Beechcroft at Rockstone

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'She says,' explained Gillian, 'by that time one ought to be old
enough to discriminate between the lawfulness of killing the
creatures for the sake of studying their beauty and learning them,
and the mere wanton amusement of hunting them down under the excuse
of collecting.'

'I say,' exclaimed Valetta, who had been exploring above, 'here is
such a funny old house.'

There was a rush in that direction, and at the other end of the wide
home-field was perceived a picturesque gray stone house, with large
mullioned windows, a dilapidated low stone wall, with what had once
been a handsome gateway, overgrown with ivy, and within big double
daffodils and white narcissus growing wild.

'It's like the halls of Ivor,' said Mysie, awestruck by the
loneliness; 'no dog, nor horse, nor cow, not even a goose,'

'And what a place to sketch!' cried Miss Vincent. 'Oh, Gillian, we
must come here another day.'

'Oh, may we gather the flowers?' exclaimed the insatiable Primrose.

'Those poetic narcissuses would be delicious for the choir screen,'
added Gillian.

'Poetic narcissus---poetic grandmother,' said Wilfred. 'It's old
butter and eggs.'

'I say!' cried Mysie. 'Look, Ivy---I know that pair of fighting
lions---ain't these some of your arms over the door?'

'By which you mean a quartering of our shield,' said Ivinghoe. 'Of
course it is the Clipp bearing. Or, two lions azure, regardant
combatant, their tails couped.'

'Two blue Kilkenny cats, who have begun with each other's tails,'
commented Jasper.

'Ivinghoe glared a little, but respected the sixth form, and Gillian
added---

'They clipped them! Then did this place belong to our ancestors?'

'Poetic grandmother, really!' said Mysie.

'Great grandmother,' corrected Ivinghoe. 'To be sure. It was from
the Clipps that we got all this Rockstone estate!'

'And I suppose this was their house? What a shame to have deserted
it!'

'Oh, it has been a farmhouse,' said Fly. 'I heard something about
farms that wouldn't let.'

'Then is it yours?' cried Valetta, 'and may we gather the flowers?'

'And mayn't we explore?' asked Mysie. 'Oh, what fun!'

'Holloa!' exclaimed Wilfred, transfixed, as if he had seen the ghosts
of all the Clipps. For just as Valetta and Mysie threw themselves on
the big bunches of hepatica and the white narcissus, a roar, worthy
of the clip-tailed lions, proceeded from the window, and the demand,
'Who is picking my roses?'

Primrose in terror threw herself on Gillian with a little scream.
Wilfred crept behind the walls, but after the general start there was
an equally universal laugh, for between the stout mullions of the
oriel window Lord Rotherwood's face was seen, and Sir Jasper's behind
him.

Great was the jubilation, and there was a rush to the tall door, up
the dilapidated steps, where curls of fern were peeping out; but the
gentlemen called out that only the back-door could be opened, and the
intention of a 'real grand exploration' was cut short by Miss
Elbury's declaring that she was bound not to let Phyllis stay out
till six o'clock.

Fly, in her usual good-humoured way, suppressed her sighs and begged
the others to explore without her, but the general vote declared this
to be out of the question. Fly had too short a time to remain with
her cousins to be forsaken even for the charms of 'the halls of
Ivor,' or the rival Beast's Castle, as Gillian called it, which,
after all, would not run away.

'But it might be let,' said Mysie.

'Yes, I've got a tenant in agitation,' said Lord Rotherwood
mischievously. 'Never mind, I dare say he won't inquire what you
have done with his butter and eggs.'

So with a parting salute to the ancestral halls, the cavalry was set
in order, big panniers full of moss and flowers disposed on the
donkeys, Fly placed on her pony, and every maiden taking her basket
of flowers, Jasper and Ivinghoe alone being amiable, or perhaps
trustworthy enough to assist in carrying. Fly's pony demurred to the
extra burthen, so Jasper took hers; and when Gillian declared herself
too fond of her flowers to part with them, Ivinghoe astonished Miss
Vincent, on whom some stones of Fergus's, as well as her own share of
flowers, had been bestowed, by taking one handle of her most cumbrous
basket.

Sir Jasper and Lord Rotherwood rode together through the happy young
troop on the homeward way. Perhaps Ivinghoe was conscious of a
special nod of approval from his father.

On passing Rock House, the youthful public was rather amused at his
pausing, and saying---

'Aren't you going to leave some flowers there?'

'Oh yes!' said Gillian. 'I have a basket on purpose.'

'And I have some for Maura,' said Valetta.

Valetta's was an untidy bunch; Gillian's a dainty basket, where white
violets reposed on moss within a circle of larger blossoms.

'That's something like!' quoth Ivinghoe.

He lingered with them as if he wanted to see that vision again, but
only the caretaker appeared, and promised to take the flowers
upstairs.

Maura afterwards told how they were enjoyed, and they knew of
Kalliope's calm restfulness in Holy Week thoughts and Paschal Joys.

It was on Easter Tuesday that Mr. White first sent a message asking
to see his guest, now of nearly three weeks.

He came in very quietly and gently---perhaps the sight of the room he
had prepared for his young wife was in itself a shock to him, and he
had lived so long without womankind that he had all a lonely man's
awe of an invalid. He took with a certain respect the hand that
Kalliope held out, as she said, with a faint flush in her cheeks---

'I am glad to thank you, sir. You have been very good to me.'

'I am glad to see you better,' he said, with a little embarrassment.

'I ought to be, in this beautiful air, and with these lovely things
to look at,' and she pointed to the reigning photograph on the stand-
--the facade of St. Mark's.

'You should see it as I did.' And he began to describe it to her,
she putting in a question or two here and there, which showed her
appreciation.

'You know something about it already,' he said.

'Yes; when I was quite a little girl one of the officers in the Royal
Wardours brought some photographs to Malta, and told me about them.'

'But,' he said, recalling himself, that is not my object now. Your
brother says he does not feel competent to decide without you.' And
he laid before her two or three prospectuses of grammar schools. 'It
is time to apply,' he added, 'if that little fellow---Peter, you call
him, don't you?---is to begin next term.'

'Petros! Oh, sir, this is kindness!'

'I desired that the children's education should be attended to,' said
Mr. White. 'I did not intend their being sent to an ordinary
National school.'

'Indeed,' said Kalliope; 'I do not think much time has been lost, for
they have learnt a good deal there; but I am particularly glad that
Petros should go to a superior school just now that he has been left
alone, for he is more lively and sociable than Theodore, and it might
be less easy for him to keep from bad companions.'

The pros and cons of the several schools were discussed, and
Hurstpierpoint finally fixed on.

'Never mind about his outfit,' added Mr. White. 'I'll give that
fellow down in Bellevue an order to rig him out. He is a sharp
little sturdy fellow, who will make his way in the world.'

'Indeed, I trust so, now that his education is secured. It is
another load off my mind,' said Kalliope, with a smile of exceeding
sweetness and gratitude, her hands clasped, and her eyes raised for a
moment in higher thankfulness,---a look that so enhanced her beauty
that Mr. White gazed for a moment in wonder. The next moment,
however, the dark eyes turned on him with a little anxiety, and she
said---

'One thing more, sir. Perhaps you will be so kind as to relieve my
mind again. That notice of dismissal at the quarter's end. Was it
not in some degree from a mistake?'

'An utter mistake, my dear,' he said hastily. 'Never trouble your
head about it.'

'Then it does not hold?'

'Certainly not.'

'And I may go back to my office as soon as I am well enough?'

'Is that your wish?'

'Yes, sir. I love my work and my assistants, and I think I could do
better if a little more scope could be allowed me.'

'Very well, we will see about that---you have to get well first of
all.'

'I am so much better that I ought to go home. Mr. Lee is quite ready
for me.'

Nonsense! You must be much stronger before Dagger would hear of your
going.'

After this Mr. White came to sit with Kalliope for a time in the
course of each day, bringing with him something that would interest
her, and seeming gratified by her responsiveness, quiet as it was,
for she was still very feeble, and exertion caused a failure of
breath and fluttering of heart that were so distressing that ten days
more passed before she was brought downstairs and drawn out in the
garden in a chair, where she could sit on the sheltered terrace
enjoying the delicious spring air and soft sea-breezes, sometimes
alone, sometimes with the company of one friend or another. Gillian
and Aunt Jane had, with the full connivance of Mr. White, arranged a
temporary entrance from one garden to the other for the convenience
of attending to Kalliope, and here one afternoon Miss Mohun was
coming in when she heard through the laurels two voices speaking to
the girl. As she moved forward she saw they were the elder and
younger Stebbings, and that Kalliope had risen to her feet, and was
leaning on the back of her chair. While she was considering whether
to advance Kalliope heard her, and called in a breathless voice,
'Miss Mohun! oh, Miss Mohun, come!'

'Miss Mohun! You will do us the justice---' began Mr. Stebbing,
speaking more to her indignant face and gesture than to any words.

'Miss White is not well,' she said. 'You had better leave her to
me.'

And as they withdrew through the house, Kalliope sank back in her
chair in one of those alarming attacks of deadly faintness that had
been averted for many days past. Happily an electric bell was always
at hand, and the housekeeper knew what remedies to bring. Kalliope
did not attempt a word for many long minutes, though the colour came
back gradually to her lips. Her first words were,

'Thank you! Oh, I did hope that persecution was over!'

'My poor child! Don't tell me unless you like! Only---it wasn't
about your work?'

'Oh no, the old story! But he brought his father---to say he
consented---and wished it---now.'

There was no letting her say any more at that time, but it was all
plain enough. This had been one more attempt of the Stebbing family
to recover their former power; Kalliope was assumed to be Mr. White's
favoured niece; Frank could make capital of having loved her when
poor and neglected, and his parents were ready to back his suit. The
father and son had used their familiarity with the house to obtain
admittance to the garden without announcement or preparation, and had
pressed the siege, with a confidence that could only be inspired by
their own self-opinion. Kalliope had been kept up by her native
dignity and resolution, and had at first gently, then firmly,
declined the arguments, persuasions, promises, and final reproaches
with which they beset her--even threatening to disclose what they
called encouragement, and assuring her that she need not reckon on
Mr. White, for the general voice declared him likely to marry again,
and then where would she be?'

'I don't know what would have become of me, if you had not come,' she
said.

And when she had rested long enough, and crept into the house, and
Alexis had come home to carry her upstairs, it was plain that she had
been seriously thrown back, and she was not able to leave her room
for two or three days.

Mr. White was necessarily told what had been the cause of the
mischief. He smiled grimly. 'Ay! ay! Master Frank thought he would
come round the old man, did he? He will find himself out. Ha, ha! a
girl like that in the house is like a honey-pot near a wasps' nest,
and the little sister will be as bad. Didn't I see the young lord,
smart little prig as he looks, holding an umbrella over her with a
smile on his face, as much as to say, "I know who is a pretty girl!
No one to look after them either!" But maybe they will all find
themselves mistaken,' and his grim smile relaxed into a highly
amiable one.

Miss Mohun was not at all uneasy as to the young lord. An Eton boy's
admiration of a pretty face did not amount to much, even if Ivinghoe
had not understood 'Noblesse oblige' too well to leave a young girl
unsheltered. Besides, he and all the rest were going away the next
day. But what did that final hint mean?

CHAPTER XXII. THE MAIDEN ALL FORLORN

One secret was soon out, even before the cruel parting of Fly and
Mysie, which it greatly mitigated.

Clipston was to be repaired and put in order, to be rented by the
Merrifields. It was really a fine old substantial squire's house,
though neglected and consigned to farmers for four generations. It
had great capabilities---a hall up to the roof, wainscoted rooms---at
present happy hunting-grounds to boys and terriers---a choked
fountain, numerous windows, walled up in the days of the 'tax on
light,' and never reopened, and, moreover, a big stone barn, with a
cross on the gable, and evident traces of having once been a chapel.

The place was actually in Rockstone Parish, and had a hamlet of six
or seven houses, for which cottage services were held once a week,
but the restoration of the chapel would provide a place for these,
and it would become a province for Lady Merrifield's care, while Sir
Jasper was absolutely entreated, both by Lord Rotherwood and the
rector of Rockstone, to become the valuable layman of the parish, nor
was he at all unwilling thus to bestow his enforced leisure.

It was a beautiful place. The valley of daffodils already visited
narrowed into a ravine, where the rivulet rushed down from moorlands,
through a ravine charmingly wooded, and interspersed with rock. It
would give country delights to the children, and remove them from the
gossip of the watering-place society, and yet not be too far off for
those reading-room opportunities beloved of gentlemen.

The young people were in ecstasies, only mourning that they could not
live there during the repairs, and that those experienced in the
nature of workmen hesitated to promise that Clipston would be
habitable by the summer vacation. In the meantime, most of the
movables from Silverfold were transported thither, and there was a
great deal of walking and driving to and fro, planning for the
future, and revelling in the spring outburst of flowers.

Schoolroom work had begun again, and Lady Merrifield was hearing
Mysie read the Geruasalemme Liberata, while Miss Vincent
superintended Primrose's copies, and Gillian's chalks were striving
to portray a bust of Sophocles, when the distant sounds of the piano
in the drawing-room stopped, and Valetta came in with words always
ominous---

'Aunt Jane wants to speak to you, mamma.'

Lady Merrifield gathered up her work and departed, while Valetta,
addressing the public, said, 'Something's up.'

'Oh!' cried Primrose, 'Sofi hasn't run away again?'

'I hope Kalliope isn't worse,' said Mysie anxiously.

'I guess,' said Valetta, 'somebody said something the other day!'

'Something proving us the hotbeds of gossip,' muttered Gillian.

'You had better get your German exercise, Valetta,' said Miss
Vincent. 'Mysie, you have not finished your sums.'

And a sigh went round; but Valetta added one after-clap.

'Aunt Jane looked---I don't know how!'

Whereat Gillian nodded her head, and looked up at Miss Vincent, who
was as curious as the rest, but restrained the manifestation
manfully.

Meantime Lady Merrifield found her sister standing at the window,
and, without turning round, the words were uttered---

'Jasper was right, Lily.'

'You don't mean it?'

'Yes; he is after her!'---with a long breath.

'Mr. White!'

'Yes'---then sitting down. 'I did not think much of it before. They
always are after Ada more or less---and she likes it; but it never has
come to anything.'

'Why should it now?'

'It has! At least, it has gone further than ever anything did
before, except Charlie Scott, that ridiculous boy at Beechcroft that
William was so angry with, and who married somebody else.'

'You don't say that he has proposed to her?'

'Yes, he has---the man! By a letter this morning, and I could see she
expected it---not that that's any wonder!'

'But, my dear, she can't possibly be thinking of it.'

'Well, I should have said it was impossible; but I see she has not
made up her mind. Poor dear Ada! It is too bad to laugh; but she
does like the having a real offer at last, and a great Italian castle
laid at her feet.'

'But he isn't a gentleman! I don't mean only his birth---and I know
he is a good man really---but Jasper said he could feel he was not a
gentleman by the way he fell on Richard White before his sister.'

'I know! I know! I wonder if it would be for her happiness?'

'Then she has not answered him?'

'No; or, rather, I left her going to write. She won't accept him
certainly now; but I believe she is telling him that she must have
time to consider and consult her family.'

'She must know pretty well what her family will say. Fancy William!
Fancy Emily! Fancy Reginald!'

'Yes, oh yes! But Ada---I must say it---she does like to prolong the
situation.'

'It is not fair on the poor man.'

'Well, she will act as she chooses; but I think she really does want
to see what amount of opposition--- No, not that, but of estrangement
it would cause.'

'Did you see the letter?'

'Yes; no doubt you will too. I told her I should come to you, and
she did not object. I think she was glad to be saved broaching the
subject, for she is half ashamed.'

'I should have thought she would have been as deeply offended at the
presumption as poor Gillian was with the valentine.'

'Lily, my dear, forty-two is not all one with seventeen, especially
when there's an estate with an Italian countship attached to it!
Though I'm sure I'd rather marry Alexis than this man. _He_ is a
gentleman in grain!'

'Oh, Jenny, you are very severe!'

'I'm afraid it is bitterness, Lily; so I rushed down to have it all
out with you, and make up my mind what part to take.'

'It is very hard on you, my dear, after you have nursed and waited on
her all these years.'

'It is the little titillation of vanity---exactly like the Ada of
sixteen, nay, of six, that worries me, and makes me naughty,' said
Jane, dashing off a tear. 'Oh, Lily! how could I have borne it if
you had not come home!'

'But what do you mean about the part to take?'

'Well, you see, Lily, I really do not know what I ought to do. I
want to clear my mind by talking to you.'

'I am afraid it would make a great difference to you in the matter of
means.'

'I don't mean about that; but I am not sure whether I ought to stand
up for her. You see the man is really good at heart, and religious,
and he is taking out this chaplain. The climate, mountains, and sea
might really suit her health, and she could have all kinds of
comforts and luxuries; and if she can get over his birth, and the
want of fine edge of his manners, I don't know that we have any right
to set ourselves against it.'

'I should have thought those objections would have weighed most of
all with her.'

'And I do believe that if the whole family are unanimous in scouting
the very idea, she will give it up. She _is_ proud of Mohun blood,
and the Rotherwood connection and all, and if there were a desperate
opposition---well, she would be rather flattered, and give in; but I
am not sure that she would not always regret it, and pine after what
she might have had.'

'Rotherwood likes the man.'

'Like---but that's not liking him to marry his cousin.'

'Rotherwood will not be the person most shocked.'

'No. We shall have a terrible time, however it ends. Oh. I wish it
was all over!'

'Do you think she really cares for the man---loves him, in fact?'

'My dear Lily, if Ada ever was in love with anybody, it was with
Harry May, and that was all pure mistake. I never told anybody, but
I believe it was that which upset her health. But they are both too
old to concern themselves about such trifles. He does not expect
it!'

'I have seen good strong love in a woman over forty.'

'Yes; but this is quite another thing. A lady of the house wanted!
That's the motive. I should not wonder if he came home as much to
look for a lady-wife as to set the Stebbings to rights; or, if not,
he is driven to it by having the Whites on his hands.'

'I don't quite see that. I was going to ask you how it would affect
them.'

'Well, you see, though she is perfectly willing and anxious to begin
again, poor dear Kally really can't. She did try to arrange a design
that had been running in her head for a long time, and she was so bad
after it that Dr. Dagger said she must not attempt it. Then, though
she is discreet enough for anything, Mr. White is not really her
uncle, and could not take her about with him alone or even with
Maura; so I gather from some expressions in his letter that he would
like to take her out with them, spend the summer at Rocca Marina, and
let her have a winter's study at Florence. Then, I suppose she might
come back and superintend on quite a different footing.

'So he wants Ada as a chaperon for Kalliope?'

'That is an element in the affair, and not a bad one, and I don't
think Ada will object. She won't be left entirely to his
companionship.'

'My dear Jane! Then I'm sure she ought not to marry him!' cried Lady
Merrifield indignantly. 'Here comes Jasper. May I tell him?'

'You will, whether you may or not.'

And what Sir Jasper said was---

'"Who married the maiden all forlorn---"'

At which both sisters, though rather angry, could not help laughing,
and Lady Merrifield explained that they had always said the events
had gone on in a concatenation, like the house that Jack built, from
Gillian's peep through the rails. However, he was of opinion that it
was better not to make a strenuous opposition.

'Adeline is quite old enough to judge for herself whether the
incongruities will interfere with her happiness,' he said; 'and this
is really a worthy man who ought not to be contemned. Violent
contradiction might leave memories that would make it difficult to be
on affectionate terms afterwards.'

'Yes,' said Jane; 'that is what I feel. Thank you, Jasper. Now I
must go to my district. Happily those things run on all the same for
the present.'

But when she was gone Sir Jasper told his wife that he thought it
ought to be seriously put before Adeline that Jane ought to be
considered. She had devoted herself to the care of her sister for
many years, and the division of their means would tell seriously upon
her comfort.

'If it were a matter of affection, there would be nothing to say,' he
observed; 'but nobody pretends that it is so, and surely Jane
deserves consideration.

'I should think her a much more comfortable companion than Mr.
White,' said Lady Merrifield. 'I can't believe it will come to
anything. Whatever the riches or the castle at Rocca Marina may be,
Ada would, in a worldly point of view, give up a position of some
consideration here, and I think that will weigh with her.'

As soon as possible, Lady Merrifield went up to see her sister, and
found her writing letters in a great flutter of importance. It was
quite plain that the affair was not to be quashed at once, and that,
whether the suit were granted or not, all the family were to be aware
that Adeline had had her choice. Warned by her husband, Lady
Merrifield guarded the form of her remonstrances.

'Oh yes, dear Lily, I know! It is a sacrifice in many points of
view, but think what a field is open to me! There are all those
English workmen and their wives and families living out there, and
Mr. White does so need a lady to influence them.'

'You have not done much work of that kind. Besides, I thought this
chaplain was married.'

'Yes, but the moral support of a lady at the head must be needful,'
said Ada. 'It is quite a work.'

'Perhaps so,' said her sister, who had scarcely been in the habit of
looking on Ada as a great moral influence. 'But have you thought
what this will be to Jane?'

'Really, Lily, it is a good deal for Jane's sake. She will be so
much more free without being bound to poor me!'---and Ada's head went
on one side. 'You know she would never have lived here but for me;
and now she will be able to do what she pleases.'

'Not pecuniarily.'

'Oh, it will be quite possible to see to all that! Besides, think of
the advantage to her schemes. Oh yes, dear Jenny, it will be a
wrench to her, of course, and she will miss me; but, when that is
once got over, she will feel that I have acted for the best. Nor
will it be such a separation; he means always to spend the summer
here, and the winter and spring at Florence or Rocca Marina.' It was
grand to hear the Italian syllables roll from Adeline's tongue. 'You
know he could take the title if he pleased.'

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