
"Who in the world is Mr. Glynne?" asked Guy, opening his eyes.
"The new master just come to the school," explained Miss Lorraine. "Aldyth and I made his acquaintance yesterday." And she related the circumstances that had led to the introduction.
Guy's lips curled satirically as he listened. To him the whole story was absurd, and his comments on the incident were not entirely agreeable to Miss Lorraine, who had taken a great fancy to John Glynne.
"How any man can make himself so ridiculous as to go grinding about the country on one of those trumpery machines is beyond my comprehension," he said. "A good horse is worth fifty of them. I should be very sorry to sit astride such a thing."
"There is no reason why you should, you have always a horse at your command," said Aldyth. "I have no doubt Mr. Glynne would think a horse preferable, if he could afford one; but a horse is expensive to buy and expensive to keep, whilst a bicycle is no trouble at all, and its rider is delightfully independent."
"Yes, especially when he falls off and cuts his head open," said Guy, laughing.
"Now, Guy, I will not have you laugh at Mr. Glynne's misfortune," said Miss Lorraine. "For my part, I was glad the accident happened when and where it did, since it made us acquainted with so nice a man. He is not one to ridicule, I assure you. He is a B.A. of Cambridge University, and a highly cultured man. I hope we may be able to induce him to give us a course of lectures during the winter."
"Lectures!" exclaimed Guy, lifting his brows. "What—to you and poor dear Aldyth?"
"Don't be absurd; you know that is not my meaning. We want him to give a course of lectures on literature at Town Hall, or some such place, which any lady or gentleman may attend, who chooses to take a ticket."
"Whatever is the good of that?" asked Guy, with a simplicity which made Aldyth laugh.
"The good is that we shall have a chance of improving our minds and gaining some fresh ideas," said Miss Lorraine. "It will be a great advantage to the young people, if we can arrange for such lectures. You must take a ticket, Guy."
"I will take a ticket with pleasure, to oblige you," he said. "But please do not ask me to sit for an hour on one of those hard benches in the Town Hall, and listen to a dry lecture. I could not do it really. What is the good of it?"
"Guy, you are shockingly lazy!" said Aldyth. "I am just longing for the lectures to begin; and I know that Hilda and Kitty Bland will be delighted when they hear of our grand scheme. I have no fear that the ladies of Woodham will not muster strong at the lectures. I believe we read and think more than the men do."
"Of course; you have nothing else to do," said Guy, who, like many persons who enjoy unlimited leisure, was able to persuade himself that he led a busy life. "But why women want to study so hard I cannot think. They are no more attractive, in my eyes, for knowing a good deal. Indeed, I dislike learned women."
"They are so much more difficult to talk to, are they not, Guy?" said Aldyth, mischievously. "But I see you want to be off, so I will get my hat."
As they walked to the Blands, Aldyth and her cousin met Mr. Glynne hurrying along on his way to the school. It was but a few steps from his lodgings, and he wore his gown and college cap, which made him rather an imposing spectacle in the High Street. As he lifted his cap, the patch of plaster on his brow was plainly visible. Aldyth smiled frankly as their eyes met, and received a bright smile in response. Guy looked at the new master with cold, critical eyes.
"How ridiculous to wear that mortar-board!" he said. "If that's your grand lecturer, I don't think much of his appearance."
"I never said that he was handsome," replied Aldyth; "but I think he looks strong in every way."
Breakfast was still on the table in the Blands' dining room, and Hilda sprang up with rather a shame-faced look as the Lorraines entered the room.
"Yes, Aldyth, it is very shocking, I know," she exclaimed, as her friend shook her head with affected gravity. "But every one cannot have your energy, and it is really mamma's fault that I am late, for she did not call me this morning."
"Oh, of course; it is always some one else's fault," remarked Kitty, running in from the garden with a basket of pears in her hand.
"And a very satisfactory thing that is," said Guy. "I never care as long as I can find some one to bear the blame of my misdeeds. Why should people make such a fuss about early rising? It is all very well to get up if there is shooting or anything to get up for; but otherwise I would rather stay in bed."
Every one laughed at this candid confession, and Hilda's face brightened. They strolled out through the open door into the garden.
"Aldyth has prime news for you, Kitty," said Guy. "It seems there is a new tutor come to the school, and he must needs prostrate himself at my cousin's gate last evening. Aldyth found him there—a gory spectacle. Being, as you know, one of the most strong-minded of her sex, she did not faint, but promptly conveyed him into the house, where she, and Cousin Lucy devoted themselves to binding up his wounds."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Kitty. "I never heard such a rigmarole. Aldyth, what does he mean?"
"It is quite true, I assure you," said Guy. "We met the wounded knight not five minutes ago, with his forehead plastered up, looking like the hero of a hundred fights."
"Do be sensible and tell me what you mean," pleaded Kitty. "Aldyth, is there a word of truth in what he says?"
"It is remotely 'founded on fact,' like the stories auntie used to read when she was a girl," said Aldyth, "and the facts are these: Mr. Glynne had a fall from his bicycle near our gate yesterday afternoon. He cut his forehead rather badly, and I persuaded him to come in and let aunt attend to it."
"You don't mean it! What a joke!" cried Kitty. "Do tell me about it, Aldyth."
"Indeed I will not, if you are going to make a joke of another's suffering—you unfeeling creature!" said Aldyth.
"Why, was he much hurt?" asked Kitty, quickly. "You might tell me, Aldyth."
"I think he will get over it," said Aldyth, with a merry twinkle in her eyes. "He recovered sufficiently to talk a good deal to aunt and me before he left. And what do you think, girls? He is perhaps going to give a course of lectures during the winter."
"A course of lectures!" said Hilda, quickly. "On what subject?"
"Oh, on literature—the poets, perhaps," said Aldyth, vaguely. "Aunt is delighted with the idea; she means to do all she can to realize it."
"Then she will succeed," said Kitty. "I never yet knew Miss Lorraine fail to carry through any plan she had set her heart upon."
"The poets! That will be lovely!" cried Hilda.
"Then you will go to these lectures?" said Guy, his face clouding a little as he spoke.
They walked on down the garden path, leaving the others a little way behind. Hilda's slender form looked more fairylike than usual in contrast to Guy's height and breadth.
"Of course, if they are held, I shall attend them," said Hilda; "I would not miss them on any account. It will be a grand opportunity for self-improvement."
"Some persons do not need improvement," said Guy in a low voice, as his eyes rested admiringly on her. "I like you just as you are. You would be spoiled if you became very learned."
His look and words brought a warm flush to Hilda's face. She was embarrassed, but not annoyed. She gave a little nervous laugh, and said—
"I am sure I ought to feel much flattered. Fortunately there is little danger of my ever becoming very learned."
Aldyth was replying as best as she could to a volley of questions from Kitty concerning Mr. Glynne. She stayed talking for a while after Guy had excused himself and gone off to his shooting. As she quitted the house, she glanced down the High Street, and saw her aunt coming out of the bank. Aldyth went to meet her. Miss Lorraine's face was radiant with satisfaction.
"It is all right, Aldyth," she said. "Mr. Greenwood quite approves of the lectures, and he has promised me his support."
Aldyth could fully sympathize with her aunt's satisfaction. Mr. Greenwood, the banker, and his brother, Mr. Ralph Greenwood, the solicitor, were highly influential members of Woodham society.
A LECTURE ON POETRY.
MISS LORRAINE succeeded in creating an interest in the literature lectures, and carried out her project with little difficulty, though not without encountering opposition. There were various individuals who, like Guy Lorraine, could not see what good the lectures were to do. Some of the elders declared that there were excitements enough for the young people as it was. If they wanted to improve their minds, why could they not read quietly at home instead of gadding out to lectures at the Town Hall? And the mention of Shakespeare in connection with the lectures alarmed these good people. Study Shakespeare, indeed! What could that foster but a love of play-acting and theatre-going?
Happily Miss Lorraine was not wanting in tact. She persuaded the friends who had formed themselves into a committee that Shakespeare must stand aside for the present. They must not begin by riding rough-shod over people's prejudices. No one could object to a course of lectures on Wordsworth and the poets of the Lake School. Let them begin with Wordsworth, and trust that in time the minds of certain persons at Woodham would become enlightened with respect to the value of Shakespeare as a teacher of truth.
Her advice was followed, and by the beginning of October, every available wall and hoarding about Woodham bore posters announcing the course of lectures on literature to be given at the Town Hall, on Thursday evenings, by John Glynne, B.A., of Trinity College, Cambridge. The novelty of the idea caused considerable excitement in the little town. Every one talked about the lectures, and the tickets were sold with a rapidity that surpassed the most sanguine hopes of the projectors of the scheme.
The first lecture proved a grand success. The Town Hall was full. Every person of importance at Woodham seemed to be there. Conspicuous in the front rank of seats, reserved for the committee, sat Miss Lorraine, her eyes sparkling with excitement, her whole face radiating satisfaction, as, with head turned towards the door, she watched the people pressing in, and welcomed her friends with nods and smiles.
Not far from her sat Aldyth, between Kitty and Hilda Bland. Aldyth's satisfaction was more quietly evinced; but her face was bright with subdued pleasure. She rather shrank from the eager whispers in which Kitty, whose head was turning in all directions, made her observations on every one who appeared.
To the no small astonishment of his cousin, Guy Lorraine was present, seated at the other side of Hilda, on whom he was bestowing a good deal of attention. Miss Lorraine had given her little musical party a fortnight earlier, and Guy had made Mr. Glynne's acquaintance. But the new tutor did not seem to have made a more favourable impression on him on that occasion than at first sight. Guy continued to find much to ridicule in him. Perhaps the interest which Aldyth and her friends manifested in Mr. Glynne, and their enthusiasm about the lectures, kindled in Guy some unconscious jealousy.
The lecturer had stepped on to the low platform; he had placed his manuscript on the reading desk, and was about to begin his lecture, when the arrival of a late-comer created such a stir in the audience as obliged him to wait for a few moments. A young lady, dressed in the most extreme style of fashionable attire, came sweeping down the room. She would have been pretty but for the elaborate "get up" by which she endeavoured to attract attention to herself. The mass of light, frizzy hair which shaded her eyes completely concealed any intellectual attraction her countenance might possess, and the pearl powder lavishly applied to it reduced her complexion to an unnatural deadness of hue, and rendered invisible the quick changes of colour, the subtle play of expression on which the charm of a woman's face largely depends.
But however others might criticize her, Miss Clara Dawtrey seemed fully satisfied with the result of the pains devoted to her toilet. It gave her pleasure to feel that all eyes were fixed on her as she passed down the room, pushing her way to the front, though it was obvious that there were no vacant seats in that direction. When at last she halted, with a dramatic air of dismay, within a few paces of the lecturer, a gentleman rose to give her his chair, and after a faint protest, she dropped languidly into it. The lecturer, who had been somewhat anxiously watching the movements of the young lady, cleared his brow and began to address the audience.
"Well," whispered Kitty, in Aldyth's ear, "I do hope Clara Dawtrey is satisfied with the sensation she has created. The idea of her coming to literature lectures!"
But Aldyth's eyes were on Mr. Glynne, and she was too anxious to lose no word to pay much heed to Kitty.
John Glynne was a good speaker. He had a full, deep, musical voice. He began his lecture in a calm, quiet manner, which was nevertheless impressive. But as he went on, he soon began to display the fire and energy of one who was keenly interested in the subject with which he had to deal. He was a young man, and might be expected to display some timidity in addressing a strange audience; but his manner was singularly fearless and unaffected. He appeared too much in earnest to be troubled with self-consciousness.
Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh, no matter what the subject, and that one lecture was, to Aldyth Lorraine at least, a revelation of the man. It showed her that John Glynne was a religious man—religious in the highest and deepest meaning of the term, a large-hearted man, to whom all life was dear, one who could enjoy much, but one ever actuated by a strong, inflexible sense of duty.
The first lecture was introductory, dealing with the general character of the poetry of the age preceding the era of Wordsworth and Coleridge. There were a few earnest words concerning poetry, which stirred Aldyth's heart with delight.
"I will not attempt a definition of poetry," the lecturer said. "All definitions are alike inadequate; the subtle essence which makes the preciousness of poetry seems to escape us when we try to define it. But let it be said, once for all, that that cannot be poetry which is artificial in its nature, stilted, and affected. True poetry has an intimate relation to human life. It appeals to every heart of man, to the wayfarer as well as to the scholar; it touches the simplest details of homely life; it illumines the joys and sorrows which are the heritage of our common humanity. What would our life be worth if there were no poetry in it?
"Yet, even now, there are those who regard the poets as dreamers, and depreciate their value in comparison with that of the so-called 'men of action.' Dreamers! Yea, verily; but their visions uplift and strengthen us, and make our life more beautiful because more true. 'We are such stuff as dreams are made of.' We 'live in dreams;' and who shall say how much the great heroes of history and men of action in all ages have owed to the 'vision glorious' by which their poets stimulated them to noblest endeavour! Poetry is the highest possible expression of truth, and the true poet is the seer, the inspirer, the teacher of men. Let no one fear that the study of poetry will unfit men for practical life; it should rather make life more real and earnest, as it reveals the grand and the awful possibilities that lie before every soul of man."
Aldyth listened with joy to these words. Was the lecturer conscious of the soft liquid glow in the grey eyes fixed so earnestly on him? Did he see how absolutely beautiful Aldyth's countenance became as it caught and reflected his thought? Yes, for now and again his eyes met the full flash of glad intelligence that leaped into Aldyth's, and he spoke the better for knowing that he had one perfect listener.
The lecture over, the stir and bustle of departure arose in the hall. Everybody was discussing the lecture, and the general feeling seemed one of satisfaction. Guy Lorraine indeed yawned and stretched himself, and professed to be glad that the lecture was ended, thereby exciting the indignation of Hilda Bland, whose reproofs he seemed to enjoy.