Chapter Seven.

Chapter Seven.Mr Bloxam’s Choice.One“The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men gang oft agley.”One summer evening in the early fifties, three wagons, each drawn by a team of twelve oxen, might have been seen descending the Zuurberg Pass, on the road leading from Grahamstown to Port Elizabeth. The heavy thumping of the lumbering, springless vehicles and the wild yellings of the uncouth names of the individual members of the teams—without which no self-respecting wagon-driver feels that he does his duty to his responsible post—no doubt scared the bushbucks and the monkeys for miles along the bush-covered range.Each turn-out had a festive appearance; the vehicles were newly-painted, the “tents” were of the whitest canvas, and a stick, surmounted by the tail of an ox, was fixed vertically to each front yoke. Even the Hottentot drivers and leaders showed signs of the prevailing smartness, for their clothes had evidently been recently washed and their hats and veldschoens were new.The wagons were nearly empty. In fact, with the exception of one, each contained nothing but a provision chest, a portmanteau and some bedding. The exception contained, in addition, two gentlemen in their shirt-sleeves. Walking dejectedly some few yards behind it, was another gentleman, similarly denuded. It could be seen at a glance that all were ministers of the Gospel.The pedestrian was the youngest of the three. He was a man of about thirty, with a somewhat tall and slight, but well-knit figure. His dark, handsome, clean-shaven face wore an expression of mingled sadness, apprehension and discontent. Of the two in the wagon the elder was apparently over forty-five. His smooth, red face had a jovial expression. The expanse of his forehead carried more than a suggestion of approaching baldness. With a figure short and rotund, his whole appearance was suggestive of the flesh-pots of Egypt.His companion, who looked five or six years younger, was a spare-built man of middle height. He had thin lips, light-brown hair, steel-blue eyes and a reticent expression. He sat upright and gravely regarded the stout gentleman, who, comfortably propped by pillows, gave vent to the highest spirits and enlivened the situation by a succession of frivolous remarks and occasional snatches of song.These clerics belonged to a religious body which has done much useful work among both Europeans and natives in South Africa. Severally bachelors, they were now on their way to Algoa Bay with the intention of forthwith entering into the bonds of holy matrimony—for the ship bearing the three ladies who had agreed to share their respective hearths and homes had, after a prosperous voyage, reached port.It will, of course, be understood that the parties to these alliances were absolute strangers one to another. Half a century ago the daughters of the land suitable as helpmeets to men in the position of ministers were scarce, and it was not uncommon for several ministers to request their particular Mission Society to select and send out to them suitable partners. All the parties had to sign an undertaking to the effect that they, individually, would conform to certain regulations governing the apportionment. Judged from a purely sentimental standpoint, the system may have had its disadvantages; there is, however, reason to believe that the results were, as a rule, satisfactory. It was not so popular with the younger as with the older men. It may well be imagined that the former would have preferred doing their own love-making to having it done for them by the Mission Board; but the principal reason was that upon the arrival of each batch of brides seniority carried the privilege of first selection, and thus the youngest and prettiest girls were apt to fall to the older men, and the younger a man was the more danger there was of his being obliged to wed some elderly lady of comparatively unprepossessing appearance. This was the reason of the perturbation noticeable in the rather handsome face of the Reverend Mark Wardley, the young man walking behind the waggon. He knew that, being junior of the three, he would have last choice—or rather no choice at all, for he would have to content himself with the lady deemed least attractive by his companions. There was, however, a special reason in this particular instance why the youngest of the three postulants at Hymen’s shrine should feel the disadvantages of his position.Similar conditions, no doubt, accounted for the exceedingly complacent and even radiant look which the rubicund countenance of the Reverend Peter Bloxam wore. He knew that as the eldest of the party he would have first pick, and he revelled in anticipation accordingly. Both he and Mr Wardley had been confidently informed, through letters received by the previous mail, that one of the three ladies selected was a girl of extremely well-favoured appearance; and the friends who wrote on the subject gave to each respectively a very warm inventory of her charms. Little was known of her antecedents, but this did not matter; the responsible position of a minister’s wife was the mould in which her character would be formed—if it required formation—and each was quite prepared to take whatever risks there were in the matter. She was the orphan daughter of a minister who had died in India, and she had been reared and educated at the expense and under the supervision of the Mission Society.Mr Bloxam smiled to himself as he thought of how he had cheated old Time, and chuckled with the liveliest satisfaction over the fact that he was no longer a young man. He was, as a matter of fact, very much in love with the girl he had never seen, or rather with the ideal he had formed from the written description. Exactly the same might be said of Mr Wardley.The third postulant, the Reverend Samuel Winterton, appeared to take things very coolly. If he derived satisfaction from the fact that the right of second selection from the little flock of ewe lambs was his, such was more sober than enthusiastic. Ardour, except for the Kingdom of Heaven, had been left entirely out of his composition, and he was very much wrapped up in a somewhat narrow religion.Mr Bloxam and Mr Wardley laboured at reclaiming the heathen, and dwelt at country mission stations; Mr Winterton had spiritual charge of a mixed congregation, and dwelt in a small country village in Lower Albany, which, as everybody ought to know, is inhabited by the descendants of the British settlers of 1820.It was sundown when the drivers called a halt at a grassy glade on the bank of a clear stream which was fringed with mimosa and acacia trees. Here the teams were “outspanned” and turned out to graze. Soon a fire was lit, mutton chops were grilled, tea was brewed, and the three lovers made a frugal repast. The only talkative one of the party was Mr Bloxam, whose tongue continually tingled with ponderous jocoseness that had a strongly Scriptural flavour. He rallied Mr Wardley on his subdued manner and his bad appetite. Mr Winterton came in for a share in the chaff as well, but the shafts seemed to fall dead from the armour of his imperturbability. Mr Wardley, on the other hand, distinctly winced at every thrust, so there was far more fun to be got out of him.“Come, Brother Wardley,” said Mr Bloxam; “a contented mind is, I know, a continual feast, but it does not do to travel on—that is, by itself. It will never do for you to arrive looking hungry. You must try and look your best, man. Eh, Winterton?”Mr Winterton’s mouth was too full to admit of his answering. Mr Wardley smiled uneasily, and helped himself to a chop, which he bravely attempted to eat.“Just think of these three Roses of Sharon blooming for us, and soon to be transplanted to our homes,” said Mr Bloxam, unctuously. “Wardley is, I am afraid, thinking of the thorns already. If, however, he had studied the botany of Scripture he would have known that Roses of Sharon have no thorns.”“I trust their ages may be suitable to ours,” said Mr Wardley in a nervous voice. “It is so important in marriage that husband and wife be not too different in this respect.”“Scripture does not bear you out, brother,” said Mr Bloxam in a positive tone. “Take the case of Ruth and Boaz, for instance; and we must not forget King David’s having taken Abishag the Shunamite to comfort him in his old age.”“You could hardly call Abishag the wife of David,” interjected Mr Winterton, whose knowledge of Scripture was precise.“Quite so, quite so,” said Mr Bloxam, airily, “yet she comforted him in his old age. The principal functions of the wife of a minister of the Gospel lie in assisting her husband in his duties and comforting him when the powers of evil seem temporarily to prevail against his efforts. Now, a young woman, if she have the necessary dispositions, may be able to perform such duties effectively at the side of a man even considerably her senior.”“But,” said Mr Wardley, with a touch of heat, “a young man also requires a helpmeet and a comforter, and surely one who—”“Quite so, quite so; and you will get one, my brother. The hand of Providence directs us in these things, and we must pray for its guidance at this important juncture of our lives. As the eldest and most experienced I shall have the responsibility of making first selection. Although I continually pray for guidance, I feel the responsibility a great burthen.”“If it weighs so heavily, why not let it rest on the shoulders of a younger man?” said Mr Winterton, who possessed a hitherto unsuspected sense of humour. “I have no doubt Wardley will feel equal to sustaining it.”“I a—fear that would hardly do,” replied Mr Bloxam, as Mr Wardley looked up with a rather sickly smile. “You see, this practice of throwing the responsibility of first choice upon the senior is, no doubt, ordained for some wise purpose.”“In the sixth chapter of the First Book of Chronicles,” said Mr Winterton, with a steely twinkle in his eye, “we read how certain cities were apportioned to the priests and Levites by lot. Now, it struck me that in a case of this kind, where the guidance of—”“Brother Winterton,” said Mr Bloxam, severely, “when a practice such as this has, so to speak, been ‘made an ordinance in Israel,’ no minister should dare to think himself justified in departing from it. I shall certainly follow the course laid down by wiser men than myself. In making the choice I shall be guided by the light which I have prayed may be vouchsafed to me, and if by means of that light I see unmistakable signs of a—that is, if I, as it were, see the finger of Providence pointing out any particular lady as the one most suitable as a partner, I shall not allow such a trivial consideration as mere youth on her part to deter me from following the path of duty.”At this Mr Wardley set down on the ground his plate with the hardly-tasted chop and gazed into indefinite distance with an extremely doleful expression. Mr Winterton went on eating his supper with a countenance of inscrutable gravity.Soon after supper the two elder men laid themselves down to sleep—Mr Bloxam to dream of the black eyes, the rosy lips, and the girlish graces which, he fondly hoped, were going to turn the near-approaching winter of his years into a halcyon spring. Mr Winterton was neither delighted nor disturbed by dreams. He had a good conscience, an excellent digestion, and Nature had not blessed or cursed him with an imagination. Mr Wardley climbed the steep side of the hill at the base of which the wagons were outspanned, for a short distance, and then sat down on a stone and gazed at the thrilling sky, from which the veil of haze was now withdrawn. His heart was heavy with foreboding, and the same eyes, lips, and youthful, feminine graces which gilded the visions of Mr Bloxam brought him the pains of Tantalus. He sat thus until the mocking, sentimental promise of the unarisen moon filled all the west, and then he fled back to the wagons to try and escape from the burthen of his thoughts.At next morning’s dawn the sleepers were aroused, and the oxen stepped forward with the unladen wagons lightly as though treading the flowery path of Love.TwoFive days previous to the opening of this story the Reverend Josiah Wiseman, with Louisa, his wife, stepped down from the parsonage on “The Hill,” to the jetty at Port Elizabeth, immediately after the good shipSilver Liningsof Leith, cast anchor in the roadstead, and engaged the services of a boatman to convey them to the vessel. The day was fine and the sea was smooth, or else Mrs Wiseman would never have trusted herself even on this, the fringe of the great waters. She was one of those motherly parties who never become old in heart or feeling, and consequently never cease to take an interest in the love-affairs of their acquaintances. Neither the forty-eight years of her life nor her massive bulk had tamed her sprightliness or dimmed her merry eye. She had looked more or less the same for the past twenty years; even her increase of size had been so gradual that, however striking her portly presence may have been to strangers, her husband and her intimate acquaintances did not notice it as being anything remarkable. She had come gently down the hill of Time like a snowball rolling down a gradual slope and continually gathering accretions without altering much in general appearance. Her only child, a girl, had died in its infancy many years previously, and the unexpended motherhood of her nature seemed to expand and envelop every girl in love, or about to marry, in its sympathetic folds. She had come out in her youth under circumstances similar to those of the three ladies sent out as brides for the ministers whose acquaintance we have made, and who were passengers by theSilver Lining. These damsels were to be her guests until their marriage, and she was now on her way to welcome them.As the boat drew near the vessel’s side, the bright, pretty face of a young girl, who was gazing intently at the shore, might have been seen above the rail. She had very large, dark eyes, brown wavy hair, rosy cheeks, and a mouth like a rosebud in a hurry to blossom. Add to the foregoing a stature rather below the middle height, a neatly turned figure and remarkably pretty feet and hands, and you have a fairly recognisable portrait of Miss Stella Mason, the delineation of whose charms had already impressed the middle-aged but inflammable heart of the Reverend Peter Bloxam and filled the sentimental bosom of the Reverend Mark Wardley with hopeless woe.Sitting together under an awning aft of the companion hatch were two austere-looking damsels of uncertain age, who, in spite of considerable diversity of appearance, might have been taken for sisters, so much did they resemble each other in dress, deportment and expression. Each had a book of a highly moral tone lying open upon her discreet lap, and was reading therein in ostentatious disregard of what minds less absorbed by the higher spheres of morality would have considered the interesting prospect afforded by this, the first glimpse of the land which was to be their future home. They had, as a matter of fact, already taken a good look at the shore from their cabin windows; but now the abiding abstract principles that governed their circumspect lives again claimed their attention to the exclusion of unimportant detail.They both wore dresses of brown linsey, buttoned very high at the throat, and black straw hats innocent of all but the very simplest of trimming. Their white, rather bony hands were skirted by immaculate cuffs. The elder of the two, Miss Lavinia Simpson, had light-brown hair, brushed smoothly back from a high forehead, and her longish upper lip protruded over a somewhat receding chin. Her face was pale and narrow, and she wore spectacles over eyes of an indeterminate hue. Her companion, Miss Matilda Whitmore, had hair of a darker shade of brown, and wide, light-blue eyes. Her face was broad and her cheekbones rather high. The thin lips of her pursed mouth strongly suggested a potatoes, prunes, and prism training. These ladies seemed to exhale an atmosphere of uncompromising and aggressive virtue.Mr Wiseman ascended the companion ladder and introduced himself. Mrs Wiseman’s courage failed her at the prospect of an ascent, so she remained in the boat, where the three strangers were duly presented to her, after being handed over by the captain’s wife. The boat then returned to the shore, and the party climbed the hill to the hospitable threshold of the Parsonage.It soon became apparent that Miss Mason had been, so to say, sent to Coventry by the other two, for they kept a marked physical and moral distance from her. Mrs Wiseman from the first felt drawn towards the young girl, and the friendly expression of this impulse was at once resented by the others, who stiffened up and formed themselves into a defensive alliance, which suggested possibilities of becoming offensive as well.The fair Stella, however, did not appear to be chilled in the slightest degree by the cold shoulders turned towards her by her companions on the road to Hymen’s shrine, for she chatted in the friendliest manner with Mr and Mrs Wiseman, made herself quite at home at the Parsonage, and appeared to turn up her pretty little nose at the proper airs of the others. These, as a matter of fact, had been highly scandalised at what they considered a flirtation between her and the second mate of theSilver Liningsand even gone the length of remonstrating with her on the subject of her frivolity. The second mate was a muscular young Scotsman named Donald Ramsay; with him Stella had struck up a perfectly innocent friendship, but the severe virtue of Lavinia and Matilda had received such shocks from what they imagined to be the real state of affairs, that it became like erected porcupine quills whenever she approached. Mrs Wiseman soon saw what the true drift of things was, so she lodged the two elder ladies in one room and put Stella by herself in another.The post for Grahamstown was timed to leave next morning, so Mr Wiseman retired to his study and wrote to the three expectant ones, informing them of the arrival of theSilver Liningwith her precious freight, after a prosperous voyage.After the ladies had retired to their respective chambers kind Mrs Wiseman wrapped herself in a loose dressing-gown of heroic proportions, and wandered forth in search of gossip. She first tapped lightly at the door of the room occupied by Lavinia and Matilda. She heard a whispered colloquy going on inside, but there was no response to her knock. Then she turned the handle, with the idea of opening the door and thus saving her guests the trouble of getting up, in case they were already in bed. She found, however, that the key had been turned in the lock, so she stole thankfully away to Stella’s room. A faint “Come in,” uttered in a voice that strongly suggested tears, reached her through the panel, and she entered, to find the girl, whose previous manner had been as that of one without a single care, flung on the bed, with her face buried in the pillow, and sobbing as though her heart were breaking. The motherly sympathy of the women went out to the desolate girl, and she folded her to a breast where loving kindness and bulk were in proportions of like vastness.The girl told all her troubles and fears. Her story was a sad one. An orphan, and educated at the expense of the Mission Society, she had chosen the alternative of coming to South Africa and marrying a man she had never seen or heard of in preference to undertaking teaching work, which she not alone hated, but was quite unfit for. She had suddenly made up her mind to this course, to supply the place of one of the Lavinia-Matilda sisterhood, who was to have come, but who was prevented from doing so by illness. Alone with her thoughts, amid the silence of the sea, Stella had come bitterly to regret the step she had unthinkingly taken. Lavinia and Matilda had disliked her from the first, and excluded her from their improving companionship. When she made friends with the young Scotsman, who made her his confidante in respect of an ardent mutual attachment between himself and a girl he had left behind him, they had made cruel remarks on the subject, which had the effect of making her practically drop their acquaintance. Kind Mrs Wiseman did her best to comfort this belated little sunbird, who had absorbed some of the sombreness of the plumage of the too highly domesticated fowls whose cage she had shared during the past three months, and then retired to her room, where she woke her husband up for the purpose of making him listen to Stella’s history.Next morning she heard Lavinia—in a voice evidently meant to be overheard—congratulating Matilda upon the fact that they had locked their door before retiring to rest, and thus prevented the entrance of an intruder. “One can never feel quite safe, you know, in savage countries.”As the week which had to elapse between the arrival of the nymphs and that of the swains drew to a close, Mrs Wiseman found herself more and more drawn towards Stella, but unable to approach nearer to anything like friendliness with the other two. Her relations with Stella no doubt formed a bar to anything of the kind. Consequently, these patterns of propriety of the very properest type continued to cultivate each other’s society to a point of exclusiveness that verged upon rudeness.As her regard for Stella grew, Mrs Wiseman began to think more and more of the girl’s future. She was well acquainted with the three ministers, and having had experience of the working of the system under which these marriages were arranged, she had no difficulty in forecasting Stella’s connubial destiny. She was absolutely certain that the Reverend Peter Bloxam would see the finger of Providence clearly indicating Stella as his fore-ordained bride, and she sighed at the incongruous prospect. As to young Wardley, well, he and Stella would have suited each other excellently well; but she knew by experience that one might as well expect children to pass by a rosy-cheeked apple for the sake of a turnip as to think that the two seniors would prefer the unimpeachable but mature qualities of either Lavinia or Matilda to the beauty and sweetness of Stella. Mrs Wiseman herself had come out from England as a pretty, fresh young girl, and had been promptly and unhesitatingly recognised as his Providence-selected bride by a man who was almost old enough to be her father. On the same occasion a certain young minister (the youngest of the batch) and she had looked at each other with eyes full of mournful sympathy that was closely akin to love—she from the side of her old, grizzled bridegroom, and he from that of his antique bride, who had fallen to him as the youngest of the party by a process of elimination of the others by his seniors, under Providential direction. In her case, however, things had, in a measure come right; her husband and the other clergyman’s wife had, after four years, died within a few months of each other, and when, about a year subsequently, the widow and the widower met, they found that the mournful element in their looks had given place to one of hopeful anticipation, which was duly realised a few months afterwards in a happy marriage. The odds were, of course, very much against such a fortunate combination happening in the case of Stella and young Wardley. She sighed more and more as the time for the arrival of the three suitors drew nigh, and the gloom of her thoughts seemed to communicate itself to all the others, so much so that the Parsonage took on the air of a house from which funerals rather than weddings were expected.It was the evening before the expected arrival of the bridegrooms. The brides had retired to their rooms, and Mrs Wiseman went upstairs to have her usual chat with Stella. They had hitherto by tacit consent avoided discussion of the approaching events except in the most general terms.“My dear,” said Mrs Wiseman, after a pause in the conversation, “suppose you and I have a chat about those who are expected to arrive to-morrow; I know them all, so can tell you what each one is like. Do you realise that in two days you will be engaged, and that in three you will be married?”“Yes,” replied Stella; “I am not likely to forget it. I shall be glad to hear what my future husband is like.”“Well, if I must tell the truth, I think it is a great shame the way they manage these things—I mean their giving the oldest man first choice.”“Are a—any of themveryold?”“Well, there is Mr Bloxam; he is the eldest. To speak quite candidly, he must be at least forty-six. My dear, it’s a shame of me to talk like this, for you cannot help yourself, and Iknowyou’ll have to marry him, and I think it’s a great shame. If it had been young Wardley, now—”“A—is Mr Wardley young?”“Yes. My dear, you and Wardley would suit each other just beautifully. He is not so very young either; he must be nearly thirty, but I have known him ever since he first came out—quite a boy. He has a temper, but his wife could manage him perfectly if she weren’t a fool or old enough to be his mother.”“I wonder,” said Stella, after a reflective pause, “why Mr Wardley—you say he is good-looking?”“He’shandsome, my dear.”“I wonder why he didn’t try and like some girl out here, instead of letting them pick one out for him at home; especially as he has last choice, or rather has to take the one neither of the others want.”“All pique, my dear. Young Wardleydidlike a girl, a nasty little cat, who flirted with him and threw him over, and has been sorry enough for it ever since. Just after they quarrelled he met old Bloxam and Winterton, who could not get out wives until a third minister wanted one. They persuaded him to put his name to a paper asking to have one sent out to him as well, and he foolishly did so without considering. Iknowhe has regretted it ever since. I told him he was a fool just after he had done it.”“Does he a—care for the other girl still?”“Not he; he never really cared for her a bit. Dear me! when I think of his being tied to one of those stiff, proper old tabbies I feel quite wretched. I know who it will be; just see if it isn’t Lavinia, with the lip and the spectacles. Winterton is by no means a fool, and you may be sure he will leaveheralone. I don’t say there’s much choice between them, because, my dear, leaving you to one side, this is just the commonest lot they have ever sent out; but I’m sure no man would marry that old thing unless he had to. Now, Matilda—what’s her name? Whitmore, eh?—she’d not be so bad if you could fatten her up and shake her a bit, and get her right away from that Lavinia, whom I simply can’t bear.”“How will they—when will they tell us—I mean, how will it all be arranged?”“Oh, quite simply; there won’t be much beating about the bush, I can assure you. You and Lavinia and Matilda will all sit in the drawing-room, and the three will be brought in and introduced to you. Then you will be left to look at each other like a lot of stuffed parrots; none of you—not even old Bloxam—will be able to talk a bit. Then to-morrow night an extra long prayer will be given that Providence may guide you all to choose wisely. Stuff and nonsense! as I’ve often told Joe. As if Providence would always give the youngest and prettiest wives to the old men and the old and ugly ones to young fellows like Wardley!”“What is Mr Bloxam like? I suppose I ought to know, as it appears I am going to marry him,” said Stella, losing the drift of her previous question.“Fat, fussy, and over forty-five, my dear; that is what I should call him. He doesn’t pray for quite as long as Winterton, but he eats a lot, and I’m sure he’d be fussy in the house. But I don’t want you to hate me by-and-by in case you should happen to get fond of him, which isn’t likely; so I shan’t tell you another word. You’ll see him quite soon enough, in all conscience.”Mrs Wiseman bade the girl an affectionate “Good-night,” and then retired to her room. She found, however, that she could not sleep; she was weighted by the burthen of painful anticipation. She had long been fond of Mr Wardley in a motherly way, and during the past week she had learned to love Stella. She seemed to live once more through her bitter experience of long ago, and a like blight had now to fall upon these two in the morning of their life. She felt certain that the hearts of Stella and Wardley would rush to each other, impelled by strong forces of both attraction and repulsion, and be damaged in the collision.When she retired for the night her husband was fast asleep, and as he was a very heavy sleeper she had no fear of disturbing him. The sight of him serenely slumbering irritated her so that she longed to shake him. She blew out the candle, but visions of the sanguine face and the stout figure of Mr Bloxam—the former wearing an expression of smug satisfaction and proprietorship; and the frightened, half-desperate, and wholly disgusted look of Stella, as she submitted to the caresses of her elderly lover, haunted her with a persistence that became agonising; so she lit the candle once more. Then another aspect of the case flashed balefully across her mind, and she sat up in bed, clasping her hands convulsively to her face. What had she not been doing, wicked woman that she was? Had she not taken the very course calculated to make the burthen of the poor girl unbearable? Had she not set the girl’s wandering thoughts flowing in the very direction which should have been avoided—namely, those of dislike to Mr Bloxam and love for Mr Wardley; and would not the torrents of emotion to which she would be the prey during the next two days cut channels so deep that the stream of her life would never again flow out of them? What could she now do to repair the mischief wrought by her thoughtlessness? She sat for a long time with her hands pressed to her face and the hot tears streaming through her trembling fingers. What could she do—what—what? She got up from her bed and began pacing the room with quick, nervous steps. Her tears had now ceased, and her brow was contracted in a deep travail of thought. All at once she turned sharply round, hurried to the side of the bed, and began violently shaking her sleeping husband.“Wake up! Wake up, Joe,” she said in a loud voice.Mr Wiseman was not easy to waken, but the energy of his wife’s attack brought him to a sitting posture on the side of the bed in a very few seconds.“Goodness gracious, my dear! what has happened? Is the house on fire?” He was now wide awake and really startled.“The house isn’t on fire, Joe; don’t be a fool, but wake up. I want to talk to you about something very important.”“Yes, my dear; I’m wide awake, but a—won’t the subject keep until to-morrow?”“No, it won’t keep two minutes. Now, mind, I’m in earnest, so don’t aggravate me.”“Very well, my dear, what do you want to talk to me about?” said he, trying to suppress a yawn.“I just want to talk to you about Providence.”Mr Wiseman turned his eyes sharply to his wife’s face. “I think, my dear, that if you were to lie down, perhaps, you might feel better. Shall I get you a few drops of sal volatile?”“Look here, Joe. If you want to make me just mad you will go on like that. I’m not sick, and I’m not dreaming, and you’ll hear what I have to say if I have to make you sit here all night. I want you to tell me, on your word as a man and a minister, whether you think that Providence made old Mr Lobbins choose me as his wife and selected Miss Perkins for you to marry?”“Well, my dear, it’s rather an important—”“Now, Joe, I’ll have a direct answer, or else you don’t get to sleep again to-night. Did Providence specially ordain it?”“Well, my dear, Providence at least permitted it, that is quite certain.”“Permitted fiddlesticks! Doesn’t Providence in the same way permit of getting drunk, and stealing, and—and—doing all sorts of wicked things?”“Quite true, my dear; it is all very mysterious. We can never hope to understand why evil is permitted, but we must not forget that, together with permitting evil, Providence provides the remedy. Even I, in my humble sphere of ministration, must look upon myself as an instrument provided by Providence to correct the evil I see around me. That is the great mercy, that next to the evil lies the means by which it may be counteracted.”“Joe, you are a dear old man, and you have made itquiteclear to me about Providence. Now, look here, I want you to make me one promise, and when you have done so you may go to sleep as soon as ever you like.”“Well, my dear, you know that as an honest man I cannot make a promise blindly; it might bind me to something which my conscience—”“It is not to do anything, but just to do nothing at all, that I want you to promise,” interrupted his wife. “For the next two days I want you simply to take no notice of anything out of the common that happens, and in any case not to interfere without coming to see me first.”“Well, my dear, I think I can safely promise that. But look here, can you not tell me what this means?”“It means just this—and you can go and call it out in the streets to-morrow if you like—that I am not going to let old Bloxam snap up Stella Mason, nor am I going to see young Wardley hooked by Lavinia. Now, it’s no use looking at me like that or saying another word, for I’vequitemade up my mind about it. I cannot tell you how I am going to manage, and if I could I would not, because you would ‘look’ it out even if you did not tell it. All you have to do is to keep quite quiet, take no notice of anything that happens, and come to me if you feel uneasy. Now you may kiss me, and then go to sleep.”After a few seconds she said in a softer voice. “Joe.”“Yes, my dear.”“Supposing someone had helped us long ago, don’t you think it would have saved Providence a great deal of trouble?”“How so, my dear?”“Well, you see, two people had to die before we could be happy, and even then we had lost four years of our life. Joe, I am determined that Bloxam shall not get Stella, even if I have to come into the church and forbid the marriage when you ask whether anyone knows of any just cause, so you had better help me.”“Well, my dear, I have given my word not to interfere; I don’t see how I can help in any way. Surely you don’t want me to speak to Bloxam?”“Not I. Fancy trying to get Bloxam to disobey the finger of Providence when it points to a pretty girl like Stella, just ready, as he thinks, to drop into his big mouth like a ripe plum. No, Imaywant your help, but I shall try and do without it. But if Idoask you to do anything, you had better just do it.”ThreeNext day an air of hushed expectancy seemed to envelop the Parsonage. Stella complained of a headache; she certainly looked rather pale, and her eyes had an unnatural brightness. Lavinia and Matilda appeared in garb which, although still severely simple, was more in accordance with current fashions than had hitherto been their rule. At breakfast they thawed just a little towards their hostess, and the glances they shot from time to time in Stella’s direction was rather less acid than usual. Breakfast over, they retired to the drawing-room, after each had selected a book of most portentously moral tone from the well-stocked shelves of the Reverend Josiah. Here they sat together on the sofa like a statued group of the cardinal virtues, with Charity left out.It was early in the afternoon when a whisper to the effect that the three suitors had arrived thrilled through the house. The wagons were outspanned in an open space about three hundred yards away, and thither the Reverend Josiah hastened with a hearty welcome. The Parsonage was not equal to accommodating the three gentlemen, but they were expected to take their meals there although sleeping at the waggons, alongside which a tent was pitched.The varied emotions swaying the three men were apparent in their faces and their demeanour as they accompanied Mr Wiseman to the Parsonage. Mr Bloxam’s delighted anticipations shone out of his face, and his feet seemed to tread upon air. Mr Winterton appeared to be more impressed by the gravity of the situation than by its other aspects. His mouth was set in a hard line, his face was pale, and the pupils of his eyes were contracted to the size of pinpoints. Mr Wardley looked haggard, his feet shuffled as he walked, and the throbbing of his heart filled his ears with thunder. Mr Wiseman tried to be friendly, and made one or two attempts in the direction of jocularity, but his wife weighed heavily on him, and he felt crushed as though with the weight of an impending catastrophe.The three brides-elect were sitting in the drawing-room with Mrs Wiseman when the party arrived. Stella had retired into a corner, where she sat in the shadow. When the door opened she saw the unmistakable face of Mr Bloxam radiant in the fore, and the pale, dejected visage of Mr Wardley, who was taller than either of his companions, bringing up the rear. After the formal introduction, some attempts were made at conversation, in the middle of which Mr and Mrs Wiseman, as was expected of them, left the room. Then Mr Bloxam came to the front in hisrôleof man of the world. His self-confidence had for the moment given way under the stress of his emotions, but now he was his own Bloxam again, and skilfully piloted the company over the troubled sea of restraint in which they had been drifting to a haven of disembarrassment. His conversation was mainly directed towards the two elder ladies, but he now and then addressed a remark to Stella, who maintained her seat in the corner. She and Mr Wardley exchanged one or two fleeting glances, each of which was followed by a painful blush. Mr Winterton, from the first, directed furtive attentions towards Matilda, and once, when the discreet cheek of that damsel flushed faintly under a glance of more than usually intent scrutiny, he turned a fiery red, coughed nervously, and looked away in confusion.At the tea-table, afterwards, Mr Bloxam still took the conversational lead. Mrs Wiseman was sweetness personified, and ably seconded Mr Bloxam’s efforts to keep the ball rolling. Stella sat silent and demure, and both Lavinia and Matilda gave evidence of the superiority of their minds by making discreet comments from time to time. Mr Wardley complained of a headache, and looked really ill. He and Stella had been placed at opposite corners, with the whole length of the table between them, and they now and then exchanged glances—brief as lightning-flashes, and as destructive to their peace of mind. When the ladies retired to the drawing-room, Wardley followed Mrs Wiseman to the passage, and begged her to excuse him for the rest of the evening, as he felt too ill to remain. She accompanied him to the door, bade him good-night with a friendly pressure of the hand, and told him to keep up his spirits, as things might not be so bad as they appeared.Mr Wardley returned to the wagons, and flung himself upon his bed in bitter agony of mind. Stella transcended all he had dreamt of her; and the first glance from her clear brown eyes had been to his heart like a match set to an inflammable pile. He loved her utterly and suddenly, and he at the same time realised how hopeless was his chance of winning her.The counterpart of Wardley’s love for Stella was an utter loathing of the idea of marriage with either of the others. His mind was made up; he would refuse to carry out the compact. He knew that this would cost him his position in the ministry, and the thought caused him acute and remorseful pain, for he believed thoroughly in the genuineness of his calling; but he felt that marriage with one of these women would, under his present dispositions, be a crime more deadly than any other he could commit. He was quite clear as to the course which he had to pursue; he would wait until Stella had been formally appropriated by Mr Bloxam, and then steal quietly away to some spot where he could hide his shame and grief, leaving a brief letter for Mr Wiseman, with some sort of an explanation of his conduct.In the meantime the course of events at the Parsonage ran smoothly. Mr Bloxam was not very successful in his efforts to become confidential with Stella, who clung to Mrs Wiseman like a frightened child, and could not be enticed from her side. He was very gallant with Miss Lavinia, but guardedly so; and he carefully abstained from giving her any grounds for inferring that his attentions were based on anything more than mere civility. Mr Winterton and Miss Matilda made great strides in their intimacy; they got into a corner quite early in the evening, and remained there playing solitaire. Towards the end they had quite a gamesome little scuffle over the last marble but one, when the chaste Matilda archly attempted to cheat in the most barefaced and obvious manner. The rest of the company left them quite undisturbed, and, in fact, rather ostentatiously ignored them. The only one who took the least notice of their sedate flirtation was Stella, who shot glances of fearful curiosity into their corner now and then, and thought with dismay that she and Mr Bloxam would most probably soon be similarly situated.At length the hour for prayers struck, and all moved into the dining-room. As the senior stranger, Mr Bloxam was called upon to give an exhortation, and, in complying, he did justice to the occasion. He had all the texts of Scripture that deal with marriage at his tongue’s tip, and he painted the moral advantages of that holy estate with such fervour and fluency that the thought crossed Stella’s mind that he must be a widower in disguise, and she wondered whether this would not be a valid excuse for her refusing to marry him, as the three had been represented as bachelors in the first instance. Then she smiled to herself at the foolishness of her imaginings, and again surrendered to the feeling of numbing despair which had been creeping over her.After the discourse came a short, fervent, and very explicit prayer for the special interposition of Providence at the present very important juncture, at the end of which Mrs Wiseman’s enunciation of the “Amen” was heard so loudly and distinctly above the other voices, that her husband started violently and looked round at her in obvious alarm.In bidding Stella “good-night,” Mr Bloxam put so much expression into his voice, and so much unction into the pressure of his hand, that the girl had to clench her teeth hard to keep from screaming. Mr Winterton and Matilda developed their idyll over the solitaire board to the very end of the evening. After prayers she fetched the board from the drawing-room for the purpose of showing him a puzzle she had learnt from a lady friend who was champion solitaire player of the village she lived in, and this engrossed them until the moment of departure. It was then that Mr Bloxam indulged in his first piece of badinage. He said to Stella, with something which looked atrociously like a wink, and in a voice that all could hear, that he supposed Brother Winterton was making the most of what remained of his “solitaire” condition, and he added with an inflection of tenderness in his voice, that this condition was now nearly at an end for all of them. Brother Winterton hung his head shamefacedly, Matilda was covered with becoming confusion, and Stella winced as though struck with a whip.On the way back to the wagons the two ardent swains paused for a few minutes’ conversation beneath the glowing stars. “Would it be amiss if I were to ask whether you feel your inclinations being guided in any particular direction?” asked Mr Bloxam.“Since you inquire, I will tell you that Miss Whitmore is the one towards whom I feel attracted,” replied Mr Winterton, without hesitation.After a pause, which gave the idea that he waited to be questioned, Mr Bloxam said in a nervous tone:—“Since you have given me your confidence, Winterton, I will tell you that some influence, such as I have never before experienced, seems to draw me towards Miss Mason. In these matters we must believe that we are guided through our inclinations, and I have determined not to be disobedient to the pleasing monition. I shall propose for Miss Mason’s hand to-morrow.”“What a pity Wardley is indisposed,” said Mr Winterton, after a moment’s pause. “I hope he recognises his fore-ordained helpmeet in Miss Simpson, as we do in the ladies of our choice.”“I think Miss Simpson will suit Wardley admirably,” said Mr Bloxam, quickly; “he is just the man who ought to marry one older than himself. You see how delicate he is, and it is meet that his wife be one whose age and experience fits her to take care of him.”“Ye-e-s,” replied Mr Winterton.“I think,” rejoined Mr Bloxam, “that as Wardley is unwell to-night we had better not excite him by discussing these important subjects in his hearing.”“I quite agree with you,” replied Mr Winterton.When Mrs Wiseman went to bid Stella “good-night” she found the girl sobbing on her pillow as if her heart were breaking.“Cheer up, my deary,” said the kind woman; “things may not be as bad as you think. Look here, I want you to-morrow to do exactly as I tell you to, and ask no questions. Will you promise to do so?”“Yes,” whispered Stella through her sobs.“Very well, then. To-morrow morning, first thing, you are to write a note to that young man you made friends with on board ship asking him to come up and take lunch with us.”Stella nodded.“When the reply comes you are to look hurriedly at the letter, put it into your pocket without opening it, and leave the room.”Stella again nodded.“You are to return in a few minutes, and sit down again without saying a word about the letter.”Stella again nodded. She was now drying her tears, and the look on her face was decidedly less woebegone than it had been a few moments previously.“Now, look here,” said Mrs Wiseman, “keep up your spirits; I will get you and young Wardley out of this if I possibly can. You have just got to do exactly what I tell you. I am very glad that he is sick and out of the way just now. Good-night, my deary; keep your spirits up, and all will come right, or else my name isn’t Louisa Wiseman.”FourNext morning Mrs Wiseman rose very early and went downstairs to her husband’s study, where she locked herself in for about half an hour. She then went and sought for Stella, whom she found sitting in her room dressed. She sent her down to the study, telling her to write the letter inviting young Ramsay to lunch, warning her at the same time not to mention the fact of the invitation to anyone. The invitation Mrs Wiseman enclosed to the local agent for theSilver Liningswho happened to be a friend of hers, asking him as a particular favour to send it out by a special messenger to the vessel, and to transmit any reply that might come under cover to herself personally.At breakfast-time Mr Wardley was reported to be still very unwell; however, as he distinctly refused to see a doctor, no alarm was felt on his account. It was, of course, felt that his absence caused a hitch in the otherwise harmonious proceedings. After breakfast Mrs Wiseman went up to the wagons to see him, and returned with the report that, although he was undoubtedly ill and quite unable to appear at present, he would most probably be sufficiently recovered to put in an appearance in the course of the afternoon. When Mrs Wiseman made this announcement, her husband looked extremely uneasy, and after a few moments got up and hurriedly left the room. Both Mr Bloxam and Mr Winterton looked at Lavinia with expressions of commiseration, whilst she maintained a demeanour which suggested subdued tenderness and resignation.The Parsonage grounds were rich with trees, and thus afforded suitable localities for amatory dalliance. In its bosky recesses many a clerical swain had sported with his Amaryllis in the shade, and thither the ardent Winterton led his coy Matilda soon after breakfast, and elicited, after becoming hesitancy, her blushing acceptance of his hand and heart. When he attempted to seal the compact with an embrace, she disengaged herself with a twittering little scream from his unaccustomed arms and fled. Her confusion, however, was such that she did not run towards the house, but into a thick shrubbery which lay in quite another direction. Thither Mr Winterton followed without a moment’s hesitation, and the twittering scream was repeated, but in a rather fainter tone. However, Matilda must have forgiven her lover whatever liberties he may have taken, for when they returned together to the house not very long afterwards they both looked extremely happy, and were apparently the best of friends.Stella kept close to Mrs Wiseman, and a great deal of unsuccessful diplomacy was exercised by Mr Bloxam with the object of obtaining atête-à-têtewith the object of his growing passion. At length a reply to Stella’s letter arrived from Mr Ramsay. It had been, as arranged, sent in a cover addressed to Mrs Wiseman. She at once took it to her husband, who was sitting, a prey to great nervousness, in his study.“Joe,” she said in a tone that admitted of neither contradiction nor argument, “in five minutes exactly you are to send the servant with that letter to Miss Mason in the drawing-room.”She then hurried from the room, without giving him time to reply, and went to where poor Stella was awaiting her in a fever of trembling suspense. She took the girl’s arm and hurried her to the drawing-room, where the enamoured Bloxam was sitting, apparently absorbed in the perusal of a book which he was holding upside down. When close to the door, she whispered hurriedly to the girl—“Remember what I told you to do when the letter comes. After you have returned we will all three go to the summer-house in the garden. Do you understand?”“Yes,” whispered Stella.“Now, you must attend particularly to what I tell you. When we have been in the summer-house for a few minutes I will stand up and leave; just afterwards I will call to you, and you must follow me at once, without looking after you or picking up anything you may see lying about. Do you understand?”Stella answered with a hasty nod, and the two then entered the drawing-room.“What do you say to a walk in the garden under this young lady’s guidance?” asked Mrs Wiseman, with an arch glance at Mr Bloxam. “Certainly—I shall be delighted.”“Very well, I shall leave you to entertain each other. I must now see about doing something for poor Mr Wardley. I feelsosorry on account of his being in trouble just now.”At this moment a knock was heard at the door, and a servant entered with a letter for Stella. She took it with looks of extreme confusion, and, without even asking to be excused, stood up at once, and ran from the room. Mrs Wiseman looked after her with a smile, and then turned a beaming face on Mr Bloxam, who seemed puzzled and uneasy. After a couple of minutes, Stella returned, and Mrs Wiseman then stood up at once.“Now, Stella, if you havequitefinished reading that very interesting letter, we will take Mr Bloxam to the summer-house, where I shall formally hand him over to you to entertain. Come along.”They sauntered down the garden-walk, Mrs Wiseman and Stella walking arm-in-arm in front, and Mr Bloxam, a prey to delighted anticipation and vague uneasiness, following closely. Ever since the episode of the letter a sense of insecurity had weighed on him, and he felt like one walking over ground where pitfalls were imminent. They reached the summer-house. It was an arbour covered with trailing Banksia roses, and into the tender gloom of which the light trickled through tangled greenery. They entered; Mrs Wiseman and Stella sat down together on a rustic bench, and Mr Bloxam, after a moment’s hesitation, took a seat next to Stella.“Now,” said Mrs Wiseman, with an arch inflection in her voice, “I will leave you two to entertain each other. I have to see about my housekeeping, you know. But I daresay you will not miss me very much.”With that she stood up and walked away in a manner marvellously light and springy for one of her weight. As she disappeared she threw back a nod over her shoulder with what Mr Bloxam took to be a friendly and sympathetic smile.Poor Stella sat staring rigidly before her, convulsively grasping the woodwork of the rustic seat, and wondering as to what terrifying development things were now about to take. The moment was one of the few in Mr Bloxam’s life in which he experienced the sensation of bashfulness. He tried hard to think of some effective way of opening the conversation, but the field of rhetoric which he had assiduously cultivated was struck suddenly with blight, and yielded him never a flower at his need. Stella strained her expectant ears to catch Mrs Wiseman’s voice. Mr Bloxam cleared his nervous throat for the third time, and Stella knew, although she could not see them, that his lips were forming to the speech she so much dreaded. Then the longed-for diversion came; a step was heard on the gravelled walk outside, and, after a judiciously loud “Ahem!” Mrs Wiseman appeared in the doorway. Stella looked up at her with eyes full of helpless appeal. Mr Bloxam was still the prey to bashfulness.“It is reallytootiresome; but I find I must ask you to excuse Stella for just a few minutes, Mr Bloxam. Now, don’t be cross; she will be back just now. Mind,” shaking her finger at him, “you are not to move out of the summer-house until she returns.”Stella joined Mrs Wiseman at the door and accompanied her to the house. Mr Bloxam was, as a matter of fact, extremely glad of the interruption, for he felt he could now collect his thoughts, and thus by the time Stella returned he would be in a position to express his passion in terms of appropriate eloquence. He closed his eyes and leant back in the rustic seat. The ferment in his bosom was, however, too great to admit of his remaining quiet for long, so he stood up and began to pace to and fro.But what was that lying on the seat from which Stella had just risen? It appeared to be a letter which must have fallen out of her pocket as she stood up. It was folded into a square of about two inches, and the writing was evidently that of a man. He would put it into his pocket and return it to her when she came back. Just then the fact of Stella’s having received a letter in the drawing-room, and the suspiciously confused manner in which she had thereafter left the apartment, loomed up before his mind in ugly prominence. He had been extremely curious about that letter. Who could it have been from? Perhaps from some fellow-passenger. Well, she would be his wife to-morrow (rapturous thought), so there could be no objection to his knowing all about her correspondence. After the usual manner of elderly husbands of young wives, he had strong views as to the advantages of absolute confidence between spouses. He would not mind her reading every letter he had written or received during the past twenty years. Well, she would be back in a few minutes, so he must waste no time if he really meant to gratify what was only a reasonable curiosity, Pshaw! it was but a trifle, after all. Why make such a pother about it? He sat down, opened the sheet carefully, so as to be able to refold it in exactly the same manner, and began to read (the document had no date):—“My Dearest,—I am very, very sorry that I cannot come and see you to-day, but I am hard at work, and I cannot get leave. Please, like a dear little girl, meet me again in the arbour. I will be there to-night at the same hour. Be sure and leave the gate open. It is very cruel of you to insist on my giving up the few letters of yours I have. Don’t you remember that you promised to write to me every month as long as you live? Ah! if we could only live through these happy months again!“Yours, lovingly, D.R.“P.S.—Don’t forget the garden gate.”As Mr Bloxam read, beads of perspiration gathered on his forehead, and the veins of his temples became like knotted cords. He read the incriminating missive two or three times, and on each perusal the revelation seemed to become more and more atrocious. The face of Stella became hateful to him. “D.R.” Who was “D.R.”? Some fellow on board ship, no doubt. To think thatshe—to whom he had so narrowly escaped being linked for life—was one who could make guilty appointments with a lover just on the verge of her entrance into the holy estate of matrimony with a minister of the Gospel. Why, the very spot where he was sitting was polluted by their guilty caresses! No wonder the abandoned creature had looked perturbed. He would go and denounce her to Mr Wiseman without further delay. Crushing the letter in his indignant hand, he left the summer-house and hurried up the garden path. Mr Wiseman, however, he could not find. He felt he must speak to someone. Mr Winterton and Matilda had gone to the shore to gather shells. Mrs Wiseman was nowhere to be seen. After pausing in the passage, he entered the drawing-room, and there found Lavinia deeply engrossed in an improving book. He seized a chair hurriedly, drew it close to her, and sat down.“Miss Simpson,” he said, in a voice broken by excitement, “may I ask you a few questions in the strictest confidence?”“Certainly, Mr Bloxam,” said Lavinia with alacrity.“Miss Simpson, did you notice anything remarkable in the behaviour of Miss Mason on the voyage?”“Well, Mr Bloxam,” said Lavinia, with an appearance of reluctance, “I should not have said anything about it if you had not asked me the question; but I certainly did notice conduct on Miss Mason’s part which I very much disapproved of.”“Might I ask you to be explicit on this point?”“Well, what both Miss Whitmore and I objected to in Miss Mason’s conduct was the way in which she used to—I do not even like to use the word—but ‘flirt’—with one of the officers of the ship. In fact, we thought it our duty to remonstrate with her on the subject; but what we said did no good.”“Might I ask the name of this officer?”“Certainly. His name was Mr Donald Ramsay.”“Thank you, Miss Simpson.”Mr Bloxam leant back in his chair, the prey to conflicting thoughts and tumultuous emotions. He rapidly reviewed the situation. His house was furnished; he had, on the eve of his departure, addressed a meeting of his congregation and announced that he was about to take upon his shoulders the responsibilities of the married state. A welcome was, he knew, being prepared for his bride. The Sabbath-school children had arranged to present her with an address, which had already been drafted by the schoolmaster of the Mission. The very invitations to a tea-meeting on a large scale had been issued. He could never face the ordeal of returning without a wife. Stella had been conclusively proved to be a vessel of abominable things; Matilda, owing to his foolish precipitancy in surrendering his right of pre-emption, had been annexed by Mr Winterton. Lavinia only remained. He would endow Lavinia with his belated affections.“Miss Simpson,” (he found that now he had not the least difficulty in expressing himself fluently), “it has been made clear to my heart that Providence has ordained that you should be a helpmeet unto me. Do you think you could confidently place your life and happiness in my keeping?”Lavinia thought she could.FiveMrs Wiseman hurried Stella up to the house from the arbour, and took her straight to her bedroom. Stella submitted without the least question. Mrs Wiseman gently forced her down on the bed, with her face turned to the wall, spread a light counterpane over her, told her in a whisper to lie quite still, patted her affectionately on the shoulder, and left the room. Then she hurried along the passage to Lavinia’s room, which she found empty. She then went to the drawing-room, and peeped in. There sat Lavinia—so absorbed in the improving book, that she did not even notice the intrusion of her hostess upon her moral researches. Mrs Wiseman then hurried to her own bedroom, locked the door on the inside, and took a seat at a window overlooking the path leading from the house to the arbour. Here she sat, like a portly spider behind a web of white lace curtain, which effectually concealed her from view from the outside.Before she had waited very long she saw Mr Bloxam hurrying past her to the house. His lips were white, and were pressed firmly together; his eyes glinted with baleful light; thunder lurked among the wrinkles of his brow. She heard his stamping footsteps lead to the study of Mr Wiseman, who, however, had been carefully got rid of for the whole forenoon by a stroke of Machiavellian diplomacy. She trembled with excitement, and felt her heart sink with an anxiety which was not all painful. The deep-laid plot she had woven had been so far successful, and now events had only to develop one stage farther upon their natural course for her efforts to be crowned with complete triumph. Things had reached a most critical stage, and much depended upon whether Mr Bloxam left the home in dudgeon to seek for Mr Wiseman or went into the drawing-room where Lavinia was sitting, engaged in the perfecting of her superior mind. Mrs Wiseman recognised the danger of Mr Bloxam’s first seeing her husband, whose ridiculous conscientiousness might possibly lead to complications; but her knowledge of the clerical variety of human nature told her with no uncertain voice that, once in the drawing-room, his doom would be sealed. She heard him falter in the passage, and her heart rose to her throat in a lump. Then she heard the sound of his footsteps leading in the desired direction, and just afterwards, the well-known creak caused by the closing of the drawing-room door smote on her delighted ear. She gave a gasping sigh of relief, stood up, and, regardless of the continued stability of the building, executed a ponderous war-dance around the room.After she had thus relieved her overwrought feelings, Mrs Wiseman opened the door and stepped quietly down the passage to the dining-room, where she took her seat within sight of the closed drawing-room door. Here she sat like a fowler watching a net in which valuable prey is just in the act of entangling itself. After a short interval the door opened, and Mr Bloxam emerged with Lavinia leaning on his arm. Lavinia’s face wore an expression of discreet satisfaction, but Mr Bloxam looked by no means so rapturous.Mrs Wiseman advanced towards the couple with a smile in which it would be hard to tell whether amiability or innocence was the more conspicuous.“Oh, Mr Bloxam,” she sweetly said, “Stella asked me to excuse her to you; the poor child felt suddenly faint, and had to go to her room and lie down.”Mr Bloxam regarded her with an intent look of instinctive suspicion, which, however, glanced off abashed from the guilelessness of her mien. Then he said, in measured and unenthusiastic tone—“We await your congratulations; Miss Simpson has consented to be my wife.”Mrs Wiseman’s felicitations were ardent exceedingly. She even went the length of kissing the coy Lavinia on her chaste lips. Just then she was so delighted at the complete success of her scheme that she would not have minded kissing Mr Bloxam himself. She watched the newly-engaged couple saunter down the garden and disappear into the shrubbery that had veiled the initial transports of Mr Winterton and Matilda. Then she hurried to the room where Stella was lying on her bed a prey to the deepest misery, clasped that dejected damsel to her motherly bosom, and told the good news in disjointed words. Stella broke into a springtide shower of happy tears, and clung to her preserver from the matrimonial toils of Bloxam, the ogre, like a nestling child. Mrs Wiseman, after kissing the girl affectionately, and telling her to remain quietly where she was, left the room. She immediately wrote a note to Mr Wardley, telling him of the blissful turn which events had taken, and recommending him as well to keep out of the way for the present. This note she despatched to the wagons by a servant.Soon Mr Wiseman, accompanied by Mr Winterton and Matilda, whom he had met on the road home, arrived. They each and all expressed the liveliest astonishment at the news. Mr Wiseman, in particular, looked perturbed, and the looks he bent on the smiling face of his wife were full of pathetic perplexity. Then the couple who formed the subject of discussion arrived from the garden. Lavinia at once darted to her room so as to conceal her blushes, and Mr Bloxam immediately requested the other two gentlemen to accompany him to the study for the purpose of discussing a matter of most serious importance. Matilda hastened to congratulate Lavinia, and Mrs Wiseman, with a certain amount of trepidation noticeable in her mien, went off to prepare for luncheon.Mrs Wiseman was nervously preparing a salad in the pantry when she received a message requesting her immediate presence in the study. After the victorious climax to her insidious machinations a reaction had set in, and she now felt distinctly uncomfortable. When she entered the study she found her husband at his desk, with a Rhadamanthine expression on his usually serene face. Mr Winterton was sitting at his left hand, looking like the assessor of a Nonconformist Holy Office, and Mr Bloxam was standing before the two in the attitude and with the expression as of a stout, middle-aged accusing angel. Before Rhadamanthus was outspread the incriminating letter. A solemn silence reigned in the chamber, and the partially drawn curtain caused an appropriate gloom. Under the stress of the situation Mrs Wiseman completely regained her self-possession, and her look of guilelessness clothed her like an armour of proof. Mr Winterton arose and politely handed her a chair.“Louisa,” said Mr Wiseman, in a Rhadamanthine tone, “Mr Bloxam has brought a very unpleasant matter to our notice—a matter which, I regret to say, seriously affects the character of one who is our guest, but who is, I fear, not a fit inmate for any Christian household.”“Dear me,” said Mrs Wiseman, “what a dreadful thing; but whoever can it be?”“I regret to have to tell you that the person I refer to is Miss Mason.”“What! Stella? Surely not!”“I regret, Louisa, to have to say that there can be no doubt on the subject.”“Dear me; Iamsorry. I have got so fond of the girl. Is there no mistake? Whatever has she done?”“I regret, Louisa, that no possibility of there being any mistake in the matter exists. It appears, to take events in their proper sequence, that both Miss Simpson and Miss Whitmore noticed signs of most reprehensible frivolity in Miss Mason’s conduct on the voyage, and their sense of duty even compelled them to take the unpleasant step of remonstrating with her for encouraging the attentions of a certain Mr Ramsay, one of the officers of the ship. This morning Mr Bloxam found a letter which had evidently been dropped by Miss Mason, and which, there can be no reasonable doubt, was written to her by this Ramsay. It is a document which, under the circumstances, reveals an amount of depravity absolutely shocking, and we must all, and especially Mr Bloxam, be humbly thankful to Providence that the true character of this whited sepulchre, who is so fair externally, has been revealed in time. I have now to request you to bring the shameless girl here, so that she may be confronted with the proof of her guilt.”“What a dreadful thing!” said Mrs Wiseman, in a bated tone; “I will fetch her at once. May I have a look at the letter?”“Here is the letter, Louisa; it is hardly fit for the perusal of any lady; but you are a minister’s wife, and have reached an age at which one may have knowledge of this class of evil without suffering moral damage.”Mrs Wiseman gave a perceptible sniff at the reference to her age.Her husband lifted the letter by one of its corners between the reluctant tips of a defilement-fearing finger and thumb, and passed it across the table to her. She received it in the same manner, and held it almost at arm’s length.“Oh!” she said with a start of surprise, “howcouldyou suspect the poor girl of having anything to do with a thing like this? Why, I picked this letter up in the street this morning when I was returning from my visit to Mr Wardley. I meant to have shown it to you; I must have dropped it out of my pocket in the summer-house.”“But,” said the careful Mr Winterton, “may not the note after all have been intended for Miss Mason. The initials correspond with those of Mr Ramsay, and we are told that their conduct on the voyage was very suspicious.”“Stuff and nonsense!” replied Mrs Wiseman. “Stella told me all about young Ramsay, who is engaged to a girl in Scotland. Besides, the letter is not in his handwriting. I got Stella to write him a note asking him to come to luncheon to-day, and here is his reply; you can see that the writing is quite different.”Mr Bloxam gave a gasp of relief when Stella’s innocence was established, but he suddenly remembered Lavinia, and a look of such abject misery came into his face that Mrs Wiseman felt a twinge of regret at the success of her plan. Mr Wiseman collapsed into abject helplessness; he felt he had been a party to some dark plot, and his wife became, for the moment, terrible to him. She, however, relieved the tension of the situation by saying—“You have all been guilty of a cruel injustice to poor Stella, and the least atonement you can make is to say nothing whatever about this business to anyone. It would cause Mr Wardley, besides, great annoyance if he were to hear that she had been suspected in this manner. Let us try to forget all about it. Luncheon will be ready in a few minutes.”In the course of the afternoon Stella, although still rather pallid and extremely nervous, discovered that she felt well enough to come to the drawing-room, and it was at about the same time that Mr Wardley found himself sufficiently recovered to walk down to the Parsonage. He also looked pale, and there was an alarming brightness about his eye. Mrs Wiseman ushered him into the drawing-room in which Stella was sitting alone, closed the door on him, and mounted guard at the passage.After a reasonable interval Mrs Wiseman, who had been sadly neglecting her housekeeping duties whilst following the dark and devious paths of intrigue, tapped at the door. Mr Wardley arose, drew Stella’s arm within his own, and advanced to meet the good conspirator. The faces of the lovers shone with such radiant happiness that any twinges of remorse she felt with reference to the part she had played disappeared for ever. She wept for very joy of sympathy, and rejoiced as Jael did after her treacherous undoing of Sisera, at the laying of the foundation-stone of this edifice of happiness which had been hewn from the quarries of circumstance by her own reprehensible hands.It is not necessary to refer to subsequent events otherwise than in the most general terms, with the exception of a conversation which took place on the night of the day upon which all these important occurrences took place. By the time Mrs Wiseman felt justified in resting from her labours incidental to preparing for the triple wedding which was to be solemnised on the following day, the night was somewhat far spent. Then she had to go and enjoy a final gush over Stella, and take a hurried survey of that enraptured damsel’s wardrobe, which, so great had been the general preoccupation during the past week, she had not even given a passing thought to. What with one thing and another, it was midnight before she retired to her bedroom. One circumstance may possibly have weighed with her in indulging herself in such a long dawdle in Stella’s room—namely, that she was just a little bit afraid of atête-à-têtewith her husband, and she wanted to give him ample opportunity of going to sleep before she joined him. However, when she entered the room, she found him wide awake and looking like Rhadamanthus in an extremely bad temper.“My goodness, Joe, are you still awake?”“Yes, Louisa; and so will you be until I hear a full explanation of the events of to-day.”“Very well, Joe; where shall I begin? Pray do not forget that you assisted me in bringing about what happened after I told you what I was working for.”Mr Wiseman groaned heavily in spirit. This fact, which his wife so flippantly reminded him of, had been rankling all day in his hitherto blameless conscience like a torturing thorn. The other thing that caused him acute misery was the suspicion that his wife had told him a falsehood.“Louisa, you said you picked up that letter in the street. Was that statement true?”“Of course it was.” She answered him with indignant asperity. “May I inquire if you suspect me of telling a lie?”“Louisa, do you know how the letter came to be in the street before you picked it up?”“Of course I do. I dropped it there myself.” Mr Wiseman groaned heavily in body and turned his face to the wall. He now realised for the first time that there is a feminine code of ethics which is radically different in some important respects from the masculine, and he recognised the hopelessness of further discussion...Next day the triple wedding was duly solemnised by the Reverend Josiah, and the three couples departed in their several wagons for their respective homes. There is good ground for believing that as marriages go, these unions resulted in a highly satisfactory average of happiness.The Prince and Princess, of course, sailed down the flowing stream of their days in a shallop with a fortunate keel, drawn by a sail which was ever arched to the balmy breath of happy gales. Mr Winterton and Matilda lived for a satisfactory number of years, and were continually discovering new and admirable qualities in each other. Their many good works are still bearing fruit in the little village in which they dwelt; and the gorgeous hues of the smoking-caps and slippers with which the industrious and devoted Matilda used to clothe the upper and nether extremities of her spouse are still vivid in the memories of the older inhabitants.It is only doing Mr Bloxam justice to say that he came out of his painful ordeal like a gentleman. From the ruins of the fabric of anticipated bliss, in which he had fondly dreamt of dwelling by the side of the beauteous Stella, he built what proved to be a durable tenement of unpretentious design, in which he and Lavinia lived for many days in sober comfort. His sufferings at first were extremely bitter, and it is high praise of his manliness to say that he concealed their existence from his wife. Had he but known it, his life with Lavinia was far more satisfactory than it could possibly have been with Stella. It has been said that Mrs Bloxam found her husband’s temper very trying during the first few years of their married life, but that things mended in this respect as time went on, and that the esteem which these two learned to feel for each other made the autumn of their united life like unto a calm, rich-skied Indian summer.

“The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men gang oft agley.”

One summer evening in the early fifties, three wagons, each drawn by a team of twelve oxen, might have been seen descending the Zuurberg Pass, on the road leading from Grahamstown to Port Elizabeth. The heavy thumping of the lumbering, springless vehicles and the wild yellings of the uncouth names of the individual members of the teams—without which no self-respecting wagon-driver feels that he does his duty to his responsible post—no doubt scared the bushbucks and the monkeys for miles along the bush-covered range.

Each turn-out had a festive appearance; the vehicles were newly-painted, the “tents” were of the whitest canvas, and a stick, surmounted by the tail of an ox, was fixed vertically to each front yoke. Even the Hottentot drivers and leaders showed signs of the prevailing smartness, for their clothes had evidently been recently washed and their hats and veldschoens were new.

The wagons were nearly empty. In fact, with the exception of one, each contained nothing but a provision chest, a portmanteau and some bedding. The exception contained, in addition, two gentlemen in their shirt-sleeves. Walking dejectedly some few yards behind it, was another gentleman, similarly denuded. It could be seen at a glance that all were ministers of the Gospel.

The pedestrian was the youngest of the three. He was a man of about thirty, with a somewhat tall and slight, but well-knit figure. His dark, handsome, clean-shaven face wore an expression of mingled sadness, apprehension and discontent. Of the two in the wagon the elder was apparently over forty-five. His smooth, red face had a jovial expression. The expanse of his forehead carried more than a suggestion of approaching baldness. With a figure short and rotund, his whole appearance was suggestive of the flesh-pots of Egypt.

His companion, who looked five or six years younger, was a spare-built man of middle height. He had thin lips, light-brown hair, steel-blue eyes and a reticent expression. He sat upright and gravely regarded the stout gentleman, who, comfortably propped by pillows, gave vent to the highest spirits and enlivened the situation by a succession of frivolous remarks and occasional snatches of song.

These clerics belonged to a religious body which has done much useful work among both Europeans and natives in South Africa. Severally bachelors, they were now on their way to Algoa Bay with the intention of forthwith entering into the bonds of holy matrimony—for the ship bearing the three ladies who had agreed to share their respective hearths and homes had, after a prosperous voyage, reached port.

It will, of course, be understood that the parties to these alliances were absolute strangers one to another. Half a century ago the daughters of the land suitable as helpmeets to men in the position of ministers were scarce, and it was not uncommon for several ministers to request their particular Mission Society to select and send out to them suitable partners. All the parties had to sign an undertaking to the effect that they, individually, would conform to certain regulations governing the apportionment. Judged from a purely sentimental standpoint, the system may have had its disadvantages; there is, however, reason to believe that the results were, as a rule, satisfactory. It was not so popular with the younger as with the older men. It may well be imagined that the former would have preferred doing their own love-making to having it done for them by the Mission Board; but the principal reason was that upon the arrival of each batch of brides seniority carried the privilege of first selection, and thus the youngest and prettiest girls were apt to fall to the older men, and the younger a man was the more danger there was of his being obliged to wed some elderly lady of comparatively unprepossessing appearance. This was the reason of the perturbation noticeable in the rather handsome face of the Reverend Mark Wardley, the young man walking behind the waggon. He knew that, being junior of the three, he would have last choice—or rather no choice at all, for he would have to content himself with the lady deemed least attractive by his companions. There was, however, a special reason in this particular instance why the youngest of the three postulants at Hymen’s shrine should feel the disadvantages of his position.

Similar conditions, no doubt, accounted for the exceedingly complacent and even radiant look which the rubicund countenance of the Reverend Peter Bloxam wore. He knew that as the eldest of the party he would have first pick, and he revelled in anticipation accordingly. Both he and Mr Wardley had been confidently informed, through letters received by the previous mail, that one of the three ladies selected was a girl of extremely well-favoured appearance; and the friends who wrote on the subject gave to each respectively a very warm inventory of her charms. Little was known of her antecedents, but this did not matter; the responsible position of a minister’s wife was the mould in which her character would be formed—if it required formation—and each was quite prepared to take whatever risks there were in the matter. She was the orphan daughter of a minister who had died in India, and she had been reared and educated at the expense and under the supervision of the Mission Society.

Mr Bloxam smiled to himself as he thought of how he had cheated old Time, and chuckled with the liveliest satisfaction over the fact that he was no longer a young man. He was, as a matter of fact, very much in love with the girl he had never seen, or rather with the ideal he had formed from the written description. Exactly the same might be said of Mr Wardley.

The third postulant, the Reverend Samuel Winterton, appeared to take things very coolly. If he derived satisfaction from the fact that the right of second selection from the little flock of ewe lambs was his, such was more sober than enthusiastic. Ardour, except for the Kingdom of Heaven, had been left entirely out of his composition, and he was very much wrapped up in a somewhat narrow religion.

Mr Bloxam and Mr Wardley laboured at reclaiming the heathen, and dwelt at country mission stations; Mr Winterton had spiritual charge of a mixed congregation, and dwelt in a small country village in Lower Albany, which, as everybody ought to know, is inhabited by the descendants of the British settlers of 1820.

It was sundown when the drivers called a halt at a grassy glade on the bank of a clear stream which was fringed with mimosa and acacia trees. Here the teams were “outspanned” and turned out to graze. Soon a fire was lit, mutton chops were grilled, tea was brewed, and the three lovers made a frugal repast. The only talkative one of the party was Mr Bloxam, whose tongue continually tingled with ponderous jocoseness that had a strongly Scriptural flavour. He rallied Mr Wardley on his subdued manner and his bad appetite. Mr Winterton came in for a share in the chaff as well, but the shafts seemed to fall dead from the armour of his imperturbability. Mr Wardley, on the other hand, distinctly winced at every thrust, so there was far more fun to be got out of him.

“Come, Brother Wardley,” said Mr Bloxam; “a contented mind is, I know, a continual feast, but it does not do to travel on—that is, by itself. It will never do for you to arrive looking hungry. You must try and look your best, man. Eh, Winterton?”

Mr Winterton’s mouth was too full to admit of his answering. Mr Wardley smiled uneasily, and helped himself to a chop, which he bravely attempted to eat.

“Just think of these three Roses of Sharon blooming for us, and soon to be transplanted to our homes,” said Mr Bloxam, unctuously. “Wardley is, I am afraid, thinking of the thorns already. If, however, he had studied the botany of Scripture he would have known that Roses of Sharon have no thorns.”

“I trust their ages may be suitable to ours,” said Mr Wardley in a nervous voice. “It is so important in marriage that husband and wife be not too different in this respect.”

“Scripture does not bear you out, brother,” said Mr Bloxam in a positive tone. “Take the case of Ruth and Boaz, for instance; and we must not forget King David’s having taken Abishag the Shunamite to comfort him in his old age.”

“You could hardly call Abishag the wife of David,” interjected Mr Winterton, whose knowledge of Scripture was precise.

“Quite so, quite so,” said Mr Bloxam, airily, “yet she comforted him in his old age. The principal functions of the wife of a minister of the Gospel lie in assisting her husband in his duties and comforting him when the powers of evil seem temporarily to prevail against his efforts. Now, a young woman, if she have the necessary dispositions, may be able to perform such duties effectively at the side of a man even considerably her senior.”

“But,” said Mr Wardley, with a touch of heat, “a young man also requires a helpmeet and a comforter, and surely one who—”

“Quite so, quite so; and you will get one, my brother. The hand of Providence directs us in these things, and we must pray for its guidance at this important juncture of our lives. As the eldest and most experienced I shall have the responsibility of making first selection. Although I continually pray for guidance, I feel the responsibility a great burthen.”

“If it weighs so heavily, why not let it rest on the shoulders of a younger man?” said Mr Winterton, who possessed a hitherto unsuspected sense of humour. “I have no doubt Wardley will feel equal to sustaining it.”

“I a—fear that would hardly do,” replied Mr Bloxam, as Mr Wardley looked up with a rather sickly smile. “You see, this practice of throwing the responsibility of first choice upon the senior is, no doubt, ordained for some wise purpose.”

“In the sixth chapter of the First Book of Chronicles,” said Mr Winterton, with a steely twinkle in his eye, “we read how certain cities were apportioned to the priests and Levites by lot. Now, it struck me that in a case of this kind, where the guidance of—”

“Brother Winterton,” said Mr Bloxam, severely, “when a practice such as this has, so to speak, been ‘made an ordinance in Israel,’ no minister should dare to think himself justified in departing from it. I shall certainly follow the course laid down by wiser men than myself. In making the choice I shall be guided by the light which I have prayed may be vouchsafed to me, and if by means of that light I see unmistakable signs of a—that is, if I, as it were, see the finger of Providence pointing out any particular lady as the one most suitable as a partner, I shall not allow such a trivial consideration as mere youth on her part to deter me from following the path of duty.”

At this Mr Wardley set down on the ground his plate with the hardly-tasted chop and gazed into indefinite distance with an extremely doleful expression. Mr Winterton went on eating his supper with a countenance of inscrutable gravity.

Soon after supper the two elder men laid themselves down to sleep—Mr Bloxam to dream of the black eyes, the rosy lips, and the girlish graces which, he fondly hoped, were going to turn the near-approaching winter of his years into a halcyon spring. Mr Winterton was neither delighted nor disturbed by dreams. He had a good conscience, an excellent digestion, and Nature had not blessed or cursed him with an imagination. Mr Wardley climbed the steep side of the hill at the base of which the wagons were outspanned, for a short distance, and then sat down on a stone and gazed at the thrilling sky, from which the veil of haze was now withdrawn. His heart was heavy with foreboding, and the same eyes, lips, and youthful, feminine graces which gilded the visions of Mr Bloxam brought him the pains of Tantalus. He sat thus until the mocking, sentimental promise of the unarisen moon filled all the west, and then he fled back to the wagons to try and escape from the burthen of his thoughts.

At next morning’s dawn the sleepers were aroused, and the oxen stepped forward with the unladen wagons lightly as though treading the flowery path of Love.

Five days previous to the opening of this story the Reverend Josiah Wiseman, with Louisa, his wife, stepped down from the parsonage on “The Hill,” to the jetty at Port Elizabeth, immediately after the good shipSilver Liningsof Leith, cast anchor in the roadstead, and engaged the services of a boatman to convey them to the vessel. The day was fine and the sea was smooth, or else Mrs Wiseman would never have trusted herself even on this, the fringe of the great waters. She was one of those motherly parties who never become old in heart or feeling, and consequently never cease to take an interest in the love-affairs of their acquaintances. Neither the forty-eight years of her life nor her massive bulk had tamed her sprightliness or dimmed her merry eye. She had looked more or less the same for the past twenty years; even her increase of size had been so gradual that, however striking her portly presence may have been to strangers, her husband and her intimate acquaintances did not notice it as being anything remarkable. She had come gently down the hill of Time like a snowball rolling down a gradual slope and continually gathering accretions without altering much in general appearance. Her only child, a girl, had died in its infancy many years previously, and the unexpended motherhood of her nature seemed to expand and envelop every girl in love, or about to marry, in its sympathetic folds. She had come out in her youth under circumstances similar to those of the three ladies sent out as brides for the ministers whose acquaintance we have made, and who were passengers by theSilver Lining. These damsels were to be her guests until their marriage, and she was now on her way to welcome them.

As the boat drew near the vessel’s side, the bright, pretty face of a young girl, who was gazing intently at the shore, might have been seen above the rail. She had very large, dark eyes, brown wavy hair, rosy cheeks, and a mouth like a rosebud in a hurry to blossom. Add to the foregoing a stature rather below the middle height, a neatly turned figure and remarkably pretty feet and hands, and you have a fairly recognisable portrait of Miss Stella Mason, the delineation of whose charms had already impressed the middle-aged but inflammable heart of the Reverend Peter Bloxam and filled the sentimental bosom of the Reverend Mark Wardley with hopeless woe.

Sitting together under an awning aft of the companion hatch were two austere-looking damsels of uncertain age, who, in spite of considerable diversity of appearance, might have been taken for sisters, so much did they resemble each other in dress, deportment and expression. Each had a book of a highly moral tone lying open upon her discreet lap, and was reading therein in ostentatious disregard of what minds less absorbed by the higher spheres of morality would have considered the interesting prospect afforded by this, the first glimpse of the land which was to be their future home. They had, as a matter of fact, already taken a good look at the shore from their cabin windows; but now the abiding abstract principles that governed their circumspect lives again claimed their attention to the exclusion of unimportant detail.

They both wore dresses of brown linsey, buttoned very high at the throat, and black straw hats innocent of all but the very simplest of trimming. Their white, rather bony hands were skirted by immaculate cuffs. The elder of the two, Miss Lavinia Simpson, had light-brown hair, brushed smoothly back from a high forehead, and her longish upper lip protruded over a somewhat receding chin. Her face was pale and narrow, and she wore spectacles over eyes of an indeterminate hue. Her companion, Miss Matilda Whitmore, had hair of a darker shade of brown, and wide, light-blue eyes. Her face was broad and her cheekbones rather high. The thin lips of her pursed mouth strongly suggested a potatoes, prunes, and prism training. These ladies seemed to exhale an atmosphere of uncompromising and aggressive virtue.

Mr Wiseman ascended the companion ladder and introduced himself. Mrs Wiseman’s courage failed her at the prospect of an ascent, so she remained in the boat, where the three strangers were duly presented to her, after being handed over by the captain’s wife. The boat then returned to the shore, and the party climbed the hill to the hospitable threshold of the Parsonage.

It soon became apparent that Miss Mason had been, so to say, sent to Coventry by the other two, for they kept a marked physical and moral distance from her. Mrs Wiseman from the first felt drawn towards the young girl, and the friendly expression of this impulse was at once resented by the others, who stiffened up and formed themselves into a defensive alliance, which suggested possibilities of becoming offensive as well.

The fair Stella, however, did not appear to be chilled in the slightest degree by the cold shoulders turned towards her by her companions on the road to Hymen’s shrine, for she chatted in the friendliest manner with Mr and Mrs Wiseman, made herself quite at home at the Parsonage, and appeared to turn up her pretty little nose at the proper airs of the others. These, as a matter of fact, had been highly scandalised at what they considered a flirtation between her and the second mate of theSilver Liningsand even gone the length of remonstrating with her on the subject of her frivolity. The second mate was a muscular young Scotsman named Donald Ramsay; with him Stella had struck up a perfectly innocent friendship, but the severe virtue of Lavinia and Matilda had received such shocks from what they imagined to be the real state of affairs, that it became like erected porcupine quills whenever she approached. Mrs Wiseman soon saw what the true drift of things was, so she lodged the two elder ladies in one room and put Stella by herself in another.

The post for Grahamstown was timed to leave next morning, so Mr Wiseman retired to his study and wrote to the three expectant ones, informing them of the arrival of theSilver Liningwith her precious freight, after a prosperous voyage.

After the ladies had retired to their respective chambers kind Mrs Wiseman wrapped herself in a loose dressing-gown of heroic proportions, and wandered forth in search of gossip. She first tapped lightly at the door of the room occupied by Lavinia and Matilda. She heard a whispered colloquy going on inside, but there was no response to her knock. Then she turned the handle, with the idea of opening the door and thus saving her guests the trouble of getting up, in case they were already in bed. She found, however, that the key had been turned in the lock, so she stole thankfully away to Stella’s room. A faint “Come in,” uttered in a voice that strongly suggested tears, reached her through the panel, and she entered, to find the girl, whose previous manner had been as that of one without a single care, flung on the bed, with her face buried in the pillow, and sobbing as though her heart were breaking. The motherly sympathy of the women went out to the desolate girl, and she folded her to a breast where loving kindness and bulk were in proportions of like vastness.

The girl told all her troubles and fears. Her story was a sad one. An orphan, and educated at the expense of the Mission Society, she had chosen the alternative of coming to South Africa and marrying a man she had never seen or heard of in preference to undertaking teaching work, which she not alone hated, but was quite unfit for. She had suddenly made up her mind to this course, to supply the place of one of the Lavinia-Matilda sisterhood, who was to have come, but who was prevented from doing so by illness. Alone with her thoughts, amid the silence of the sea, Stella had come bitterly to regret the step she had unthinkingly taken. Lavinia and Matilda had disliked her from the first, and excluded her from their improving companionship. When she made friends with the young Scotsman, who made her his confidante in respect of an ardent mutual attachment between himself and a girl he had left behind him, they had made cruel remarks on the subject, which had the effect of making her practically drop their acquaintance. Kind Mrs Wiseman did her best to comfort this belated little sunbird, who had absorbed some of the sombreness of the plumage of the too highly domesticated fowls whose cage she had shared during the past three months, and then retired to her room, where she woke her husband up for the purpose of making him listen to Stella’s history.

Next morning she heard Lavinia—in a voice evidently meant to be overheard—congratulating Matilda upon the fact that they had locked their door before retiring to rest, and thus prevented the entrance of an intruder. “One can never feel quite safe, you know, in savage countries.”

As the week which had to elapse between the arrival of the nymphs and that of the swains drew to a close, Mrs Wiseman found herself more and more drawn towards Stella, but unable to approach nearer to anything like friendliness with the other two. Her relations with Stella no doubt formed a bar to anything of the kind. Consequently, these patterns of propriety of the very properest type continued to cultivate each other’s society to a point of exclusiveness that verged upon rudeness.

As her regard for Stella grew, Mrs Wiseman began to think more and more of the girl’s future. She was well acquainted with the three ministers, and having had experience of the working of the system under which these marriages were arranged, she had no difficulty in forecasting Stella’s connubial destiny. She was absolutely certain that the Reverend Peter Bloxam would see the finger of Providence clearly indicating Stella as his fore-ordained bride, and she sighed at the incongruous prospect. As to young Wardley, well, he and Stella would have suited each other excellently well; but she knew by experience that one might as well expect children to pass by a rosy-cheeked apple for the sake of a turnip as to think that the two seniors would prefer the unimpeachable but mature qualities of either Lavinia or Matilda to the beauty and sweetness of Stella. Mrs Wiseman herself had come out from England as a pretty, fresh young girl, and had been promptly and unhesitatingly recognised as his Providence-selected bride by a man who was almost old enough to be her father. On the same occasion a certain young minister (the youngest of the batch) and she had looked at each other with eyes full of mournful sympathy that was closely akin to love—she from the side of her old, grizzled bridegroom, and he from that of his antique bride, who had fallen to him as the youngest of the party by a process of elimination of the others by his seniors, under Providential direction. In her case, however, things had, in a measure come right; her husband and the other clergyman’s wife had, after four years, died within a few months of each other, and when, about a year subsequently, the widow and the widower met, they found that the mournful element in their looks had given place to one of hopeful anticipation, which was duly realised a few months afterwards in a happy marriage. The odds were, of course, very much against such a fortunate combination happening in the case of Stella and young Wardley. She sighed more and more as the time for the arrival of the three suitors drew nigh, and the gloom of her thoughts seemed to communicate itself to all the others, so much so that the Parsonage took on the air of a house from which funerals rather than weddings were expected.

It was the evening before the expected arrival of the bridegrooms. The brides had retired to their rooms, and Mrs Wiseman went upstairs to have her usual chat with Stella. They had hitherto by tacit consent avoided discussion of the approaching events except in the most general terms.

“My dear,” said Mrs Wiseman, after a pause in the conversation, “suppose you and I have a chat about those who are expected to arrive to-morrow; I know them all, so can tell you what each one is like. Do you realise that in two days you will be engaged, and that in three you will be married?”

“Yes,” replied Stella; “I am not likely to forget it. I shall be glad to hear what my future husband is like.”

“Well, if I must tell the truth, I think it is a great shame the way they manage these things—I mean their giving the oldest man first choice.”

“Are a—any of themveryold?”

“Well, there is Mr Bloxam; he is the eldest. To speak quite candidly, he must be at least forty-six. My dear, it’s a shame of me to talk like this, for you cannot help yourself, and Iknowyou’ll have to marry him, and I think it’s a great shame. If it had been young Wardley, now—”

“A—is Mr Wardley young?”

“Yes. My dear, you and Wardley would suit each other just beautifully. He is not so very young either; he must be nearly thirty, but I have known him ever since he first came out—quite a boy. He has a temper, but his wife could manage him perfectly if she weren’t a fool or old enough to be his mother.”

“I wonder,” said Stella, after a reflective pause, “why Mr Wardley—you say he is good-looking?”

“He’shandsome, my dear.”

“I wonder why he didn’t try and like some girl out here, instead of letting them pick one out for him at home; especially as he has last choice, or rather has to take the one neither of the others want.”

“All pique, my dear. Young Wardleydidlike a girl, a nasty little cat, who flirted with him and threw him over, and has been sorry enough for it ever since. Just after they quarrelled he met old Bloxam and Winterton, who could not get out wives until a third minister wanted one. They persuaded him to put his name to a paper asking to have one sent out to him as well, and he foolishly did so without considering. Iknowhe has regretted it ever since. I told him he was a fool just after he had done it.”

“Does he a—care for the other girl still?”

“Not he; he never really cared for her a bit. Dear me! when I think of his being tied to one of those stiff, proper old tabbies I feel quite wretched. I know who it will be; just see if it isn’t Lavinia, with the lip and the spectacles. Winterton is by no means a fool, and you may be sure he will leaveheralone. I don’t say there’s much choice between them, because, my dear, leaving you to one side, this is just the commonest lot they have ever sent out; but I’m sure no man would marry that old thing unless he had to. Now, Matilda—what’s her name? Whitmore, eh?—she’d not be so bad if you could fatten her up and shake her a bit, and get her right away from that Lavinia, whom I simply can’t bear.”

“How will they—when will they tell us—I mean, how will it all be arranged?”

“Oh, quite simply; there won’t be much beating about the bush, I can assure you. You and Lavinia and Matilda will all sit in the drawing-room, and the three will be brought in and introduced to you. Then you will be left to look at each other like a lot of stuffed parrots; none of you—not even old Bloxam—will be able to talk a bit. Then to-morrow night an extra long prayer will be given that Providence may guide you all to choose wisely. Stuff and nonsense! as I’ve often told Joe. As if Providence would always give the youngest and prettiest wives to the old men and the old and ugly ones to young fellows like Wardley!”

“What is Mr Bloxam like? I suppose I ought to know, as it appears I am going to marry him,” said Stella, losing the drift of her previous question.

“Fat, fussy, and over forty-five, my dear; that is what I should call him. He doesn’t pray for quite as long as Winterton, but he eats a lot, and I’m sure he’d be fussy in the house. But I don’t want you to hate me by-and-by in case you should happen to get fond of him, which isn’t likely; so I shan’t tell you another word. You’ll see him quite soon enough, in all conscience.”

Mrs Wiseman bade the girl an affectionate “Good-night,” and then retired to her room. She found, however, that she could not sleep; she was weighted by the burthen of painful anticipation. She had long been fond of Mr Wardley in a motherly way, and during the past week she had learned to love Stella. She seemed to live once more through her bitter experience of long ago, and a like blight had now to fall upon these two in the morning of their life. She felt certain that the hearts of Stella and Wardley would rush to each other, impelled by strong forces of both attraction and repulsion, and be damaged in the collision.

When she retired for the night her husband was fast asleep, and as he was a very heavy sleeper she had no fear of disturbing him. The sight of him serenely slumbering irritated her so that she longed to shake him. She blew out the candle, but visions of the sanguine face and the stout figure of Mr Bloxam—the former wearing an expression of smug satisfaction and proprietorship; and the frightened, half-desperate, and wholly disgusted look of Stella, as she submitted to the caresses of her elderly lover, haunted her with a persistence that became agonising; so she lit the candle once more. Then another aspect of the case flashed balefully across her mind, and she sat up in bed, clasping her hands convulsively to her face. What had she not been doing, wicked woman that she was? Had she not taken the very course calculated to make the burthen of the poor girl unbearable? Had she not set the girl’s wandering thoughts flowing in the very direction which should have been avoided—namely, those of dislike to Mr Bloxam and love for Mr Wardley; and would not the torrents of emotion to which she would be the prey during the next two days cut channels so deep that the stream of her life would never again flow out of them? What could she now do to repair the mischief wrought by her thoughtlessness? She sat for a long time with her hands pressed to her face and the hot tears streaming through her trembling fingers. What could she do—what—what? She got up from her bed and began pacing the room with quick, nervous steps. Her tears had now ceased, and her brow was contracted in a deep travail of thought. All at once she turned sharply round, hurried to the side of the bed, and began violently shaking her sleeping husband.

“Wake up! Wake up, Joe,” she said in a loud voice.

Mr Wiseman was not easy to waken, but the energy of his wife’s attack brought him to a sitting posture on the side of the bed in a very few seconds.

“Goodness gracious, my dear! what has happened? Is the house on fire?” He was now wide awake and really startled.

“The house isn’t on fire, Joe; don’t be a fool, but wake up. I want to talk to you about something very important.”

“Yes, my dear; I’m wide awake, but a—won’t the subject keep until to-morrow?”

“No, it won’t keep two minutes. Now, mind, I’m in earnest, so don’t aggravate me.”

“Very well, my dear, what do you want to talk to me about?” said he, trying to suppress a yawn.

“I just want to talk to you about Providence.”

Mr Wiseman turned his eyes sharply to his wife’s face. “I think, my dear, that if you were to lie down, perhaps, you might feel better. Shall I get you a few drops of sal volatile?”

“Look here, Joe. If you want to make me just mad you will go on like that. I’m not sick, and I’m not dreaming, and you’ll hear what I have to say if I have to make you sit here all night. I want you to tell me, on your word as a man and a minister, whether you think that Providence made old Mr Lobbins choose me as his wife and selected Miss Perkins for you to marry?”

“Well, my dear, it’s rather an important—”

“Now, Joe, I’ll have a direct answer, or else you don’t get to sleep again to-night. Did Providence specially ordain it?”

“Well, my dear, Providence at least permitted it, that is quite certain.”

“Permitted fiddlesticks! Doesn’t Providence in the same way permit of getting drunk, and stealing, and—and—doing all sorts of wicked things?”

“Quite true, my dear; it is all very mysterious. We can never hope to understand why evil is permitted, but we must not forget that, together with permitting evil, Providence provides the remedy. Even I, in my humble sphere of ministration, must look upon myself as an instrument provided by Providence to correct the evil I see around me. That is the great mercy, that next to the evil lies the means by which it may be counteracted.”

“Joe, you are a dear old man, and you have made itquiteclear to me about Providence. Now, look here, I want you to make me one promise, and when you have done so you may go to sleep as soon as ever you like.”

“Well, my dear, you know that as an honest man I cannot make a promise blindly; it might bind me to something which my conscience—”

“It is not to do anything, but just to do nothing at all, that I want you to promise,” interrupted his wife. “For the next two days I want you simply to take no notice of anything out of the common that happens, and in any case not to interfere without coming to see me first.”

“Well, my dear, I think I can safely promise that. But look here, can you not tell me what this means?”

“It means just this—and you can go and call it out in the streets to-morrow if you like—that I am not going to let old Bloxam snap up Stella Mason, nor am I going to see young Wardley hooked by Lavinia. Now, it’s no use looking at me like that or saying another word, for I’vequitemade up my mind about it. I cannot tell you how I am going to manage, and if I could I would not, because you would ‘look’ it out even if you did not tell it. All you have to do is to keep quite quiet, take no notice of anything that happens, and come to me if you feel uneasy. Now you may kiss me, and then go to sleep.”

After a few seconds she said in a softer voice. “Joe.”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Supposing someone had helped us long ago, don’t you think it would have saved Providence a great deal of trouble?”

“How so, my dear?”

“Well, you see, two people had to die before we could be happy, and even then we had lost four years of our life. Joe, I am determined that Bloxam shall not get Stella, even if I have to come into the church and forbid the marriage when you ask whether anyone knows of any just cause, so you had better help me.”

“Well, my dear, I have given my word not to interfere; I don’t see how I can help in any way. Surely you don’t want me to speak to Bloxam?”

“Not I. Fancy trying to get Bloxam to disobey the finger of Providence when it points to a pretty girl like Stella, just ready, as he thinks, to drop into his big mouth like a ripe plum. No, Imaywant your help, but I shall try and do without it. But if Idoask you to do anything, you had better just do it.”

Next day an air of hushed expectancy seemed to envelop the Parsonage. Stella complained of a headache; she certainly looked rather pale, and her eyes had an unnatural brightness. Lavinia and Matilda appeared in garb which, although still severely simple, was more in accordance with current fashions than had hitherto been their rule. At breakfast they thawed just a little towards their hostess, and the glances they shot from time to time in Stella’s direction was rather less acid than usual. Breakfast over, they retired to the drawing-room, after each had selected a book of most portentously moral tone from the well-stocked shelves of the Reverend Josiah. Here they sat together on the sofa like a statued group of the cardinal virtues, with Charity left out.

It was early in the afternoon when a whisper to the effect that the three suitors had arrived thrilled through the house. The wagons were outspanned in an open space about three hundred yards away, and thither the Reverend Josiah hastened with a hearty welcome. The Parsonage was not equal to accommodating the three gentlemen, but they were expected to take their meals there although sleeping at the waggons, alongside which a tent was pitched.

The varied emotions swaying the three men were apparent in their faces and their demeanour as they accompanied Mr Wiseman to the Parsonage. Mr Bloxam’s delighted anticipations shone out of his face, and his feet seemed to tread upon air. Mr Winterton appeared to be more impressed by the gravity of the situation than by its other aspects. His mouth was set in a hard line, his face was pale, and the pupils of his eyes were contracted to the size of pinpoints. Mr Wardley looked haggard, his feet shuffled as he walked, and the throbbing of his heart filled his ears with thunder. Mr Wiseman tried to be friendly, and made one or two attempts in the direction of jocularity, but his wife weighed heavily on him, and he felt crushed as though with the weight of an impending catastrophe.

The three brides-elect were sitting in the drawing-room with Mrs Wiseman when the party arrived. Stella had retired into a corner, where she sat in the shadow. When the door opened she saw the unmistakable face of Mr Bloxam radiant in the fore, and the pale, dejected visage of Mr Wardley, who was taller than either of his companions, bringing up the rear. After the formal introduction, some attempts were made at conversation, in the middle of which Mr and Mrs Wiseman, as was expected of them, left the room. Then Mr Bloxam came to the front in hisrôleof man of the world. His self-confidence had for the moment given way under the stress of his emotions, but now he was his own Bloxam again, and skilfully piloted the company over the troubled sea of restraint in which they had been drifting to a haven of disembarrassment. His conversation was mainly directed towards the two elder ladies, but he now and then addressed a remark to Stella, who maintained her seat in the corner. She and Mr Wardley exchanged one or two fleeting glances, each of which was followed by a painful blush. Mr Winterton, from the first, directed furtive attentions towards Matilda, and once, when the discreet cheek of that damsel flushed faintly under a glance of more than usually intent scrutiny, he turned a fiery red, coughed nervously, and looked away in confusion.

At the tea-table, afterwards, Mr Bloxam still took the conversational lead. Mrs Wiseman was sweetness personified, and ably seconded Mr Bloxam’s efforts to keep the ball rolling. Stella sat silent and demure, and both Lavinia and Matilda gave evidence of the superiority of their minds by making discreet comments from time to time. Mr Wardley complained of a headache, and looked really ill. He and Stella had been placed at opposite corners, with the whole length of the table between them, and they now and then exchanged glances—brief as lightning-flashes, and as destructive to their peace of mind. When the ladies retired to the drawing-room, Wardley followed Mrs Wiseman to the passage, and begged her to excuse him for the rest of the evening, as he felt too ill to remain. She accompanied him to the door, bade him good-night with a friendly pressure of the hand, and told him to keep up his spirits, as things might not be so bad as they appeared.

Mr Wardley returned to the wagons, and flung himself upon his bed in bitter agony of mind. Stella transcended all he had dreamt of her; and the first glance from her clear brown eyes had been to his heart like a match set to an inflammable pile. He loved her utterly and suddenly, and he at the same time realised how hopeless was his chance of winning her.

The counterpart of Wardley’s love for Stella was an utter loathing of the idea of marriage with either of the others. His mind was made up; he would refuse to carry out the compact. He knew that this would cost him his position in the ministry, and the thought caused him acute and remorseful pain, for he believed thoroughly in the genuineness of his calling; but he felt that marriage with one of these women would, under his present dispositions, be a crime more deadly than any other he could commit. He was quite clear as to the course which he had to pursue; he would wait until Stella had been formally appropriated by Mr Bloxam, and then steal quietly away to some spot where he could hide his shame and grief, leaving a brief letter for Mr Wiseman, with some sort of an explanation of his conduct.

In the meantime the course of events at the Parsonage ran smoothly. Mr Bloxam was not very successful in his efforts to become confidential with Stella, who clung to Mrs Wiseman like a frightened child, and could not be enticed from her side. He was very gallant with Miss Lavinia, but guardedly so; and he carefully abstained from giving her any grounds for inferring that his attentions were based on anything more than mere civility. Mr Winterton and Miss Matilda made great strides in their intimacy; they got into a corner quite early in the evening, and remained there playing solitaire. Towards the end they had quite a gamesome little scuffle over the last marble but one, when the chaste Matilda archly attempted to cheat in the most barefaced and obvious manner. The rest of the company left them quite undisturbed, and, in fact, rather ostentatiously ignored them. The only one who took the least notice of their sedate flirtation was Stella, who shot glances of fearful curiosity into their corner now and then, and thought with dismay that she and Mr Bloxam would most probably soon be similarly situated.

At length the hour for prayers struck, and all moved into the dining-room. As the senior stranger, Mr Bloxam was called upon to give an exhortation, and, in complying, he did justice to the occasion. He had all the texts of Scripture that deal with marriage at his tongue’s tip, and he painted the moral advantages of that holy estate with such fervour and fluency that the thought crossed Stella’s mind that he must be a widower in disguise, and she wondered whether this would not be a valid excuse for her refusing to marry him, as the three had been represented as bachelors in the first instance. Then she smiled to herself at the foolishness of her imaginings, and again surrendered to the feeling of numbing despair which had been creeping over her.

After the discourse came a short, fervent, and very explicit prayer for the special interposition of Providence at the present very important juncture, at the end of which Mrs Wiseman’s enunciation of the “Amen” was heard so loudly and distinctly above the other voices, that her husband started violently and looked round at her in obvious alarm.

In bidding Stella “good-night,” Mr Bloxam put so much expression into his voice, and so much unction into the pressure of his hand, that the girl had to clench her teeth hard to keep from screaming. Mr Winterton and Matilda developed their idyll over the solitaire board to the very end of the evening. After prayers she fetched the board from the drawing-room for the purpose of showing him a puzzle she had learnt from a lady friend who was champion solitaire player of the village she lived in, and this engrossed them until the moment of departure. It was then that Mr Bloxam indulged in his first piece of badinage. He said to Stella, with something which looked atrociously like a wink, and in a voice that all could hear, that he supposed Brother Winterton was making the most of what remained of his “solitaire” condition, and he added with an inflection of tenderness in his voice, that this condition was now nearly at an end for all of them. Brother Winterton hung his head shamefacedly, Matilda was covered with becoming confusion, and Stella winced as though struck with a whip.

On the way back to the wagons the two ardent swains paused for a few minutes’ conversation beneath the glowing stars. “Would it be amiss if I were to ask whether you feel your inclinations being guided in any particular direction?” asked Mr Bloxam.

“Since you inquire, I will tell you that Miss Whitmore is the one towards whom I feel attracted,” replied Mr Winterton, without hesitation.

After a pause, which gave the idea that he waited to be questioned, Mr Bloxam said in a nervous tone:—

“Since you have given me your confidence, Winterton, I will tell you that some influence, such as I have never before experienced, seems to draw me towards Miss Mason. In these matters we must believe that we are guided through our inclinations, and I have determined not to be disobedient to the pleasing monition. I shall propose for Miss Mason’s hand to-morrow.”

“What a pity Wardley is indisposed,” said Mr Winterton, after a moment’s pause. “I hope he recognises his fore-ordained helpmeet in Miss Simpson, as we do in the ladies of our choice.”

“I think Miss Simpson will suit Wardley admirably,” said Mr Bloxam, quickly; “he is just the man who ought to marry one older than himself. You see how delicate he is, and it is meet that his wife be one whose age and experience fits her to take care of him.”

“Ye-e-s,” replied Mr Winterton.

“I think,” rejoined Mr Bloxam, “that as Wardley is unwell to-night we had better not excite him by discussing these important subjects in his hearing.”

“I quite agree with you,” replied Mr Winterton.

When Mrs Wiseman went to bid Stella “good-night” she found the girl sobbing on her pillow as if her heart were breaking.

“Cheer up, my deary,” said the kind woman; “things may not be as bad as you think. Look here, I want you to-morrow to do exactly as I tell you to, and ask no questions. Will you promise to do so?”

“Yes,” whispered Stella through her sobs.

“Very well, then. To-morrow morning, first thing, you are to write a note to that young man you made friends with on board ship asking him to come up and take lunch with us.”

Stella nodded.

“When the reply comes you are to look hurriedly at the letter, put it into your pocket without opening it, and leave the room.”

Stella again nodded.

“You are to return in a few minutes, and sit down again without saying a word about the letter.”

Stella again nodded. She was now drying her tears, and the look on her face was decidedly less woebegone than it had been a few moments previously.

“Now, look here,” said Mrs Wiseman, “keep up your spirits; I will get you and young Wardley out of this if I possibly can. You have just got to do exactly what I tell you. I am very glad that he is sick and out of the way just now. Good-night, my deary; keep your spirits up, and all will come right, or else my name isn’t Louisa Wiseman.”

Next morning Mrs Wiseman rose very early and went downstairs to her husband’s study, where she locked herself in for about half an hour. She then went and sought for Stella, whom she found sitting in her room dressed. She sent her down to the study, telling her to write the letter inviting young Ramsay to lunch, warning her at the same time not to mention the fact of the invitation to anyone. The invitation Mrs Wiseman enclosed to the local agent for theSilver Liningswho happened to be a friend of hers, asking him as a particular favour to send it out by a special messenger to the vessel, and to transmit any reply that might come under cover to herself personally.

At breakfast-time Mr Wardley was reported to be still very unwell; however, as he distinctly refused to see a doctor, no alarm was felt on his account. It was, of course, felt that his absence caused a hitch in the otherwise harmonious proceedings. After breakfast Mrs Wiseman went up to the wagons to see him, and returned with the report that, although he was undoubtedly ill and quite unable to appear at present, he would most probably be sufficiently recovered to put in an appearance in the course of the afternoon. When Mrs Wiseman made this announcement, her husband looked extremely uneasy, and after a few moments got up and hurriedly left the room. Both Mr Bloxam and Mr Winterton looked at Lavinia with expressions of commiseration, whilst she maintained a demeanour which suggested subdued tenderness and resignation.

The Parsonage grounds were rich with trees, and thus afforded suitable localities for amatory dalliance. In its bosky recesses many a clerical swain had sported with his Amaryllis in the shade, and thither the ardent Winterton led his coy Matilda soon after breakfast, and elicited, after becoming hesitancy, her blushing acceptance of his hand and heart. When he attempted to seal the compact with an embrace, she disengaged herself with a twittering little scream from his unaccustomed arms and fled. Her confusion, however, was such that she did not run towards the house, but into a thick shrubbery which lay in quite another direction. Thither Mr Winterton followed without a moment’s hesitation, and the twittering scream was repeated, but in a rather fainter tone. However, Matilda must have forgiven her lover whatever liberties he may have taken, for when they returned together to the house not very long afterwards they both looked extremely happy, and were apparently the best of friends.

Stella kept close to Mrs Wiseman, and a great deal of unsuccessful diplomacy was exercised by Mr Bloxam with the object of obtaining atête-à-têtewith the object of his growing passion. At length a reply to Stella’s letter arrived from Mr Ramsay. It had been, as arranged, sent in a cover addressed to Mrs Wiseman. She at once took it to her husband, who was sitting, a prey to great nervousness, in his study.

“Joe,” she said in a tone that admitted of neither contradiction nor argument, “in five minutes exactly you are to send the servant with that letter to Miss Mason in the drawing-room.”

She then hurried from the room, without giving him time to reply, and went to where poor Stella was awaiting her in a fever of trembling suspense. She took the girl’s arm and hurried her to the drawing-room, where the enamoured Bloxam was sitting, apparently absorbed in the perusal of a book which he was holding upside down. When close to the door, she whispered hurriedly to the girl—

“Remember what I told you to do when the letter comes. After you have returned we will all three go to the summer-house in the garden. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” whispered Stella.

“Now, you must attend particularly to what I tell you. When we have been in the summer-house for a few minutes I will stand up and leave; just afterwards I will call to you, and you must follow me at once, without looking after you or picking up anything you may see lying about. Do you understand?”

Stella answered with a hasty nod, and the two then entered the drawing-room.

“What do you say to a walk in the garden under this young lady’s guidance?” asked Mrs Wiseman, with an arch glance at Mr Bloxam. “Certainly—I shall be delighted.”

“Very well, I shall leave you to entertain each other. I must now see about doing something for poor Mr Wardley. I feelsosorry on account of his being in trouble just now.”

At this moment a knock was heard at the door, and a servant entered with a letter for Stella. She took it with looks of extreme confusion, and, without even asking to be excused, stood up at once, and ran from the room. Mrs Wiseman looked after her with a smile, and then turned a beaming face on Mr Bloxam, who seemed puzzled and uneasy. After a couple of minutes, Stella returned, and Mrs Wiseman then stood up at once.

“Now, Stella, if you havequitefinished reading that very interesting letter, we will take Mr Bloxam to the summer-house, where I shall formally hand him over to you to entertain. Come along.”

They sauntered down the garden-walk, Mrs Wiseman and Stella walking arm-in-arm in front, and Mr Bloxam, a prey to delighted anticipation and vague uneasiness, following closely. Ever since the episode of the letter a sense of insecurity had weighed on him, and he felt like one walking over ground where pitfalls were imminent. They reached the summer-house. It was an arbour covered with trailing Banksia roses, and into the tender gloom of which the light trickled through tangled greenery. They entered; Mrs Wiseman and Stella sat down together on a rustic bench, and Mr Bloxam, after a moment’s hesitation, took a seat next to Stella.

“Now,” said Mrs Wiseman, with an arch inflection in her voice, “I will leave you two to entertain each other. I have to see about my housekeeping, you know. But I daresay you will not miss me very much.”

With that she stood up and walked away in a manner marvellously light and springy for one of her weight. As she disappeared she threw back a nod over her shoulder with what Mr Bloxam took to be a friendly and sympathetic smile.

Poor Stella sat staring rigidly before her, convulsively grasping the woodwork of the rustic seat, and wondering as to what terrifying development things were now about to take. The moment was one of the few in Mr Bloxam’s life in which he experienced the sensation of bashfulness. He tried hard to think of some effective way of opening the conversation, but the field of rhetoric which he had assiduously cultivated was struck suddenly with blight, and yielded him never a flower at his need. Stella strained her expectant ears to catch Mrs Wiseman’s voice. Mr Bloxam cleared his nervous throat for the third time, and Stella knew, although she could not see them, that his lips were forming to the speech she so much dreaded. Then the longed-for diversion came; a step was heard on the gravelled walk outside, and, after a judiciously loud “Ahem!” Mrs Wiseman appeared in the doorway. Stella looked up at her with eyes full of helpless appeal. Mr Bloxam was still the prey to bashfulness.

“It is reallytootiresome; but I find I must ask you to excuse Stella for just a few minutes, Mr Bloxam. Now, don’t be cross; she will be back just now. Mind,” shaking her finger at him, “you are not to move out of the summer-house until she returns.”

Stella joined Mrs Wiseman at the door and accompanied her to the house. Mr Bloxam was, as a matter of fact, extremely glad of the interruption, for he felt he could now collect his thoughts, and thus by the time Stella returned he would be in a position to express his passion in terms of appropriate eloquence. He closed his eyes and leant back in the rustic seat. The ferment in his bosom was, however, too great to admit of his remaining quiet for long, so he stood up and began to pace to and fro.

But what was that lying on the seat from which Stella had just risen? It appeared to be a letter which must have fallen out of her pocket as she stood up. It was folded into a square of about two inches, and the writing was evidently that of a man. He would put it into his pocket and return it to her when she came back. Just then the fact of Stella’s having received a letter in the drawing-room, and the suspiciously confused manner in which she had thereafter left the apartment, loomed up before his mind in ugly prominence. He had been extremely curious about that letter. Who could it have been from? Perhaps from some fellow-passenger. Well, she would be his wife to-morrow (rapturous thought), so there could be no objection to his knowing all about her correspondence. After the usual manner of elderly husbands of young wives, he had strong views as to the advantages of absolute confidence between spouses. He would not mind her reading every letter he had written or received during the past twenty years. Well, she would be back in a few minutes, so he must waste no time if he really meant to gratify what was only a reasonable curiosity, Pshaw! it was but a trifle, after all. Why make such a pother about it? He sat down, opened the sheet carefully, so as to be able to refold it in exactly the same manner, and began to read (the document had no date):—

“My Dearest,—I am very, very sorry that I cannot come and see you to-day, but I am hard at work, and I cannot get leave. Please, like a dear little girl, meet me again in the arbour. I will be there to-night at the same hour. Be sure and leave the gate open. It is very cruel of you to insist on my giving up the few letters of yours I have. Don’t you remember that you promised to write to me every month as long as you live? Ah! if we could only live through these happy months again!

“Yours, lovingly, D.R.

“P.S.—Don’t forget the garden gate.”

As Mr Bloxam read, beads of perspiration gathered on his forehead, and the veins of his temples became like knotted cords. He read the incriminating missive two or three times, and on each perusal the revelation seemed to become more and more atrocious. The face of Stella became hateful to him. “D.R.” Who was “D.R.”? Some fellow on board ship, no doubt. To think thatshe—to whom he had so narrowly escaped being linked for life—was one who could make guilty appointments with a lover just on the verge of her entrance into the holy estate of matrimony with a minister of the Gospel. Why, the very spot where he was sitting was polluted by their guilty caresses! No wonder the abandoned creature had looked perturbed. He would go and denounce her to Mr Wiseman without further delay. Crushing the letter in his indignant hand, he left the summer-house and hurried up the garden path. Mr Wiseman, however, he could not find. He felt he must speak to someone. Mr Winterton and Matilda had gone to the shore to gather shells. Mrs Wiseman was nowhere to be seen. After pausing in the passage, he entered the drawing-room, and there found Lavinia deeply engrossed in an improving book. He seized a chair hurriedly, drew it close to her, and sat down.

“Miss Simpson,” he said, in a voice broken by excitement, “may I ask you a few questions in the strictest confidence?”

“Certainly, Mr Bloxam,” said Lavinia with alacrity.

“Miss Simpson, did you notice anything remarkable in the behaviour of Miss Mason on the voyage?”

“Well, Mr Bloxam,” said Lavinia, with an appearance of reluctance, “I should not have said anything about it if you had not asked me the question; but I certainly did notice conduct on Miss Mason’s part which I very much disapproved of.”

“Might I ask you to be explicit on this point?”

“Well, what both Miss Whitmore and I objected to in Miss Mason’s conduct was the way in which she used to—I do not even like to use the word—but ‘flirt’—with one of the officers of the ship. In fact, we thought it our duty to remonstrate with her on the subject; but what we said did no good.”

“Might I ask the name of this officer?”

“Certainly. His name was Mr Donald Ramsay.”

“Thank you, Miss Simpson.”

Mr Bloxam leant back in his chair, the prey to conflicting thoughts and tumultuous emotions. He rapidly reviewed the situation. His house was furnished; he had, on the eve of his departure, addressed a meeting of his congregation and announced that he was about to take upon his shoulders the responsibilities of the married state. A welcome was, he knew, being prepared for his bride. The Sabbath-school children had arranged to present her with an address, which had already been drafted by the schoolmaster of the Mission. The very invitations to a tea-meeting on a large scale had been issued. He could never face the ordeal of returning without a wife. Stella had been conclusively proved to be a vessel of abominable things; Matilda, owing to his foolish precipitancy in surrendering his right of pre-emption, had been annexed by Mr Winterton. Lavinia only remained. He would endow Lavinia with his belated affections.

“Miss Simpson,” (he found that now he had not the least difficulty in expressing himself fluently), “it has been made clear to my heart that Providence has ordained that you should be a helpmeet unto me. Do you think you could confidently place your life and happiness in my keeping?”

Lavinia thought she could.

Mrs Wiseman hurried Stella up to the house from the arbour, and took her straight to her bedroom. Stella submitted without the least question. Mrs Wiseman gently forced her down on the bed, with her face turned to the wall, spread a light counterpane over her, told her in a whisper to lie quite still, patted her affectionately on the shoulder, and left the room. Then she hurried along the passage to Lavinia’s room, which she found empty. She then went to the drawing-room, and peeped in. There sat Lavinia—so absorbed in the improving book, that she did not even notice the intrusion of her hostess upon her moral researches. Mrs Wiseman then hurried to her own bedroom, locked the door on the inside, and took a seat at a window overlooking the path leading from the house to the arbour. Here she sat, like a portly spider behind a web of white lace curtain, which effectually concealed her from view from the outside.

Before she had waited very long she saw Mr Bloxam hurrying past her to the house. His lips were white, and were pressed firmly together; his eyes glinted with baleful light; thunder lurked among the wrinkles of his brow. She heard his stamping footsteps lead to the study of Mr Wiseman, who, however, had been carefully got rid of for the whole forenoon by a stroke of Machiavellian diplomacy. She trembled with excitement, and felt her heart sink with an anxiety which was not all painful. The deep-laid plot she had woven had been so far successful, and now events had only to develop one stage farther upon their natural course for her efforts to be crowned with complete triumph. Things had reached a most critical stage, and much depended upon whether Mr Bloxam left the home in dudgeon to seek for Mr Wiseman or went into the drawing-room where Lavinia was sitting, engaged in the perfecting of her superior mind. Mrs Wiseman recognised the danger of Mr Bloxam’s first seeing her husband, whose ridiculous conscientiousness might possibly lead to complications; but her knowledge of the clerical variety of human nature told her with no uncertain voice that, once in the drawing-room, his doom would be sealed. She heard him falter in the passage, and her heart rose to her throat in a lump. Then she heard the sound of his footsteps leading in the desired direction, and just afterwards, the well-known creak caused by the closing of the drawing-room door smote on her delighted ear. She gave a gasping sigh of relief, stood up, and, regardless of the continued stability of the building, executed a ponderous war-dance around the room.

After she had thus relieved her overwrought feelings, Mrs Wiseman opened the door and stepped quietly down the passage to the dining-room, where she took her seat within sight of the closed drawing-room door. Here she sat like a fowler watching a net in which valuable prey is just in the act of entangling itself. After a short interval the door opened, and Mr Bloxam emerged with Lavinia leaning on his arm. Lavinia’s face wore an expression of discreet satisfaction, but Mr Bloxam looked by no means so rapturous.

Mrs Wiseman advanced towards the couple with a smile in which it would be hard to tell whether amiability or innocence was the more conspicuous.

“Oh, Mr Bloxam,” she sweetly said, “Stella asked me to excuse her to you; the poor child felt suddenly faint, and had to go to her room and lie down.”

Mr Bloxam regarded her with an intent look of instinctive suspicion, which, however, glanced off abashed from the guilelessness of her mien. Then he said, in measured and unenthusiastic tone—

“We await your congratulations; Miss Simpson has consented to be my wife.”

Mrs Wiseman’s felicitations were ardent exceedingly. She even went the length of kissing the coy Lavinia on her chaste lips. Just then she was so delighted at the complete success of her scheme that she would not have minded kissing Mr Bloxam himself. She watched the newly-engaged couple saunter down the garden and disappear into the shrubbery that had veiled the initial transports of Mr Winterton and Matilda. Then she hurried to the room where Stella was lying on her bed a prey to the deepest misery, clasped that dejected damsel to her motherly bosom, and told the good news in disjointed words. Stella broke into a springtide shower of happy tears, and clung to her preserver from the matrimonial toils of Bloxam, the ogre, like a nestling child. Mrs Wiseman, after kissing the girl affectionately, and telling her to remain quietly where she was, left the room. She immediately wrote a note to Mr Wardley, telling him of the blissful turn which events had taken, and recommending him as well to keep out of the way for the present. This note she despatched to the wagons by a servant.

Soon Mr Wiseman, accompanied by Mr Winterton and Matilda, whom he had met on the road home, arrived. They each and all expressed the liveliest astonishment at the news. Mr Wiseman, in particular, looked perturbed, and the looks he bent on the smiling face of his wife were full of pathetic perplexity. Then the couple who formed the subject of discussion arrived from the garden. Lavinia at once darted to her room so as to conceal her blushes, and Mr Bloxam immediately requested the other two gentlemen to accompany him to the study for the purpose of discussing a matter of most serious importance. Matilda hastened to congratulate Lavinia, and Mrs Wiseman, with a certain amount of trepidation noticeable in her mien, went off to prepare for luncheon.

Mrs Wiseman was nervously preparing a salad in the pantry when she received a message requesting her immediate presence in the study. After the victorious climax to her insidious machinations a reaction had set in, and she now felt distinctly uncomfortable. When she entered the study she found her husband at his desk, with a Rhadamanthine expression on his usually serene face. Mr Winterton was sitting at his left hand, looking like the assessor of a Nonconformist Holy Office, and Mr Bloxam was standing before the two in the attitude and with the expression as of a stout, middle-aged accusing angel. Before Rhadamanthus was outspread the incriminating letter. A solemn silence reigned in the chamber, and the partially drawn curtain caused an appropriate gloom. Under the stress of the situation Mrs Wiseman completely regained her self-possession, and her look of guilelessness clothed her like an armour of proof. Mr Winterton arose and politely handed her a chair.

“Louisa,” said Mr Wiseman, in a Rhadamanthine tone, “Mr Bloxam has brought a very unpleasant matter to our notice—a matter which, I regret to say, seriously affects the character of one who is our guest, but who is, I fear, not a fit inmate for any Christian household.”

“Dear me,” said Mrs Wiseman, “what a dreadful thing; but whoever can it be?”

“I regret to have to tell you that the person I refer to is Miss Mason.”

“What! Stella? Surely not!”

“I regret, Louisa, to have to say that there can be no doubt on the subject.”

“Dear me; Iamsorry. I have got so fond of the girl. Is there no mistake? Whatever has she done?”

“I regret, Louisa, that no possibility of there being any mistake in the matter exists. It appears, to take events in their proper sequence, that both Miss Simpson and Miss Whitmore noticed signs of most reprehensible frivolity in Miss Mason’s conduct on the voyage, and their sense of duty even compelled them to take the unpleasant step of remonstrating with her for encouraging the attentions of a certain Mr Ramsay, one of the officers of the ship. This morning Mr Bloxam found a letter which had evidently been dropped by Miss Mason, and which, there can be no reasonable doubt, was written to her by this Ramsay. It is a document which, under the circumstances, reveals an amount of depravity absolutely shocking, and we must all, and especially Mr Bloxam, be humbly thankful to Providence that the true character of this whited sepulchre, who is so fair externally, has been revealed in time. I have now to request you to bring the shameless girl here, so that she may be confronted with the proof of her guilt.”

“What a dreadful thing!” said Mrs Wiseman, in a bated tone; “I will fetch her at once. May I have a look at the letter?”

“Here is the letter, Louisa; it is hardly fit for the perusal of any lady; but you are a minister’s wife, and have reached an age at which one may have knowledge of this class of evil without suffering moral damage.”

Mrs Wiseman gave a perceptible sniff at the reference to her age.

Her husband lifted the letter by one of its corners between the reluctant tips of a defilement-fearing finger and thumb, and passed it across the table to her. She received it in the same manner, and held it almost at arm’s length.

“Oh!” she said with a start of surprise, “howcouldyou suspect the poor girl of having anything to do with a thing like this? Why, I picked this letter up in the street this morning when I was returning from my visit to Mr Wardley. I meant to have shown it to you; I must have dropped it out of my pocket in the summer-house.”

“But,” said the careful Mr Winterton, “may not the note after all have been intended for Miss Mason. The initials correspond with those of Mr Ramsay, and we are told that their conduct on the voyage was very suspicious.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” replied Mrs Wiseman. “Stella told me all about young Ramsay, who is engaged to a girl in Scotland. Besides, the letter is not in his handwriting. I got Stella to write him a note asking him to come to luncheon to-day, and here is his reply; you can see that the writing is quite different.”

Mr Bloxam gave a gasp of relief when Stella’s innocence was established, but he suddenly remembered Lavinia, and a look of such abject misery came into his face that Mrs Wiseman felt a twinge of regret at the success of her plan. Mr Wiseman collapsed into abject helplessness; he felt he had been a party to some dark plot, and his wife became, for the moment, terrible to him. She, however, relieved the tension of the situation by saying—

“You have all been guilty of a cruel injustice to poor Stella, and the least atonement you can make is to say nothing whatever about this business to anyone. It would cause Mr Wardley, besides, great annoyance if he were to hear that she had been suspected in this manner. Let us try to forget all about it. Luncheon will be ready in a few minutes.”

In the course of the afternoon Stella, although still rather pallid and extremely nervous, discovered that she felt well enough to come to the drawing-room, and it was at about the same time that Mr Wardley found himself sufficiently recovered to walk down to the Parsonage. He also looked pale, and there was an alarming brightness about his eye. Mrs Wiseman ushered him into the drawing-room in which Stella was sitting alone, closed the door on him, and mounted guard at the passage.

After a reasonable interval Mrs Wiseman, who had been sadly neglecting her housekeeping duties whilst following the dark and devious paths of intrigue, tapped at the door. Mr Wardley arose, drew Stella’s arm within his own, and advanced to meet the good conspirator. The faces of the lovers shone with such radiant happiness that any twinges of remorse she felt with reference to the part she had played disappeared for ever. She wept for very joy of sympathy, and rejoiced as Jael did after her treacherous undoing of Sisera, at the laying of the foundation-stone of this edifice of happiness which had been hewn from the quarries of circumstance by her own reprehensible hands.

It is not necessary to refer to subsequent events otherwise than in the most general terms, with the exception of a conversation which took place on the night of the day upon which all these important occurrences took place. By the time Mrs Wiseman felt justified in resting from her labours incidental to preparing for the triple wedding which was to be solemnised on the following day, the night was somewhat far spent. Then she had to go and enjoy a final gush over Stella, and take a hurried survey of that enraptured damsel’s wardrobe, which, so great had been the general preoccupation during the past week, she had not even given a passing thought to. What with one thing and another, it was midnight before she retired to her bedroom. One circumstance may possibly have weighed with her in indulging herself in such a long dawdle in Stella’s room—namely, that she was just a little bit afraid of atête-à-têtewith her husband, and she wanted to give him ample opportunity of going to sleep before she joined him. However, when she entered the room, she found him wide awake and looking like Rhadamanthus in an extremely bad temper.

“My goodness, Joe, are you still awake?”

“Yes, Louisa; and so will you be until I hear a full explanation of the events of to-day.”

“Very well, Joe; where shall I begin? Pray do not forget that you assisted me in bringing about what happened after I told you what I was working for.”

Mr Wiseman groaned heavily in spirit. This fact, which his wife so flippantly reminded him of, had been rankling all day in his hitherto blameless conscience like a torturing thorn. The other thing that caused him acute misery was the suspicion that his wife had told him a falsehood.

“Louisa, you said you picked up that letter in the street. Was that statement true?”

“Of course it was.” She answered him with indignant asperity. “May I inquire if you suspect me of telling a lie?”

“Louisa, do you know how the letter came to be in the street before you picked it up?”

“Of course I do. I dropped it there myself.” Mr Wiseman groaned heavily in body and turned his face to the wall. He now realised for the first time that there is a feminine code of ethics which is radically different in some important respects from the masculine, and he recognised the hopelessness of further discussion...

Next day the triple wedding was duly solemnised by the Reverend Josiah, and the three couples departed in their several wagons for their respective homes. There is good ground for believing that as marriages go, these unions resulted in a highly satisfactory average of happiness.

The Prince and Princess, of course, sailed down the flowing stream of their days in a shallop with a fortunate keel, drawn by a sail which was ever arched to the balmy breath of happy gales. Mr Winterton and Matilda lived for a satisfactory number of years, and were continually discovering new and admirable qualities in each other. Their many good works are still bearing fruit in the little village in which they dwelt; and the gorgeous hues of the smoking-caps and slippers with which the industrious and devoted Matilda used to clothe the upper and nether extremities of her spouse are still vivid in the memories of the older inhabitants.

It is only doing Mr Bloxam justice to say that he came out of his painful ordeal like a gentleman. From the ruins of the fabric of anticipated bliss, in which he had fondly dreamt of dwelling by the side of the beauteous Stella, he built what proved to be a durable tenement of unpretentious design, in which he and Lavinia lived for many days in sober comfort. His sufferings at first were extremely bitter, and it is high praise of his manliness to say that he concealed their existence from his wife. Had he but known it, his life with Lavinia was far more satisfactory than it could possibly have been with Stella. It has been said that Mrs Bloxam found her husband’s temper very trying during the first few years of their married life, but that things mended in this respect as time went on, and that the esteem which these two learned to feel for each other made the autumn of their united life like unto a calm, rich-skied Indian summer.

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