IX

Maryllia's first solitary dinner in the home of her ancestors passed

off with tolerable success. She found something not altogether

unpleasant in being alone after all. Plato was always an

intelligent, well-behaved and dignified companion in his canine way,

and the meal was elegantly served by Primmins, who waited on his new

mistress with as much respect and zeal as if she had been a queen. A

sense of authority and importance began to impress itself upon her

as she sat at the head of her own table in her own dining-hall, with

all the Vandykes and Holbeins and Gainsboroughs gazing placidly down

upon her from their gilded frames, and the flicker of many wax

candles in old silver sconces glancing upon the shields, helmets,

rusty pikes and crossed swords that decorated the panelling of the

walls between and above the pictures.

"Fancy! No gas and no electric light! It is simply charming!" she

thought, "And so becoming to one's dress and complexion! Only

there's nobody to see the becomingness. But I can soon remedy that.

Lots of people will come down and stay here if I only ask them.

There's one thing quite certain about society folk--they will always

come where they can be lodged and boarded free! They call it country

visiting, but it really means shutting up their houses, dismissing

their servants, and generally economising on their housekeeping

bills. I've seen SUCH a lot of it!"

She heaved a little sigh over these social reminiscences, and

finished her repast in meditative silence. She had not been

accustomed to much thinking, and to indulge in it at all for any

length of time was actually a novelty. Her aunt had told her never

to think, as it made the face serious, and developed lines on the

forehead. And she had, under this kind of tutelage, became one of a

brilliant, fashionable, dress-loving crowd of women, who spend most

of their lives in caring for their complexions and counting their

lovers. Yet every now and again, a wave of repugnance to such a

useless sort of existence arose in her and made a stormy rebellion.

Surely there was something nobler in life--something higher--

something more useful and intelligent than the ways and manners of a

physically and morally degenerate society?

It was a still, calm evening, and the warmth of the sun all day had

drawn such odours from the hearts of the flowers that the air was

weighted with perfume when she wandered out again into her garden

after dinner, and looked up wistfully at the gables of the Manor set

clear against a background of dark blue sky patterned with stars. A

certain gravity oppressed her. There was, after all, something just

a little eerie in the on-coming of night in this secluded woodland

place where she had voluntarily chosen to dwell all alone and

unprotected, rather than lend herself to her aunt's match-making

schemes.

"Of course," she argued with herself, "I need not stay here if I

don't like it. I can get a paid companion and go travelling,--but,

oh dear, I've had so much travelling!--or I can own myself in the

wrong to Aunt Emily, and marry that wretch Roxmouth,--Oh, no! I

COULD not! I WILL not!"

She gave an impatient little stamp with her foot, and anon surveyed

the old house with affectionate eyes.

"You shall be my rescue!" she said, kissing her hand playfully to

the latticed windows,--"You shall turn me into an old-fashioned

lady, fond of making jams and pickles, and preserves and herbal

waters! I'll put away all the idiotic intrigues and silly fooling of

modern society in one of your quaint oaken cupboards, and lock them

all up with little bags of lavender to disinfect them! And I will

wait for someone to come and find me out and love me; and if no one

ever comes--" Here she paused, then went on,--"If no one ever comes,

why then--" and she laughed--"some man will have lost a good chance

of marrying as true a girl as ever lived!--a girl who could love--

ah!" And she stretched out her pretty rounded arms to the scented

air. "HOW she could love if she were loved!"

The young moon here put in a shy appearance by showing a fleck of

silver above the highest gable of the Manor.

"A little diamond peak,

No bigger than an unobserved star,

Or tiny point of fairy scimitar;

Bright signal that she only stooped to tie

Her silver sandals ere deliciously

She bowed unto the heavens her timid head,

Slowly she rose as though she would have fled."

"There's no doubt," said Maryllia, "that this place is romantic! And

romance is what I've been searching for all my life, and have never

found except in books. Not so much in modern books as in the books

that were written by really poetical and imaginative people sixty or

seventy years ago. Nowadays, the authors that are most praised go in

for what they call 'realism'--and their realism is very UNreal, and

very nasty. For instance, this garden,--these lovely trees,--this

dear old house--all these are real--but much too romantic for a

modern writer. He would rather describe a dusthole and enumerate

every potato paring in it! And here am I--I'm real enough--but I'm

not a bad woman--I haven't got what is euphoniously called 'a past,'

and I don't belong to the right-down vicious company of 'Souls.' So

I should never do for a heroine of latter-day fiction. I'm afraid

I'm abnormal. It's dreadful to be abnormal! One becomes a

'neurotic,' like Lombroso, and all the geniuses. But suppose the

world were full of merely normal people,--people who did nothing but

eat and sleep in the most perfectly healthy and regular manner,--oh,

what a bore it would be! There would be no pictures, no sculpture,

no poetry, no music, no anything worth living for. One MUST have a

few ideas beyond food and clothing!"

The moon, rose higher and shed a shower of silver over the grass,

lighting up in strong relief the fair face upturned to it.

"Now the 'Souls' pretend to have ideas," continued Maryllia, still

apostrophising the bland stillness; "But their ideas are low,--

decidedly low,--and decidedly queer. And that Cabinet Ministers are

in their set doesn't make them any the better. I could have been a

'Soul' if I had liked. I could have learnt a lot of wicked secrets

from the married peer who wanted to be my 'affinity,'--only I

wouldn't. I could have got all the Government 'tips,' gambled with

them on the Stock Exchange, and made quite a fortune as a 'Soul.'

Yet here I am,--no 'Soul,'--but only a poor little body, with

something in me that asks for a higher flight than mere social

intrigue. Just a bit of a higher flight, eh, Plato? What do you

think about it?"

Plato the leonine, waved his plumy tail responsively and gently

rubbed his great head against her arm. Resting one hand lightly on

his neck, she moved towards the house and slowly ascended the

graduating slopes of the grass terrace. Here she was suddenly met by

Primmins.

"Beg your pardon, Miss," he said, with an apologetic air, "but

there's an old man from the village come up to see you--a very old

man,--he's had to be carried in a chair, and it's took a couple of

men nigh an hour and a half to bring him along. He says he knew you

years ago--I hardly like to send him away--"

"Certainly not!--of course you mustn't send him away," said

Maryllia, quickening her steps; "Poor old dear! Where is he?"

"In the great, hall, Miss. They brought him through the courtyard

and got him in there, before I had time to send them round to the

back entrance."

Maryllia entered the house. There she was met by Mrs. Spruce, with

uplifted hands.

"Well, it do beat me altogether, Miss," she exclaimed, "as to how

these silly men, my 'usband, too, one of the silliest, beggin' your

parding, could bring that poor old Josey Letherbarrow up here all

this way! And he not toddled beyond the church this seven or eight

years! And it's all about those blessed Five Sisters they've come,

though I told 'em you can't nohow be worrited and can't see no one--

"

"But I can!" said Maryllia decisively; "I can see anyone who wishes

to see me, and I will. Let me pass, Mrs. Spruce, please!"

Mrs. Spruce, thus abruptly checked, stood meekly aside, controlling

her desire to pour forth fresh remonstrances at the unseemliness of

any person or persons intruding upon the lady of the Manor at so

late an hour in the evening as half-past nine o'clock. Maryllia

hastened into the hall and there found an odd group awaiting her,

composed of three very odd-looking personages,--much more novel and

striking in their oddity than anything that could have been

presented to her view in the social whirl of Paris and London. Josey

Letherbarrow was the central figure, seated bolt upright in a cane

arm-chair, through the lower part of which a strong pole had been

thrust, securely nailed and clamped, as well as tied in a somewhat

impromptu fashion with clothes-line. This pole projected about two

feet on either side of the chair to accommodate the bearers, namely

Spruce and Bainton, who, having set their burden down, were now

wiping their hot faces and perspiring brows with flagrantly coloured

handkerchiefs of an extra large size. As Maryllia appeared, they

abruptly desisted from this occupation and remained motionless,

stricken with sudden confusion and embarrassment. Not so old Josey,

for with unexpected alacrity he got out of his chair and stood

upright, supporting himself on his stick, and doffing his old straw

hat to the light girlish figure that approached him with the grace

of kindliness and sympathy expressed in its every movement.

"There she be!" he exclaimed; "There be the little gel wot I used to

know when she was a babby, God bless 'er! Jes' the same eyes and

'air and purty face of 'er! Welcome 'ome to th' owld Squire's

daughter, mates! D'ye 'ear me!" And he turned a dim rolling eye of

command on Spruce and Bainton--"I sez welcome 'ome! And when I sez

it I'spect it to be said arter me by the both of ye,--welcome 'ome!"

Spruce, unable to hear a word of this exordium, smiled sheepishly,--

and twirling the cap he held, put his coloured handkerchief into it

and squeezed it tightly within the lining. Bainton, with the

impending fate of the Five Sisters in view, judged it advisable not

to irritate or disobey the old gentleman whom he had brought forward

as special pleader in the case, and gathering his wits together he

spoke out bravely.

"Welcome 'ome, it is, Josey!" he said; "We both sez it, and we both

means it! And we 'opes the young lady will not take it amiss as 'ow

we've come to see 'er on the first night of 'er return, and wish 'er

'appy in the old 'ouse and long may she remain in it!"

Here he broke off, his eloquence being greatly disturbed by the

gracious smile Maryllia gave him.

"Thank you so much!" she murmured sweetly; and then going up to

Josey Letherbarrow, she patted the brown wrinkled hand that grasped

the stick. "How kind and good of you to come and see me! And so you

knew me when I was a little girl? I hope I was nice to you! Was I?"

Josey waved his straw hat speechlessly. His first burst of

enthusiasm over, he was somewhat dazed, and a little uncertain as to

how he should next proceed with his mission,

"Tell 'er as 'ow the Five Sisters be chalked;" growled Bainton in an

undertone.

But Josey's mind had gone wandering far afield, groping amid

memories of the past, and his aged eyes were fixed on Maryllia with

a strange look of wonder and remembrance commingled.

"Th' owld Squire! Th' owld Squire!" he muttered; "I see 'im now--as

broad an' tall and well-set up a gentleman as ever lived--and sez

he: 'Josey, that little white thing is all I've got left of the wife

I was bringin' 'ome to be the sunshine of the old Manor.' Ay, he

said that! 'Its eyes are like those of my Dearest!' Ay, he said

that, too! The little white thing! She's 'ere,--and th' owld

Squire's gone!"

The pathos of his voice struck Maryllia to the heart,--and for the

moment she could not keep back a few tears that gathered, despite

herself, and glistened on her long lashes. Furtively she dashed them

away, but not before Bainton had seen them.

"Well, arter all, Josey's nothin' but a meanderin' old idgit!" he

thought angrily: "'Ere 'ave I been an' took 'im for a wise man wot

would know exackly 'ow to begin and ask for the sparin' of the old

trees, and if he ain't gone on the wrong tack altogether and made

the poor little lady cry! I think I'll do a bit of this business

myself while I've got the chance--for if I don't, ten to one he'll

be tellin' the story of the wopses' nest next, and a fine oncommon

show we'll make of ourselves 'ere with our manners." And he coughed

loudly--"Ahem! Josey, will you tell Miss Vancourt about the Five

Sisters, or shall I?"

Maryllia glanced from one to the other in bewilderment.

"The Five Sisters!" she echoed; "Who are they?"

Here Spruce imagined, as he often did, that he had been asked a

question.

"Such were our orders from Mr. Leach," he said, in his quiet equable

voice; "We's to be there to-morrow marnin' quarter afore six with

ropes and axes."

"Ropes and axes shall not avail against the finger of the Lord, or

the wrath of the Almighty!" said Josey Letherbarrow, suddenly coming

out of his abstraction; "And if th' owld Squire were alive he

wouldn't have had 'em touched--no, not he! He'd ha' starved sooner!

And if the Five Sisters are laid low, the luck of the Manor will lay

low with 'em! But it's not too late--not too late!"--and he turned

his face, now alive in its every feature with strong emotion, to

Maryllia--"Not too late if the Squire's little gel is still her

father's pride and glory! And that's what I've come for to the Manor

this night,--I ain't been inside the old 'ouse for this ten 'ear or

more, but they's brought me,--me--old Josey,--stiff as I am, and

failin' as I am, to see ye, my dear little gel, and ask ye for God's

love to save the old trees wot 'as waved in the woodland free and

wild for 'undreds o' years, and wot deserves more gratitude from

Abbot's Manor than killin' for long service!"

He began to tremble with nervous excitement, and Maryllia put her

hand soothingly on his arm.

"You must sit down, Josey," she said; "You will be so tired

standing! Sit down and tell me all about it! What trees are you

speaking of? And who is going to cut them down! You see I don't know

anything about the place yet,--I've only just arrived--but if they

are my trees, and you say my father would not have wished them to be

cut down, they shan't be cut down!--be sure of that!"

Josey's eyes sparkled, and he waved his battered hat triumphantly.

"Didn't I tell ye?" he exclaimed, turning round upon Bainton;

"Didn't I say as 'ow this was the way to do it?--and as 'ow the

little gel wot I knew as a baby would listen to me when she wouldn't

listen to no one else? An' as 'ow the Five Sisters would be spared?

An' worn't I right! Worn't I true?"

Maryllia smiled.

"You really must sit down!" she said again, gently persuading him

into his chair, wherein he sank heavily, like a stone, though his

face shone with alertness and vigour. "Primmins!" and she addressed

that functionary who had been standing in the background watching

the little scene; "Bring some glasses of port wine." Primmins

vanished to execute this order. "Now, you dear old man," continued

Maryllia, drawing up an oaken settle close to Josey's knee and

seating herself with a confidential air; "you must tell me just what

you want me to do, and I will do it!"

She looked a mere child, with her fair face upturned and her

rippling hair falling loosely away from her brows. A great

tenderness softened Josey's eyes as he fixed them upon her.

"God Almighty bless ye!" he said, raising his trembling hand above

her head; "God bless ye in your uprisin' and downlyin',--and make

the old 'ouse and the old ways sweet to ye! For there's naught like

'ome in a wild wandering world--and naught like love to make

'appiness out of sorrow! God bless ye, dear little gel!--and give ye

all your 'art's desire, if so be it's for your good and guidin'!"

Instinctively, Maryllia bent her head with a pretty reverence under

the benediction of so venerable a personage, and gently pressed the

wrinkled hand as it slowly dropped again. Then glancing at Bainton,

she said softly:

"He's very tired, I'm afraid!--perhaps too tired to tell me all he

wishes to say. Will you explain what it is he wants?"

Bainton, thus adjured, took courage.

"Thank ye kindly, Miss; and if I may make so bold, it's not what he

wants more'n wot all the village wants and wot we've been 'opin'

against 'ope for, trustin' to the chance of your comin' 'ome to do

it for us. Passon Walden he's a rare good man, and he's done all he

can, and he's been and seen Oliver Leach, but it ain't all no use,--

-"

He paused, as Maryllia interrupted him by a gesture.

"Oliver Leach?" she queried; "He's my agent here, I believe?"

"Jes' so, Miss--he was put in as agent arter the Squire's death, and

he's been 'ere ever since, bad luck to 'im! And he's been a-cuttin'

down timber on the place whenever he's took a mind to, askin' no by-

your-leaves, and none of us 'adn't no right to say a wurrd, he bein'

master-like--but when it comes to the Five Sisters--why then we sez,

if the Five Sisters lay low there's an end of the pride and

prosperity of the village, an' Passon Walden he be main worrited

about it, for he do love trees like as they were his own brothers,

m'appen more'n brothers, for sometimes there's no love lost twixt

the likes o' they, and beggin' your pardon, Miss, he sent me to ye

with a message from hisself 'fore dinner, but you was a-lyin' down

and couldn't be disturbed nohow, so I goes down to Spruce"--here

Bainton indicated the silent Spruce with a jerk of his thumb--"he be

the forester 'ere, under Mr. Leach's orders, as deaf as a post

unless you 'ollers at him, but a good-meanin' man for all that--and

I sez, 'Spruce, you and me 'ull go an' fetch old Josey Letherbarrow,

and see if bein' the oldest 'n'abitant, as they sez in books, he

can't get a wurrd with Miss Vancourt, and so 'ere we be, Miss, for

the trees be chalked"--and he turned abruptly to Spruce and

bellowed--"Baint the trees chalked for comin' down to-morrow

marnin'? Speak fair!"

Spruce heard, and at once gave a lucid statement.

"By Mr. Leach's orders, Miss," he said, addressing Maryllia; "The

five old beech-trees on the knoll, which the village folk call the

'Five Sisters,' are to be felled to-morrow marnin'. They've stood,

so I'm told, an' so I b'lieve, two or three hundred years--"

"And they're going to be cut down!" exclaimed Maryllia. "I never

heard of such wickedness! How disgraceful!"

Spruce saw by the movement of her lips that she was speaking, and

therefore at once himself subsided into silence. Bainton again took

up the parable.

"He's nigh stone-deaf, Miss, so you'll 'scuse him if he don't open

his mouth no more till we shouts at him--but what he sez is true

enough. At six o'clock to-morrow marnin'--"

Here Primmins entered with the port wine.

"Primmins, where does the agent, Leach, live?" enquired Maryllia.

"I really couldn't say, Miss. I'll ask--"

"'Tain't no use askin'," said Bainton; "He lives a mile out of the

village; but he ain't at 'ome nohow this evenin' bein' gone to

Riversford town for a bit o' gamblin' at cards. Lor', Miss, beggin'

yer pardon, gamblin' with the cards do get rid o' timber--it do

reely now!"

Maryllia took a glass of port wine from the tray which Primmins

handed to her, and gave it herself to old Josey. Her mind had

entirely grasped the situation, despite the prolix nature of

Bainton's discourse. A group of historic old trees were to be felled

by the agent's orders at six o'clock the next morning unless she

prevented it. That was the sum total of the argument. And here was

something for her to do, and she resolved to do it.

"Now, Josey," she said with a smile, "you must drink a glass of wine

to my health. And you also--and you!" and she nodded encouragingly

to Spruce and Bainton; "And be quite satisfied about the trees--they

shall not be touched."

"God bless ye!" said Josey, drinking off his wine at a gulp; "And

long life t'ye and 'appiness to enjoy it!"

Bainton, with a connoisseur's due appreciation of a good old brand,

sipped at his glass slowly, while Spruce, hastily swallowing his

measure of the cordial, wiped his mouth furtively with the back of

his hand, murmuring: "Your good 'elth, an' many of 'em!"

"Wishin' ye long days o' peace an' plenty," said Bainton, between

his appreciative sips; "But as fur as the trees is consarned,

you'll'scuse me, Miss, for sayin' it, but the time bein' short, I

don't see 'ow it's goin' to be 'elped, Oliver Leach bein' away, and

no post delivered at his 'ouse till eight o'clock--"

"I will settle all that," said Maryllia--"You must leave everything

to me. In the meantime,"--and she glanced at Spruce,--then

appealingly turned to Bainton,--"Will you try and make your friend

understand an order I want to give him? Or shall I ask Mrs. Spruce

to come and speak to him?"

"Lord love ye, he'll be sharper to hear me than his wife, Miss,

beggin' yer pardon," said Bainton, with entire frankness. "He's too

accustomed to her jawin' an' wouldn't get a cleat impression like.

Spruce!" And he uplifted his voice in a roar that made the old

rafters of the hall ring. "Get ready to take Miss Vancourt's orders,

will ye?"

Spruce was instantly on the alert, and put his hand to his ear.

"Tell him, please," said Maryllia, still addressing Bainton, "that

he is to meet the agent as arranged at the appointed place to-morrow

morning; but that he is not to take any ropes or axes or any men

with him. He is simply to say that by Miss Vancourt's orders the

trees are not to be touched."

These words Bainton dutifully bellowed into Spruce's semi-closed

organs of hearing. A look first of astonishment and then of fear

came over the simple fellow's face.

"I'm afraid," he at last faltered, "that the lady does not know what

a hard man Mr. Leach is; he'll as good as kill me if I go there

alone to him!"

"Lord love ye, man, you won't be alone!" roared Bainton,--"There's

plenty in the village 'ull take care o' that!"

"Say to him," continued Maryllia steadily, noting the forester's

troubled countenance, "he must now remember that I am mistress here,

and that my orders, even if given at the last moment, are to be

obeyed."

"That's it!" chuckled Josey Letherbarrow, knocking his stick on the

ground in a kind of ecstasy,--"That's it! Things ain't goin' to be

as they 'as been now the Squire's little gel is 'ome! That's it!"

And he nodded emphatically. "Give a reskil rope enough an' he'll

'ang hisself by the neck till he be dead, and the Lord ha' mercy on

his soul!"

Maryllia smiled, watching all her three quaint visitors with a

sensation of mingled interest and whimsical amusement.

"D'ye hear? You're to tell Leach," shouted Bainton, "that Miss

Vancourt is mistress 'ere, and her orders is to be obeyed at the

last moment! Which you might ha' understood without splittin' my

throat to tell ye, if ye had a little more sense, which, lackin',

'owever, can't be 'elped. What are ye afeard of, eh?"

"Mr. Leach is a hard man," continued Spruce, anxiously glancing at

Maryllia; "He would lose me my place if he could--:"

Maryllia heard, and privately decided that the person to lose his

place would be Leach himself. "It is quite exciting!" she thought;

"I was wondering a while ago what I should do to amuse myself in the

country, and here I am called upon at once to remedy wrongs and

settle village feuds! Nothing could be more novel and delightful!"

Aloud, she said,--

"None of the people who were in my father's service will lose their

places with me, unless for some very serious fault. Please"--and she

raised her eyes in pretty appeal to Bainton, "Please make everybody

understand that! Are you one of the foresters here?"

Bainton shook his head.

"No, Miss,--I'm the Passon's head man. I does all his gardening and

keeps a few flowers growin' in the churchyard. There's a rose

climbin' over the cross on the old Squire's grave what will do ye

good to see, come another fortnight of this warm weather. But

Passon, he be main worrited about the Five Sisters, and knowin' as

'ow I'd worked for the old Squire at 'arvest an,' sich-like, he

thought I might be able to 'splain to ye--"

"I see!" said Maryllia, thoughtfully, surveying with renewed

interest the old-world figure of Josey Letherbarrow in his clean

smock-frock. "Now, how are you going to get Josey home again?" And a

smile irradiated her face. "Will you carry him along just as you

brought him?"

"Why, yes, Miss--it'll be all goin' downhill now, and there's a moon,

and it'll be easy work. And if so be we're sure the Five Sisters

'ull be saved--"

"You may be perfectly certain of it," said Maryllia interrupting him

with a little gesture of decision--"Only you must impress well on

Mr. Spruce here, that my orders are to be obeyed."

"Beggin' yer pardon, Miss--what Spruce is afeard of is that Leach

may tell him he's a liar, and may jest refuse to obey. That's quite

on the cards, Miss--it is reely now!"

"Oh, is it, indeed!" and Maryllia's eyes flashed with a sudden fire

that made them look brighter and deeper than ever and revealed a

depth of hidden character not lacking in self-will,--"Well, we shall

see! At any rate, I have given my orders, and I expect them to be

carried out! You understand!"

"I do, Miss;" and Bainton touched his forelock respectfully; "An'

while we're joggin' easy downhill with Josey, I'll get it well

rubbed into Spruce. And, by yer leave, if you hain't no objection,

I'll tell Passon Walden that sich is your orders, and m'appen he'll

find a way of impressin' Leach straighter than we can." Maryllia

was not particularly disposed to have the parson brought into her

affairs, but she waived the query lightly aside.

"You can do as you like about that," she said carelessly; "As the

parson is your master, you can of course tell him if you think he

will be interested. But I really don't see why he should be asked to

interfere. My orders are sufficient."

A very decided ring of authority in the clear voice warned Bainton

that here was a lady who was not to be trifled with, or to be told

this or that, or to be put off from her intentions by any influence

whatsoever. He could not very well offer a reply, so he merely

touched his forelock again and was discreetly silent. Maryllia then

turned playfully to Josey Letherbarrow.

"Now are you quite happy?" she asked. "Quite easy in your mind about

the trees?"

"Thanks be to the Lord and you, God bless ye!" said Josey, piously;

"I'm sartin sure the Five Sisters 'ull wave their leaves in the

blessed wind long arter I'm laid under the turf and the daisies!

I'll sleep easy this night for knowin' it, and thank ye kindly and

all blessin' be with ye! And if I never sees ye no more--"

"Now, Josey, don't talk nonsense!" said Maryllia, with a pretty

little air of protective remonstrance; "Such a clever old person as

you are ought to know better than to be morbid! 'Never see me no

more' indeed! Why I'm coming to see you soon,--very soon! I shall

find out where you live, and I shall pay you a visit! I'm a dreadful

talker! You shall tell me all about the village and the people in

it, and I'm sure I shall learn more from you in an hour than if I

studied the place by myself for a week! Shan't I?"

Josey was decidedly flattered. The port wine had reddened his nose

and had given an extra twinkle to his eyes.

"Well, I ain't goin' to deny but what I knows a thing or two--" he

began, with a sly glance at her.

"Of course you do! Heaps of things! I shall coax them all out of

you! And now, good-night!--No!--don't get up!" for Josey was making

herculean efforts to rise from his chair again. "Just stay where you

are, and let them carry you carefully home. Good-night!"

She gave a little salute which included all three of her rustic

visitors, and moved away. Passing under the heavily-carved arched

beams of oak which divided the hall from the rest of the house, she

turned her head backward over her shoulder with a smile.

"Good-night, Ambassador Josey!"

Josey waved his old hat energetically.

"Good-night, my beauty! Good-night to Squire's gel! Good-night--"

But before he could pile on any more epithets, she was gone, and the

butler Primmins stood in her place.

"I'll help give you a lift down to the gates," he said, surveying

Josey with considerable interest; "You're a game old chap for your

age!"

Josey was still waving his hat to the dark embrasure through which

Maryllia's white figure had vanished.

"Ain't she a beauty? Ain't she jest a real Vancourt pride?" he

demanded excitedly; "Lord! We won't know ourselves in a month or

two! You marrk my wurrds, boys! See if what I say don't come true!

Leach may cheat the gallus, but he won't cheat them blue eyes, let

him try ever so! They'll be the Lord's arrows in his skin! You see

if they ain't!"

Bainton here gave a signal to Spruce, and they hoisted up the

improvised carrying-chair between them, Primmins steadying it

behind.

"There ain't goin' to be no layin' low of the Five Sisters!" Josey

continued with increasing shrillness and excitement as he was borne

out into the moonlit courtyard; "And there ain't goin' to be no

devil's work round the old Manor no more! Welcome 'ome to Squire's

gel! Welcome 'ome!"

"Shut up, Josey!" said Bainton, though kindly enough--"You'll soon

part with all the breath you've got in yer body if ye makes a

screech owl of yerself like that in the night air! You's done enough

for once in a way,--keep easy an' quiet while we carries ye back to

the village--ye weighs a hundred pound 'eavier if ye're noisy,--ye

do reely now!"

Thus adjured, Josey subsided into silence, and what with the joy he

felt at the success of his embassy, the warm still air, and the

soothing influence of the moonlight, he soon fell fast asleep, and

did not wake till he arrived at his own home in safety. Having

deposited him there, and seen to his comfort, Spruce and Bainton

left him to his night's rest, and held a brief colloquy outside his

cottage door.

"I'm awful 'feard goin' to-morrow marnin' up to the Five Sisters

with ne'er a tool and ne'er a man,--Leach 'ull be that wild!" said

Spruce, his rubicund face paling at the very thought--"If I could

but 'ave 'ad written instructions, like!"

"Why didn't you ask for 'em while you 'ad the chance?" demanded

Bainton testily; "It's too late now to bother your mind with what ye

might ha' done if ye'd had a bit of gumption. And it's too late for

me to be goin' and speakin' to Passon Walden. There's nothin' to be

done now till the marnin'!"

"Nothin' to be done till the marnin'," echoed Spruce with a sigh,

catching these words by happy chance; "All the same, she's a fine

young lady, and 'er orders is to be obeyed. She ain't a bit like

what I expected her to be."

"Nor she ain't what I bet she would be," said Bainton, heedless as

to whether his companion heard him or not; "I've lost 'arf a crown

to my old 'ooman, for I sez, sez I, 'She's bound to be a 'igh an'

mighty stuck-up sort o' miss wot won't never 'ave a wurrd for the

likes of we,' an' my old 'ooman she sez to me: 'Go 'long with ye for

a great silly gawk as ye are; I'll bet ye 'arf a crown she won't

be!' So I sez 'Done,'--an' done it is. For she's just as sweet as

clover in the spring, an' seems as gentle as a lamb,--though I

reckon she's got a will of 'er own and a mind to do what she likes,

when and 'ow she likes. I'll 'ave a fine bit o' talk with Passon

'bout her as soon as iver he gives me the chance."

"Ay, good-night it is," observed Spruce, placidly taking all these

remarks as evening adieux,--"Yon moon's got 'igh, and it's time for

bed if so be we rises early. Easy rest ye!"

Bainton nodded. It was all the response necessary. The two then

separated, going their different ways to their different homes,

Spruce having to get back to the Manor and a possible curtain-

lecture from his wife. All the village was soon asleep,--and eleven

o'clock rang from the church-tower over closed cottages in which not

a nicker of lamp or candle was to be seen. The moonbeams shed a

silver rain upon the outlines of the neatly thatched roofs and

barns--illumining with touches of radiance as from heaven, the

beautiful 'God's House' which dominated the whole cluster of humble

habitations. Everything was very quiet,--the little hive of humanity

had ceased buzzing; and the intense stillness was only broken by the

occasional murmur of a ripple breaking from the river against the

pebbly shore.

Up at the Manor, however, the lights were not yet extinguished.

Maryllia, on the departure of 'Ambassador Josey' as she had called

him, and his two convoys, had sent for Mrs. Spruce and had gone very

closely with her into certain matters connected with Mr. Oliver

Leach. It had been difficult work,--for Mrs. Spruce's garrulity,

combined with her habit of wandering from the immediate point of

discussion, and her anxiety to avoid involving herself or her

husband in trouble, had created a chaotic confusion in her mind,

which somewhat interfered with the lucidity of her statements.

Little by little, however, Maryllia extracted a sufficient number of

facts from her hesitating and reluctant evidence to gain

considerable information on many points respecting the management of

her estate, and she began to feel that her return home was

providential and had been in a manner pre-ordained. She learned all

that Mrs. Spruce could tell her respecting the famous 'Five

Sisters'; how they were the grandest and most venerable trees in all

the country round--and how they stood all together on a grassy

eminence about a mile and a half from the Manor house and on the

Manor lands just beyond the more low-lying woods that spread

between. Whereupon Maryllia decided that she would take an early

ride over her property the next day,--and gave orders that her

favourite mare, 'Cleopatra,' ready saddled and bridled, should be

brought round to the door at five o'clock the next morning. This

being settled, and Mrs. Spruce having also humbly stated that all

the peacock's feathers she could find had been summarily cast forth

from the Manor through the medium of the parcels' post, Maryllia

bade her a kindly good-night.

"To-morrow," she said, "we will go all over the house together, and

you will explain everything to me. But the first thing to be done is

to save those old trees."

"Well, no one wouldn't 'ave saved 'em if so be as you 'adn't come

'ome, Miss," declared Mrs. Spruce. "For Mr. Leach he be a man of his

word, and as obs'nate as they makes 'em, which the Lord Almighty

knows men is all made as obs'nate as pigs--and he's been master over

the place like--"

"More's the pity!" said Maryllia; "But he is master here no longer,

Spruce; I am now both mistress and master. Remember that, please!"

Mrs. Spruce curtseyed dutifully and withdrew. The close cross-

examination she had undergone respecting Leach had convinced her of

two things,--firstly, that her new mistress, though such a

childlike-looking creature, was no fool,--and secondly, that though

she was perfectly gentle, kind, and even affectionate in her manner,

she evidently had a will of her own, which it seemed likely she

would enforce, if necessary, with considerable vigour and

imperativeness. And so the worthy old housekeeper decided that on

the whole it would be well to be careful--to mind one's P's and Q's

as it were,--to pause before rushing pell-mell into a flood of

unpremeditated speech, and to pay the strictest possible attention

to her regular duties.

"Then m'appen we'll stay on in the old place," she considered; "But

if we doos those things which we ought not to have done, as they sez

in the prayer-book, we'll get the sack in no time, for all that she

looks so smilin' and girlie-like."

And so profound were her cogitations on this point that she actually

forgot to give her husband the sound rating she had prepared for him

concerning the part he had taken in bringing Josey Letherbarrow up

to the Manor. Returning from the village in some trepidation, that

harmless man was allowed to go to bed and sleep in peace, with no

more than a reminder shrilled into his ears to be 'up with the dawn,

as Miss Maryllia would be about early.'

Maryllia herself, meanwhile, quite unconscious that her small

personality had made any marked or tremendous effect upon her

domestics, retired to rest in happy mood. She was glad to be in her

own home, and still more glad to find herself needed there.

"I've been an absolutely useless creature up till now," she said,

shaking down her hair, after the maid Nancy had disrobed her and

left her for the night. "The fact is, there never was a more utterly

idle and nonsensical creature in the world than I am! I've done

nothing but dress and curl my hair, and polish my face, and dance,

and flirt and frivol the time away. Now, if I only am able to save

five historical old trees, I shall have done something useful;--

something more than half the women I know would ever take the

trouble to do. For, of course, I suppose I shall have a row,--or as

Aunt Emily would say 'words,'--with the agent. All the better! I

love a fight,--especially with a man who thinks himself wiser than I

am! That is where men are so ridiculous,--they always think

themselves wiser than women, even though some of them can't earn

their own living except through a woman's means. Lots of men will

take a woman's money, and sneer at her while spending it! I know

them!" And she nestled into her bed, with a little cosy cuddling

movement of her soft white shoulders; "'Take all and give nothing!'

is the motto of modern manhood;--I don't admire it,--I don't endorse

it; I never shall! The true motto of love and chivalry should be

'Give all--take nothing'!"

Midnight chimed from the courtyard turret. She listened to the

mellow clang with a sense of pleased comfort and security.

"Many people would think of ghosts and all sorts of uncanny things

in an old, old house like this at midnight;" she thought; "But

somehow I don't believe there are any ghosts here. At any rate, not

unpleasant ones;--only dear and loving 'home' ghosts, who will do me

no harm!"

She soon sank into a restful slumber, and the moonlight poured in

through the old latticed windows, forming a delicate tracery of

silver across the faded rose silken coverlet of the bed, and showing

the fair face, half in light, half in shade, that rested against the

pillow, with the unbound hair scattered loosely on either side of

it, like a white lily between two leaves of gold. And as the hours

wore on, and the silence grew more intense, the slow and somewhat

rusty pendulum of the clock in the tower could just be heard faintly

ticking its way on towards the figures of the dawn. "Give all--take

nothing--Give--all--take--no--thing!" it seemed to say;--the motto

of love and the code of chivalry, according to Maryllia.

X

A thin silver-grey mist floating delicately above the river Rest and

dispersing itself in light wreaths across the flowering banks and

fields, announced the breaking of the dawn,--and John Walden, who

had passed a restless night, threw open his bedroom window widely,

with a sense of relief that at last the time had come again for

movement and action. His blood was warm and tingling with suppressed

excitement,--he was ready for a fight, and felt disposed to enjoy

it. His message to Miss Vancourt had apparently failed,--for on the

previous evening Bainton had sent round word to say that he had been

unable to see the lady before dinner, but that he was going to try

again later on. No result of this second attempt had been

forthcoming, so Walden concluded that his gardener had received a

possibly curt and complete rebuff from the new 'Squire-ess,' and had

been too much disheartened by his failure to come and report it.

"Never mind!--we'll have a tussle for the trees!" said John to

himself, as after his cold tubbing he swung his dumb-bells to and

fro with the athletic lightness and grace of long practice; "If the

villagers are prepared to contest Leach's right to destroy the Five

Sisters, I'll back them up in it! I will! And I'll speak my mind to

Miss Vancourt too! She is no doubt as apathetic and indifferent to

sentiment as all her 'set,' but if I can prick her through her

pachydermatous society skin, I'll do it!"

Having got himself into a great heat and glow with this mental

resolve and his physical exertions combined, he hastily donned his

clothes, took his stoutest walking-stick, and sallied forth into the

cool dim air of the as yet undeclared morning, the faithful Nebbie

accompanying him. Scarcely, however, had he shut his garden gate

behind him when Bainton confronted him.

"Marnin', Passon!"

"Oh, there you are!" said Walden--"Well, now what's going to be

done?"

"Nothin's goin' to be done;" rejoined Bainton stolidly, with his

usual inscrutable smile; "Unless m'appen Spruce is 'avin' every bone

broke in his body 'fore we gets there. Ye see, he ain't got no

written orders like,--and mebbe Leach 'ull tell him he's a liar and

that Miss Vancourt's instructions is all my eye!"

"Miss Vancourt's instructions?" echoed Walden; "Has she given any?"

"Of coorse she has!" replied Bainton, triumphantly; "Which is that

the trees is not to be touched on no account. And she's told Spruce,

through me,--which I bellowed it all into his ear,--to go and meet

Leach this marnin' up by the Five Sisters and give him 'er message

straight from the shoulder!"

Walden's face cleared and brightened visibly.

"I'm glad--I'm very glad!" he said; "I hardly thought she could

sanction such an outrage--but, tell me, how did you manage to give

her my message?"

"'Tworn't your message at all, Passon, don't you think it!" said

Bainton; "You ain't got so fur as that. She's not the sort o' lady

to take a message from no one, whether passon, pope or emp'rur. Not

she! It was old Josey Letherbarrow as done it." And he related the

incidents of the past evening in a style peculiar to himself, laying

considerable weight on his own remarkable intelligence and foresight

in having secured the 'oldest 'n'abitant' of the village to act as

representative and ambassador for the majority.

Walden listened with keen interest.

"Yes,--Leach is likely to be quarrelsome," he said, at its

conclusion; "There's no doubt about that. We mustn't leave Spruce to

bear the brunt of his black rage all alone. Come along, Bainton!--I

will enforce Miss Vancourt's orders myself if necessary."

This was just what Bainton wanted,--and master and man started off

at a swinging pace for the scene of action, Bainton pouring forth as

he went a glowing description of the wonderful and unexpected charm

of the new mistress of the Manor.

"There ain't been nothin' like her in our neighbourhood iver at all,

so fur as I can remember," he declared. "A' coorse I must ha' seed

her when I worked for th' owld Squire at whiles, but she was a child

then, an' I ain't a good hand at rememberin' like Josey be, besides

I never takes much 'count of childern runnin' round. But 'ere was we

all a-thinkin' she'd be a 'igh an' mighty fashion-plate, and she

ain't nothin' of the sort, onny jest like a little sugar figure on,

a weddin'-cake wot looks sweet at ye and smiles pleasant,--though

she's got a flash in them eyes of her which minds me of a pony wot

ain't altogether broke in. Josey, he sez them eyes is a-goin' to

finish up Leach,--which mebbe they will and mebbe they won't;--all

the same they's eyes you won't see twice in a lifetime! Lord love

ye, Passon, ain't it strange 'ow the Almighty puts eyes in the 'eads

of women wot ain't a bit like wot he puts in the 'eads of men! We

gets the sight all right, but somehow we misses the beauty. An'

there's plenty of women wot has eyes correct in stock and colour, as

we sez of the flowers,--but they're like p'ison berries, shinin' an'

black an' false-like,--an' if ye touch 'em ye're a dead man.

Howsomever when ye sees eyes like them that was smilin' at old Josey

last night, why it's jest a wonderful thing; and it don't make me

s'prised no more at the Penny Poltry-books wot's got such a lot

about blue eyes in 'em. Blue's the colour--there's no doubt about

it;--there ain't no eye to beat a blue one!"

Walden heard all this disjointed talk with a certain impatience.

Swinging along at a rapid stride, and glad in a sense that the old

trees were to be saved, he was nevertheless conscious of annoyance,-

-though by whom, or at what he was annoyed, he could not have told.

Plunging into the dewy woods, with all the pungent odours of moss

and violets about his feet, he walked swiftly on, Bainton having

some difficulty to keep up with him. The wakening birds were

beginning to pipe their earliest carols; gorgeously-winged insects,

shaken by the passing of human footsteps from their slumbers in the

cups of flowers, soared into the air like jewels suddenly loosened

from the floating robes of Aurora,--and the gentle stir of rousing

life sent a pulsing wave through the long grass. Every now and again

Bainton glanced up at the 'Passon's' face and murmured under his

breath,--'Blue's the colour--there ain't nowt to beat it!' possibly

inspired thereto by the very decided blue sparkle in the eyes of the

'man of God' who was marching steadily along in the 'Onward

Christian Soldiers' style, with his shoulders well back, his head

well poised, and his whole bearing expressive of both decision and

command.

Out of the woods they passed into an open clearing, where the

meadows, tenderly green and wet with dew, sloped upwards into small

hillocks, sinking again into deep dingles, adorned with may-trees

that were showing their white buds like little pellets of snow among

the green, and where numerous clusters of blackthorn spread out

lovely lavish tangles of blossom as fine as shreds of bleached wool

or thread-lace upon its jet-like stems. Across these fields dotted

with opening buttercups and daisies, Walden and his 'head man about

the place' made quick way, and climbing the highest portion of the

rising ground just in front of them, arrived at a wide stretch of

peaceful pastoral landscape comprising a fine view of the river in

all its devious windings through fields and pastures, overhung at

many corners with ancient willows, and clasping the village of St.

Rest round about as with a girdle of silver and blue. Here on a

slight eminence stood the venerable sentinels of the fair scene,--

the glorious old 'Five Sisters' beeches which on this very morning

had been doomed to bid farewell for ever to the kind sky. Noble

creatures were they in their splendid girth and broadly-stretching

branches, which were now all alive with the palest and prettiest

young green,--and as Walden sprang up the thyme-scented turfy ascent

which lifted them proudly above all their compeers, his heart beat

with mingled indignation and gladness,--indignation that such grand

creations of a bountiful Providence should ever have been so much as

threatened with annihilation by a destructive, ill-conditioned human

pigmy like Oliver Leach,--and gladness, that at the last moment

their safety was assured through the intervention of old Josey

Letherbarrow. For, of course Miss Vancourt herself would never have

troubled about them. Walden made himself inwardly positive on that

score. She could have no particular care or taste for trees, John

thought. It was the pathetic pleading of Josey,--his quaint

appearance, his extreme age--and his touching feebleness, which

taken all together had softened the callous heart of the mistress of

the Manor, and had persuaded her to stay the intended outrage.

"If Josey had asked her to spare a gooseberry bush, she would

probably have consented," said Walden to himself; "He is so old and

frail,--she could hardly have refused his appeal without seeming to

be almost inhuman."

Here his reflections were abruptly terminated by a clamour of angry

voices, and hastening his steps up the knoll, he there confronted a

group of rough rustic lads gathered in a defensive half-circle round

Spruce who, white and breathless, was bleeding profusely from a deep

cut across his forehead. Opposite him stood Oliver Leach, livid with

rage, grasping a heavy dog-whip.

"You damned, deaf liar!" he shouted; "Do you think I'm going to take

YOUR word? How dare you disobey my orders! I'll have you kicked off

the place, you and your loud-tongued wife and the whole kit of you!

What d'ye mean by bringing these louts up from the village to bull-

bait me, eh? What d'ye mean by it? I'll have you all locked up in

Riversford jail before the day's much older! You whining cur!" And

he raised his whip threateningly. "I've given you one, and I'll give

you another--"

"Noa, ye woan't!" said a huge, raw-boned lad, standing out from the

rest. "You woan't strike 'im no more, if ye wants a hull skin! Me

an' my mates 'ull take care o' that! You go whoam, Mister Leach!--

you go whoam!--you've 'eerd plain as the trees is to be left

stannin'--them's the orders of the new Missis,--and you ain't no

call to be swearin' yerself black in the face, 'cos you can't get

yer own way for once. You're none so prutty lookin' that we woan't

know 'ow to make ye a bit pruttier if ye stays 'ere enny longer!"

And he grinned suggestively, doubling a portentous fist, and

beginning to roll up his shirt sleeves slowly with an ominous air of

business.

Leach looked at the group of threatening faces, and pulled from his

pocket a notebook and pencil.

"I know you all, and I shall take down your names," he said, with

vindictive sharpness, though his lips trembled--"You, Spruce, are

under my authority, and you have deliberately disobeyed my orders--"

"And you, Leach, are under Miss Vancourt's authority and you are

deliberately refusing to obey your employer's orders!" said Walden,

suddenly emerging from the shadow east by one of the great trees,

"And you have assaulted and wounded Spruce who brought you those

orders. Shame on you, man! Riversford jail is more likely to receive

YOU as a tenant than any of these lads!" Here he turned to the young

men who on seeing their minister had somewhat sheepishly retreated,

lifting their caps and trampling backward on each other's toes; "Go

home, boys," he said peremptorily, yet kindly; "There's nothing for

you to do here. Go home to your breakfasts and your work. The trees

won't be touched--"

"Oh, won't they!" sneered Leach, now perfectly white with passion;

"Who's going to pay me for the breaking of my contract, I should

like to know? The trees are sold--they were sold as they stand a

fortnight ago,--and down they come to-day, orders or no orders; I'll

have my own men up here at work in less than an hour!"

Walden turned upon him.

"Very well then, I shall ask Miss Vancourt to set the police to

watch her trees and take you into custody;" he said, coolly; "If you

have sold the trees standing, to cover your gambling debts, you will

have to UNsell them, that's all! They never were yours to dispose

of;--you can no more sell them than you can sell the Manor. You have

no permission to make money for yourself out of other people's

property. That kind of thing is common thieving, though it MAY

sometimes pass for Estate Agency business!"

Leach sprang forward, his whip uplifted,--but before it could fall,

with one unanimous yell, the young rustics rushed upon him and

wrested it from his hand. At this moment Bainton, who had been

silently binding Spruce's cut forehead with a red cotton

handkerchief, so that the poor man presented the appearance of a

melodramatic 'stage' warrior, suddenly looked up, uttered an

exclamation, and gave a warning signal.

"Better not go on wi' the hargyment jes' now, Passon!" he said,--

"'Ere comes the humpire!"

Even as he spoke, the quick gallop of hoofs echoed thuddingly on the

velvety turf, and the group of disputants hastily scattered to right

and left, as a magnificent mare, wild-eyed and glossy-coated, dashed

into their centre and came to a swift halt, drawn up in an instant

by the touch of her rider on the rein. All eyes were turned to the

slight woman's figure in the saddle, that sat so easily, that swayed

the reins so lightly, and that seemed as it were, throned high above

them in queenly superiority--a figure wholly unconventional, clad in

a riding-skirt and jacket of a deep soft violet hue, and wearing no

hat to shield the bright hair from the fresh wind that waved its

fair ripples to and fro caressingly and tossed a shining curl loose

from the carelessly twisted braid. Murmurs of 'The new Missis!' 'Th'

owld Squire's darter!'--ran from mouth to mouth, and John Walden,

seized by a sudden embarrassment, withdrew as far as possible into

the shadow of the trees in a kind of nervous hope to escape from the

young lady's decidedly haughty glance, which swept like a flash of

light, round the assembled group and settled at last with chill

scrutiny on the livid and breathless Oliver Leach.

"You are the agent here, I presume?"

Maryllia's voice rang cold and clear,--there was not a trace of the

sweet and coaxing tone in it that had warmed the heart of old Josey

Letherbarrow.

Leach looked up, lifting his cap half reluctantly.

"I am!"

"You have had my orders?"

Leach was silent. The young rustics hustled one another forward,

moved by strong excitement, all eager to see the feminine 'Humpire'

who had descended upon them as suddenly as a vision falling from the

skies, and all wondering what would happen next.

"You have had my orders?" repeated Maryllia;--then, as no answer was

vouchsafed to her, she looked round and perceived Bainton. To him

she at once addressed herself.

"Who has struck Spruce?"

Bainton hesitated. It was an exceedingly awkward position. He looked

appealingly, as was his wont, up into the air and among the highest

branches of the 'Five Sisters' for 'Passon Walden,' but naturally

could not discover him at that elevation.

"Come, come!" said Maryllia, imperatively--"You are not all deaf, I

hope! Give me a straight answer, one of you! Who struck Spruce?"

"Mister Leach did!" said the big-boned lad who had constituted

himself Spruce's defender. "We 'eerd down in the village as 'ow

you'd come 'ome, Miss, and as 'ow you'd give your orders that the

Five Sisters was to be left stannin', and we coomed up wi' Spruce to

see 'ow Leach 'ud take it, an' 'fore we could say a wurrd Leach he

up wi' his whip and cut Spruce across the for'ead as ye see--"

Maryllia raised her hand and silenced him with a gesture. "Thank

you! That will do. I understand!" She turned towards Leach; "What

have you to say for yourself?" "I take no orders from a servant,"

replied Leach, insolently; "I have managed this estate for ten

years, and I give in my statements and receive my instructions from

the firm of solicitors who have it in charge. I am not called upon

to accept any different arrangement without proper notice."

Maryllia heard him out with coldly attentive patience.

"You will accept a different arrangement without any further notice

at all," she said; "You will leave the premises and resign all

management of my property from this day henceforward. I dismiss you,

for disobedience and insolence, and for assaulting my servant,

Spruce, in the execution of his duty. And as for these trees, if any

man touches a bough of one of them without my permission, I will

have him prosecuted! Now you know my mind!".

She sat proudly erect in her saddle, while the village hobbledehoys

who had instinctively gathered round her, like steel shavings round

a magnet, fairly gasped for breath. Oliver Leach dismissed! Oliver

Leach, the petty tyrant, the carping, snarling jack-in-office, cast

out like a handful of bad rubbish! It was like a thunderbolt fallen

from heaven and riving the earth on which they stood! Bainton heard,

and could scarcely keep back a chuckle of satisfaction. He longed to

make Spruce understand what was going on, but that unfortunate

individual was slightly stunned by Leach's heavy blow, and sitting

on the grass with his head between his two hands, was gazing, in a

kind of stupefaction at the 'new Missis'; so that any 'bellowing'

into his ear was scarcely possible.

Leach himself stared blankly and incredulously,--his face crimsoned

with a sudden rush of enraged blood and then paled again, and

changing his former insolent tone for one both fawning and

propitiatory, he stammered out:

"I am very sorry--I--I beg your pardon, Madam!--if you will give

yourself a little time to consider, you will see I have done my duty

on this property all the time I have been connected with it. I hope

you will not dismiss me for the first fault!--I--I--admit I should

not have struck Spruce,--but--I--I was taken by surprise--I--I know

my business,--and I am not accustomed to be interfered with--" Here

his pent-up anger got the better of him and he again began to

bluster. "I have done my duty--no man better!" he said in fierce

accents. "There's not an acre of woodland here that isn't in a

better condition than it was ten years ago--Ah!--and bringing in

more money too!--and now I am to be turned off for a parcel of

village idiots who hardly know a beech from an elm! I'll make a case

of it! Sir Morton Pippitt knows me--I'll speak to Sir Morton

Pippitt--"

"Sir Morton Pippitt!" echoed Maryllia disdainfully; "What has he to

do with me or my property?" Here she suddenly spied Walden, who, in

his eagerness to hear every word that passed had, unconsciously to

himself, moved well out of the sheltering shadow of the trees--"Are

YOU Sir Morton Pippitt?"

A broad grin, deepening into a scarcely suppressed titter, Went the

round of the gaping young rustics. Walden himself smiled,--and

recognising that the time had now come to declare himself, he

advanced a step or two and lifted his hat.

"I have not that pleasure! I am the minister of this parish, and my

name is John Walden. I'm afraid I am rather a trespasser here!--but

I have loved these old trees for many years, and I came up this

morning,--having heard what your orders were from my gardener

Bainton,--to see that those orders were properly carried out,--and

also to save possible disturbance--"

He broke off. Maryllia, while he spoke, had eyed him somewhat

critically, and now favoured him with a charming smile.

"Thank you very much!" she said sweetly; "It was most kind of you! I

wonder--" And she paused, knitting her pretty brows in perplexity;

"I wonder if you could get rid of everybody for me?"

He glanced up at her in a little wonderment.

"Could you?" she repeated.

He drew nearer.

"Get rid of everybody?--you mean?--"

She leaned confidentially from her saddle.

"Yes--YOU know! Send them all about their business! Clergymen can

always do that, can't they? There's really nothing more to be said

or done--the trees shall not be touched,--the matter is finished.

Tell all these big boys to go away--and--oh, YOU know!"

A twinkle of merriment danced in Walden's eyes. But he turned quite

a set and serious face round on the magnetised lads of the village,

who hung about, loth to lose a single glance or a single word of the

wonderful 'Missis' who had the audacious courage to dismiss Leach.

"Now, boys!" he said peremptorily; "Clear away home and begin your

day's work! You're not wanted here any longer. The trees are safe,--

and you can tell everyone what Miss Vancourt says about them.

Bainton! You take these fellows home,--Spruce had better go with

you. Just call at the doctor's on the way and get his wound attended

to. Come now, boys!--sharp's the word!"

A general scrambling movement followed this brief exordium. With shy

awkwardness each young fellow lifted his cap as he shambled

sheepishly past Maryllia, who acknowledged these salutes smilingly,-

-Bainton assisted Spruce to rise to his feet, and then took him off

under his personal escort,--and only Leach remained, convulsively

gripping his dog-whip which he had picked up from the ground where

the lads had thrown it,--and anon striking it against his boot with

a movement of impatience and irritation.

"GOOD-morning, Mr. Leach!" said Walden pointedly. But Leach stood

still, looking askance at Maryllia.

"Miss Vancourt," he said, hoarsely; "Am I to understand that you

meant what you said just now?"

She glanced at him coldly.

"That I dismiss you from my service? Of course I meant it! Of course

I mean it!"

"I am bound to have fair notice," he muttered. "I cannot collect all

my accounts in a moment--"

"Whatever else you may do, you will leave this place at, once;" said

Maryllia, firmly,--"I will communicate my decision to the solicitors

and they will settle with you. No more words, please!"

She turned her mare slowly round on the grassy knoll, looking up

meanwhile at the lovely canopy of tremulous young green above her

head. John Walden watched her. So did Oliver Leach,--and with a

sudden oath, rapped out like a discordant bomb bursting in the still

air, he exclaimed savagely:

"You shall repent this, my fine lady! By God, you shall! You shall

rue the day you ever saw Abbot's Manor again! You had far better

have stayed with your rich Yankee relations than have made such a

home-coming as this for yourself, and such an outgoing for me! My

curse on you!"

Shaking his fist threateningly at her, he sprang down the knoll, and

plunging through the grass and fern was soon lost to sight.

The soft colour in Maryllia's cheeks paled a little and a slight

tremor ran through her frame. She looked at Walden,--then laughed

carelessly.

"Guess I've given him fits!" she said, relapsing into one of her

Aunt Emily's American colloquialisms, with happy unconsciousness

that this particular phrase coming from her pretty lips sent a kind

of shock through John's sensitive nerves. "He's not a very pleasant

man to meet anyway! And it isn't altogether agreeable to be cursed

on the first morning of my return home. But, after all, it doesn't

matter much, as there's a clergyman present!" And her blue eyes.

danced mischievously; "Isn't it lucky you came? You can stop that

curse on its way and send it back like a homing pigeon, can't you?

What do you say when you do it? 'Retro me Sathanas,' or something of

that kind, isn't it? Whatever it is, say it now, won't you?"

Walden laughed,--he could not help laughing. She spoke, with such a

whimsical flippancy, and she looked so bewitchingly pretty.

"Really, Miss Vancourt, I don't think I need utter any special

formula on this occasion," he said, gaily. "You have done a good

action to the whole community by dismissing Leach. Good actions

bring their own reward, while curses, like chickens, come home to

roost. Pray forgive me for quoting copybook maxims! But, for the

curse of one ill-conditioned boor, you will have the thanks and

blessings of all your tenantry. That will take the edge of the

malediction; don't you think so?"

She turned her mare in the homeward direction, and began to guide it

gently down the slope. Walking by her side, John held back one of

the vast leafy boughs of the great trees to allow her to pass more

easily, and glanced up at her smilingly as he put his question.

She met his eyes with an open frankness that somewhat disconcerted

him.

"Well, I don't know about that!" she replied. "You see, in these

days of telepathy and hypnotic suggestion, there may be something

very catching about a curse. It's just like a little seed of

disease;--if it falls on the right soil it germinates and spreads,

and then all manner of wicked souls get the infection. I believe

that in the old days everybody guessed this instinctively, without

being able to express it scientifically,--and that's why they ran to

the Church for protection agaiast curses, and the evil eye, and

things of that sort. See how some of the old Scottish curses cling

even to this day! The only way to take the sting out of a curse is

to get it transposed"--and she smiled, glancing meditatively up into

the brightening blue of the sky. "Like a song, you know! If it's too

low for the voice you transpose it to a higher key. I daresay the

Church was able to do that in the days when it had REAL faith--oh!--

I beg your pardon!--I ought not to say that to a man of your

calling."

"Why not?" said Walden; "Pray say anything you like to me, Miss

Vancourt;--I should be a very poor and unsatisfactory sort of

creature if I could not bear any criticism on my vocation. Besides,

I quite agree with you. The early Church had certainly more faith

than it has now."

"You're not a bit like a parson," said Maryllia gravely, studying

his face with embarrassing candour and closeness; "You look quite a

nice pleasant sort of man."

John Walden laughed again,--this time with sincere heartiness.

Maryllia's eyes twinkled, and little dimples came and went round her

mouth and chin.

"You seem amused at that," she said; "But I've seen a great deal of

life--and I have met heaps and heaps of parsons--parsons young and

parsons old--and they were all horrid, simply horrid! Some talked

Bible--and others talked the Sporting Times--any amount of them

talked the drama, and played villains in private theatricals. I

never met but one real minister,--that is a man who ministers to the

poor,--and he died in a London slum before he was thirty. I believe

he was a saint; and if he had lived in the days of the early Church,

he would certainly have been canonised. He would have been Saint

William--his name was William. But he was only one William,--I've

seen hundreds of them."

"Hundreds of Williams?" queried Walden suggestively.

This time it was Maryllia who laughed,--a gay little laugh like that

of a child.

"No, I guess not!" she answered; "Some of them are real Johnnies! Oh

dear me!"--and again her laughter broke forth; "I quite forgot! You

said YOUR name was John!"

"So it is." And he smiled; "I'm sorry you don't like it!"

She checked her merriment abruptly, and became suddenly serious.

"But I do like it! You mustn't think I don't. Oh, how rude I must

seem to you! Please forgive me! I really do like the name of John!"

He glanced up at her, still smiling.

"Thank you! It's very kind of you to say so!"

"You believe me, don't you?" she said persistently.

"Of course I do! Of course I must! Though unhappily a Churchman, I

am not altogether a heretic.'"

The smile deepened in his eyes,--and as she met his somewhat

quizzical glance a slight wave of colour rose to her cheeks and

brow. She drew herself up in her saddle with a sudden, proud

movement and carried her little head a trifle higher. Walden looked

at her now as he would have looked at a charming picture, without

the least embarrassment. She appeared so extremely young to him. She

awakened in his mind a feeling of kindly paternal interest, such as

he might have felt for Susie Prescott or Ipsie Frost. He was not

even quite sure that he considered her in any way out of the common,

so far as her beauty was concerned,--though he recognised that she

was almost the living image of 'the lady in the vi'let velvet' whose

portrait adorned the gallery in Abbot's Manor. The resemblance was

heightened by the violet colour of the riding dress she wore and the

absence of any head-covering save her own pretty brown-gold hair.

"I'm glad I've saved the old trees," she said presently, checking

her mare's pace, and looking back at the Five Sisters standing in

unmolested grandeur on their grassy throne. "I feel a pleasant

consciousness of having done something useful. They are beautiful! I

haven't looked at them half enough. I shall come here all by myself

this afternoon and bring a book and read under their lovely boughs.

Just now I've only had time to cry 'rescue.'" She hesitated a

moment, then added:" I'm very much obliged to you for your

assistance, Mr. Walden!--and I'm glad you also like the trees. They

shall never be touched in my lifetime, I assure you I--and I

believe--yes, I believe I'll put something in my last will and

testament about them--something binding, you know! Something that

will set up a block in the way of land agents. Such trees as these

ought to stand as long as Nature will allow them."

Walden was silent. Somehow her tone had changed from kind

playfulness to ordinary formality, and her eyes rested upon him with

a cool, slightly depreciatory expression. The mare was restless, and

pawed the green turf impatiently.

"She longs for a gallop;" said Maryllia, patting the fine creature's

glossy neck; "Don't you, Cleo? Her name is Cleopatra, Queen of

Egypt. Isn't she a beauty?"

"She is indeed!" murmured Walden, with conventional politeness,

though he scarcely glanced at the eulogised animal.

"She isn't a bit safe, you know," continued Maryllia; "Nobody can

hold her but me! She's a perfectly magnificent hunter. I have

another one who is gentleness itself, called Daffodil. My groom

rides her. He could never ride Cleo." She paused, patting the mare's

neck again,--then gathering up the reins in her small, loosely-

gloved hand, she said: "Well, good-morning, Mr. Walden! It was most

kind of you to get up so early and come to help defend my trees! I

am ever so grateful to you! Pray call and see me at the Manor when

you have nothing better to do. You will be very welcome!"

She nodded gracefully to him, and a few loose curls of lovely hair

fell with the action like a web of sunbeams over her brow. Smiling,

she tossed them back.

"Good-bye!" she called.

He raised his hat,--and in another moment the gallop of Cleopatra's

swift hoofs thudded across the grass and echoed over the fields,

gradually diminishing and dying away, as mare and rider disappeared

within the enfolding green of the Manor woods. He stood for a while

looking after the vanishing flash of violet, brown and gold,

scudding over the turf and disappearing under the closely twisted

boughs of budding oak and elm,--and then started to walk home

himself. His face was a study of curiously mingled expressions.

Surprise, amusement, and a touch of admiration struggled for the

mastery in his mind, and he was compelled to admit to himself,

albeit reluctantly, that the doubtfully-anticipated 'Squire-ess' was

by no means the sort of person he had expected to see. Herein he was

at one with Bainton.

"'Like a little sugar figure on a wedding-cake, looking sweet, and

smiling pleasant!'" thought Walden, humorously recalling his

gardener's description; "Scarcely that! She has a will of her own,

and--possibly--a temper! A kind of spoilt child-woman, I should

imagine; just the person to wear all the fripperies Mrs. Spruce was

so anxious about the other day, and quite frivolous enough to

squeeze her feet into shoes a couple of sizes too small for her.

Beautiful? No,--her features are not regular enough for actual

beauty. Pretty? Well,--perhaps she is!--in a certain sense,--but I'm

no judge. Fascinating? Possibly she might be--to some men. She

certainly has a sweet voice, and a very charming manner. And I don't

think she is likely to be disagreeable or discourteous. But there is

nothing remarkable about her--she's just a woman--with a bright

smile,--and a touch of American vivacity running through her English

insularity. Just a woman--with a way!"

And he strode on, his terrier trotting soberly at his heels. But he

was on the whole glad he had met the lady of the Manor, because now

he no longer felt any uneasiness concerning her. His curiosity was

satisfied,--his instinctive dislike of her had changed to a kindly

toleration, and his somewhat morbid interest in her arrival had

quite abated. The 'Five Sisters' were saved--that was a good thing;

and as for Miss Vancourt herself,--well!--she was evidently a

harmless creature who would most likely play tennis and croquet all

day and take very little interest in anything except herself.

"She will not interfere with me, nor I with her," said Walden with a

sigh of satisfaction and relief; "And though we live in the same

village, we shall be as far apart as the poles,--which is a great

comfort'"