CHAPTER XXV.

MRS. BAXENDALE RECEIVES A SHOCK.

T the cottage there was great glee over the flowers; and Mr. Hetherington told Alice to be sure to keep the prettiest to pin in her dress, to-morrow evening; while the invitation that Mrs. Baxendale had sent her lost nothing of its cordiality in the delivery.

But Alice watched for an opportunity to ask him, with unabated coldness, if he had told Mrs. Baxendale what he said he would, and when he admitted that he had, her indignation knew no bounds. However, she did not in the end refuse to visit her; because if Mrs. Baxendale patronised, or pitied her, or even petitioned her, she need never go near her again. But, if as her brother assured her, it made no difference to her regard, and Mrs. Baxendale could find it possible to leave her alone with her own reflections, an evening there with Leigh Hamelin kept respectfully at bay-must be a short distraction, but a welcome one.

It did not strike Mr. Hetherington that there was at home any contact from which Alice's bruised spirit must shrink. He was right in assuming that there was nothing that called for his interference, but he mentioned to Mrs. Hetherington and grandma the hint that Mrs. Baxendale had given him, thinking it could do no harm.

Mrs. Hetherington, however, in her selfdistrust and timidity, would as soon have thought of concocting "an Apology for the Christian Faith" for publication, as she would have thought of remonstrating with Alice. She felt deeply concerned for her, but left it to her husband to do what he thought best, while she remained neutral. Grandma, however, of a less passive nature, could not bring herself to keep silence on the matter. While she " pitied the poor little thing from the bottom of her heart,' she thought that "she ought to be made to feel." She did not care what Mrs. Baxendale said," which was all the worse for Mrs. Baxendale, for "she must have loose notions of religion." St. Paul said, "If any man love not the Lord

46

Jesus Christ, let him be Anathema Maranatha, and to treat Alice with over indulgence was to show very little zeal for God and truth, and to be partaker of her sin. It would be a very different matter if she was humble and penitent, but she was no such thing. She refused to be taught, and so she ought to be kept constantly in mind that "she stood in jeopardy every hour.

Her

From all this it will be inferred that whatever tenderness grandma might have for the recreant girl, the light of her countenance was not turned upon her; and she had many a hard rub to administer, according as the conversation gave opportunity for little personal ties. Grandma's age, of course, protected her from anything like retaliation, otherwise her severities were secretly attributed to Pharisaism and narrowness. real kindness of heart did not compensate, in Alice's opinion, for her asperities. She could believe that the babies and their mother, and those who had "erred, and been deceived," were all put in the same category of "poor little things," by her; but the term of endearment was applied by habit. Being of the old school, grandma never read politics, but when she saw the newspaper in her daughter's hand, her feminine instincts still acute, hungered for the Court Circular, and she was sure to ask if there was any news of "the poor little Queen," while from the tone in which she asked, Her Majesty might have been the most injured or the most afflicted woman in her own dominions. Leila's sympathy was more annoying to Alice than grandma's righteous indignation.

The child did not know what the trouble really was, but she had her own intuitions on the subject; and her eyes were often fixed on her aunt with a mute questioning and wordless sympathy that was very embarrassing. And yet, all things considered, many placed in our heroine's position might have had far greater trials of patience, and far greater antagonisms to endure. She ought to have been more patient and plastic; and, perhaps, she would have been, had not her twofold sorrow rendered her so unhappy. Bankrupt, by the same means in love and in faith, how could she keep the bit erness out of sight, and go on her way, as if she were contented and at ease?

Mrs. Baxendale was among her flowers as Alice went up the carriage walk next day. She

beckoned to her to come to her in the conservatory, and after that they went to the rosary, for the purpose of cutting off dead flowers and leaves. Alice was amazed at such a variety of roses in May. In July and August, Mrs. Baxendale told her, there would be many more, and she described some of the varieties that had been imported from France, and went by French Alice's manner, while careless, was slightly conscious; but the little air of wilfulness that this imparted to her only gave her an additional charm.

names.

"I have done a little in that line," said Alice, and she crimsoned, as she remembered that Mrs. Baxendale had not been the first to charge her with a lack of appreciation for flowers. It seemed natural to her that Mrs. Baxendale should be fond of them; but she wondered at Dr. Blandford's passion. Now she felt all the less inclined to affect them, because the predilection was one that could exist where there was no heart. So she said, "I am not indifferent to them wherever I may see them, Mrs. Baxendale, but I am content to look at them growing or tied together in bouquets. I have never taxed my memory much with their names or been at the pains to classify."

"Take my advice," said the lady, softly; "leave off dabbling with the oppositions of science,' they will only perplex and distress you, and consider the lilies, and the grasses of the field. You will find, like Linnæus, that they have many tongues."

"I know there is a language of flowers, though I have not learned it. I suppose, as I am a woman, I might humbly hope to do better in it than in science, still I hope I may ask questions and reason."

"Yes, if when reason comes to a pause, you will be reverent and willing to walk by faith, and not by sight.' However, my dear, I was recommending flowers as a rest and refreshment for your mind. I was not seeking to make a sermon out of them."

"I know my own deficiencies, Mrs. Baxendale, yet I love the beautiful; only I love best what nature spreads on a large canvas. I am fond of fine effects, and do not care to study details."

"I quite understand," said Mrs. Baxendale, "you are discerning of the salient points of a landscape, and of fine suggestions; but you do not individualise in the natural world as you would in the human. Now, it is my disposition

to analyse. Investigation promises discovery, and at every fresh one I feel a thrill of delight; but my chief joy arises from seeing God in everything." Then that the remark might not seem pointed, she at once turned to other matters. We can afford a little time for the garden, if you will. The boys and Mr. Hamelin have gone for a long walk over the moors, and will not be home yet.

66

Alice knew that they were in the habit of taking long, sweeping walks over the breezy moors, but she did wonder if there was a little intended avoidance in this. If there was, it

might be as much on Mrs. Baxendale's part as on Leigh's.

The fact is, while Mrs. Baxendale regarded the information Mr. Hetherington had given her as confidential, she had not hesitated to speak of it to Leigh. Having an inkling of his sentiments to Miss Hetherington, she thought it right to warn him, lest he should cherish a regard sure to be rewarded only with disappointment. So she had said to him, in her quiet way: "You were right about Miss Hetherington, Leigh; she has had troubles of a peculiar nature, just as you suspected."

Leigh turned so pale that Mrs. Baxendale perceived in a moment his sensitiveness to anything that affected her.

"You mean," he said, questioningly, "that she is in trouble with her friends. Has she been here?"

"No; I did not have it from herself, but from her brother. I daresay she is in some trouble with them, for wherever there are glaring differences of opinion, especially on religion, the domestic horizon is sure to be troubled. Miss Hetherington, it appears, has been under the influences of advanced thought, and has been reading books which were too much for her, since she had no one near her who could help her to resist them-(young people are so pre sumptuous!)-and the consequence is that she has become somewhat Agnostic. Now, although Mr. Hetherington has been slow in finding it out, yet I fancy he has ruled matters with a rather high hand, for he will not allow her to continue the Bible-lessons in the schoolroom. Now, I shouldn't have done that. It will set her nieces talking, and the Bible is so well able to tell its own story that even the perfunctory perusal of it, to which the weekly routine pledged her, might have been of use.

"But I am very glad Mr. Hetherington does know," said Leigh. "He is a good man, and a man full of fine feeling, deeply critical and able exegetically to defend the principles she has abandoned. He will surely take great pains with her. Yes, I am very glad he knows."

"She will not listen to him, and I have advised him to leave her alone for awhile, and give her time to come round."

"I shall be in no haste to try, and should not like to pursue direct methods. There is a still, small voice that will find her out, though she shuts her ears to every other. I have my own impressions of the way in which her perversion has come about, and I feel deeply for her; but whatever the story of it is, God knows, and He will seek her and lead her in His own way.'

"Aunt, I never knew anyone have such confidence as you. If she has wilfully turned away from Him-?"

"It is still sadder. But are not the wilful sheep as well worth seeking and bringing back as the silly ones? We are for ever putting our own pity and tenderness above God's, Leigh, and yet when man begins his work with condemnation, He often begins with comfort, and lets the condemnation be self-inflicted after."

"How?"

Would it

"Oh, in numberless instances ! have been man's way, do you think, to have sent a dream of angels to runaway Jacob? And look at Hagar. Both were very naughty, but they saw the face of love before ever the Hand that held the rod was uplifted to strike."

Leigh looked thoughtful.

"I thought it better to tell you this, Leigh." "Well, to tell the truth, I knew, and I was very sorry; but I wanted her brother to know; and now that he does I am sure it is much better."

"Yes, and we must be as if we knew not. Over-officiousness would have the worst possible effect on such a nature as Miss Hetherington's.' "I believe it would. We can only pray for her."

Two of the three ramblers, at least, brought in hungry appetites for tea. There was much talk of shooting on the moors and bagging snipe and woodcocks next autumn. Now these future sportsmen had been content with spoils of tiny deep red flowers, and a few heather blossoms of a purple hue. Mrs. Hetherington put a jar of her moor honey on the table, as, though moor honey is not the finest, association gave a charm to its wild flavour and made it appreciated.

Mr. Baxendale was there, full of fun and merriment, and inclined for the running of wordy tilts with his young lady visitor; but she could not help noticing how much colour he had, and how very bright his eye was.

I feel as if this room wanted air in it," he said, presently. Yet it was a wide, lofty room, the windows of which had been a long time

open.

Mrs. Baxendale went up to him and gently loosened his necktie and cravat. "You are such a beau," she said; "I believe you wear your things too tight."

After tea they sat in the drawing-room. Paul played on the piano, and Mrs. Baxendale sang some of Mrs. Hemans' songs,-the music to which was composed by the poetess' sister. Then Alice played a little; when-all at once-a sudden heavy thud was heard, a gurgling sound accompanied it, as of some one suffocating, and Mr. Baxendale had fallen down in a dreadful epileptic fit.

The only calm person present was Mrs. Baxendale. Servants rushed in, and Leigh, Paul, and the gardener, tried to reach the struggling man; but she kept them back. "Only put things out of the way," she said, "and give him a wide space. It is all we can do. If he could have had a napkin in his mouth, but it is too late now. We can only wait till it is passed."

In the same calm way she ordered his bed to be got ready, and checked Leigh's eagerness to start off at once for the doctor, until he had assisted in carrying him upstairs. She begged Alice to remove Gerald and Sybil; and Alice, terror stricken, hurried the children away. She took them out of hearing of the frightful convulsion. It seemed an awful time of panic and suspense while she stayed with them; the boy stupefied, and the little girl trembling and crying and asking questions. When she again saw Mrs. Baxendale, she had her things on to go home. She asked to see her, and Mrs. Baxendale came from the chamber where her husband lay-sleeping now, for he was exhausted and gave her her hand.

"I am sorry, my dear, the evening has had such a sorrowful ending.

66

I am sorry for you, Mrs. Baxendale, and Mr. Baxendale, also."

"It is the first attack of the kind."
"How can you be so calm?"

"I have always expected it. It has been in the family. I knew that it must some time come; so my mind has not been unprepared, and, in these dark hours, God does not leave us to ourselves."

Yes, that was the secret of her strength. This was the confidence that underlaid the imperial calm. Leigh Hamelin remarked on it next morning to Alice, as she came to inquire how the patient had passed the night, and how Mrs. Baxendale was.

"Her temperament is so equable," said Alice. "Yes, but it is not all temperament. My aunt is capable of great warmth. I shouldn't like to be in her way if she witnessed oppression, or an act of cruelty to an animal or child. She can show fight, I assure you. But in trouble she never loses her serene front; in vexation her voice never grows querulous and forgets its even flow. It is the abounding grace of God, Miss Hetherington, only, that can make women

like my aunt, after nature has gone half way." The intonation of his words was stern to Alice's too sensitive ear; but, suddenly he said, in a more lively manner, "Why, there she is, looking out of the window, and she beckons us!"

Mrs. Baxendale came down in her garden hat. Her eyes showed that she had not slept, but she was cheerful. She told Alice that Mr. Baxendale was doing very well; and, though the fit was to be taken as a warning, yet the doctor assured her it might be long before he had another. "And I trust it may," she said; "we have been so happy, and the intimation these things give would be a very dismal one, if in this life only we had hope."

"I am afraid I am taking you away from him, Mrs. Baxendale?"

"Oh, no! It is quite time I had the fresh air and got a little of the sunshine into my blood. Then it is all the better for him to miss me for a little while and see me again. The good I get I shall take back to him-don't you see?"

"You should put up that lesson for future use, Miss Hetherington," said Leigh.

The application Alice had made for a situation in Paris prospered better than such applications usually do. Mrs. Gaskoin wrote on behalf of a Parisian lady she had met with at Boulogne, who wanted English spoken in her nursery. All Alice had to teach was her own language; but many of the duties of a bonne were required of her, as well as needlework. Mrs. Gaskoin advised her not to go to Paris on any such terms; but little Alice cared, so long as she got there. She had been bonne as well as governess at Woodbine Cottage; the needlework she would risk, and everything else would right itself in time. She knew the kind

of impression she had been used to create, and did not fear that for long her light would be hid under a bushel. Her plans were all made before she said a word about them; then she went to her brother and told him that she was going to leave them in a fortnight, and that she had accepted a situation as governess in a family at Paris. He knew that she had been receiving letters from Paris, and, therefore, was not taken by surprise; but in her present state of mind the idea of letting her live among strangers in Paris was quite shocking to him.

"You come and tell me, when all is concluded," he said, "with your usual contempt for my opinion; you have not asked one word of advice, or cared whether your going there was agreeable to me or not."

"Independence is not contempt, Charles. Remember that I am now nearly twenty-four. Is a woman never to be out of leading-strings? Paris will be a great change for me, and I need change."

66

Yes, your life is dull here. The country, and such a quiet domesticity as ours wearies you."

"It is true I find no distraction in them for my own thoughts, which are sometimes weary enough."

"And whose children are they you are going to teach? It does not seem right to me that you should educate young children, with the views you hold upon religion."

66

If I wished to impart religious instruction to my pupils, I should not be allowed; they are Roman Catholics."

A look of ineffable sadness settled over his face; but, finding she was determined, he tried to learn what her prospects were in undertaking such an engagement, but was led by her extreme reserve to conclude that they were not very promising.

"Only this might lead to something better." "Yes, you will perfect your French," he said, possibly acquire a little more polish; and the fact that you have been abroad will be a recommendation in England. Only let me hope that you will not do violence to your feelings in remaining there, should the life prove distasteful. I have little to offer you, but my home is yours whenever you may happen to want one; and if I can help you in any way, you must let me know."

At that moment, Alice felt an uneasy consciousness that her brother had been kinder to her than she had been to him; that in trying to protect herself from his interference, she had well deserved that he should accuse her of contempt; so she said, gently, "You are very kind, Charles, but I have troubled you so much already; I must hope to get on as well as I can, and not trouble you any more. It has been our

misfortune to drift very far apart, but you must allow for circumstances. I have not always meant to be what I have seemed to be."

"I know," he said; "I have tried to bear that in mind." And, then, fixing his full, grey eye, solemnly and piercingly upon her, he said, "You have not let me be of the use to you which, with God's help, I might have been; and my great fear is, lest you should remain in the dusk of doubt, and not get the lamp-that wants oil -re-fed and lighted. Yet the night cometh."

The words were enough to frighten Alice away; but she rose with quiet leisureliness, made an indifferent remark or two about leaving the country in the middle of June, when the best time for enjoying it was coming on, and soon after the rest of the family were in full possession of her secret.

66

To grandmama the news came like a great blow. For Alice to go to Paris was, she thought, to complete her ruin. London was bad enough; but Paris!-a girl, with no religion, to breathe the air Voltaire had breathed. "Sit," said grandma, every day in the seat of the scornful; see nothing around her but dress and frivolity and popery, and hear nothing but light words, unmeaning compliments, and sceptical talk. Oh, she would be helplessly sucked down into the abyss, and, perhaps, cry with none to deliver her!"

Mrs. Hetherington did not remember for long seeing such a look on her mother's face. She had been very, very severe with Alice; but it was pitiable to see her with the grey shadow on her brow, crouching on her chair and folding her busy hands together in all the inertia of a great despair. If she could have had her way, Alice would have been locked into her room rather than allowed to take such a step.

Mr. Hetherington spoke soothingly to her. "No, grandma," he said, "it isn't so bad as that. Wherever she goes our prayers will follow her. God is as much at Paris as He is at Ripplethorpe, and His eye is over Alice for her good during all the time of her provocation."

"It's like tempting Providence," said the old lady. "It's a real sin of presumption to send her there."

:

"I neither send her, nor can prevent her," said Mr. Hetherington; "but you must not make such a trouble of it, grandma; it may be for the best, after all. She is a high-souled, pure-hearted girl, with all her faults and how do we know, but the sight of irreligion and what it leads to, may have the effect of opening her eyes afresh to the beauty of holiness, and the charm there is in having the true professors of religion about one's path?"

Grandma could not see it, because she could not appreciate the fragments of good that remained in Alice, after the best of all in her

had died; but she rose again from the storm of feeling, with another burden added to the burden of years and of cares; for is not the burden of souls one which all must carry, who suffer in ever so small a degree with Christ?

Alice received most touching letters from Salome and Jane Vivian, whose sentiments in most matters were little less elastic than their mother's; owing to the way in which impressions-during a shut-up life-grow stereotyped. For some reasons Alice would have liked to have seen them before going so far; but for others, nothing would have induced her to go to Highchester. In the first place, if Dr. Blandford either saw her or heard she had been there, he would flatter himself that she had some hope of meeting with him; and in the next it was in vain to hope for her brother's reticence from Salome or Jane. They would act as if they expected her short visits to them to decide her fate for all eternity. Salome would infallibly make herself ill, and how could she run the gauntlet of reasonings, persuasions, threats and entreaties, which had become to her as so many idle forms of words, and only represented ideas which she had discarded for ever?

Grandma, Mrs. Hetherington, and the sisters, all thought her heartless that she had never gone to Highchester since she came from Bath, though they guessed her reasons; and, no doubt, much of her conduct-not only appeared-but was heartless. We can only plead in excuse for her the absorbing intensity of an opposite set of feelings. "To the mind that waits upon one hour, the others are but slaves." "The moon looks down and sees many streams, but the stream sees only one moon."

For long Alice had seen only one moon. Now she could not forget because a cloud hid its face. She looked persistently at the cloud, and saw nothing else. Alas, poor child! Life is too cruel under these conditions. Had her love been prosperous and happy, then she would have been a different being. She would have pressed the sparkling cup to the lips of all around her, for happiness is ever communicative, and every one would have spoken of her as a bright, happy, and delightful being. But that cloud-the shadow of it-is upon her face, and so all is altered. It cannot well be otherwise.