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A South-Sea Siren

Chapter XXIV

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Chapter XXIV

Sunnydowns was quiescent. There was a very little going on to occupy public attention, and the most unfortunate thing was that some people could not find in other people's business enough to prattle about. There was positively a dearth of scandal. The absence of the Wyldes had dried up for the time being, the one perennial source of defamatory gossip, which before had never failed.

Mr Percival Prowler—another good mark for detraction—was not in view. He had retired to his ‘shooting box’, so it was said, there to hatch fresh schemes of depredation on his ‘cockatoo’ neighbours, and to prey upon the unwary.

The story that Mr Perverse, the lawyer, had been obliged to flee from the house of an intimate client in the dead of the night, and leaving a portion of his clothing behind him, and that he would soon be called upon to defend an action on his own account—that excellent story had not only been authoritatively contradicted, but the disseminators of the libel had been threatened with the direst vengeance, according to law.

It was also clearly disproved that honest old McDonald had taken to beat his younng wife out of jealousy, and that she was suing for a judicial separation, for the two were frequently seen together, rather to the public disappointment, on the most cordial terms.

Mrs Seagul, having quarrelled desperately with the police magistrate, the doctor, the parson, and the lawyer, was holding herself proudly aloof, and declined to take any part in the usual monthly entertainments, and these pleasant reunions had miserably collapsed in consequence.

Major Dearie had been summoned to headquarters, to a staff appointment, and the local volunteer company having thus lost its head, soon lost its body also; it dwindled away, and had to be disbanded.

The Rev. Mr Tupper had threatened to abandon his cure and to shut up the church, unless subscriptions were immediately forthcoming, and this occasioned much anxious concern among the small body of the faithful, who for the greater part were very impecunious.

Finally, the elections were over, and there was no longer any matter of public excitement; there was not even a laugh to be had, for poor page 264 Tippings, the district jester, had been laid up with jaundice, and had not been delivered of a joke for over a month.

There remained but one topic of conversation; a never failing one, it is true, but somewhat hackneyed and monotonous. It was the topic of the natural increase of the population, which—notwithstanding the bad times, and the almost universal curtailment of household expenditure necessitated—never showed any sign of abatement. This was considered a matter for public congratulation, but whether it always was so for the parties most intimately concerned, was more open to doubt.

However that might be, Sunnydowns had during the past month collectively rejoiced in the glad tidings that the wife of Mr Brown had presented her lord with twins; that Mr Jones had been, or ought to have been, delighted beyond measure at the safe arrival of a bouncing boy; that the Robinsons had the extreme felicity of adding to their splendid family of eight sons a long-wished-for daughter. It was also remarked that while Mr Smith was closing the door of the Bank to the public, he was admitting through a side entrance a monthly nurse into the family circle. It was also satisfactory to know that Mrs White was as well as could be expected; and that Mrs Black, who lived just opposite, was in hourly expectation.

There was quite a baby epidemic. Even the old Scotch parson on his last periodical visit, when preaching on the cheerful doctrine of Predestination, in the Woolshed by the Royal Mail Hotel, had informed his limited congregation, while sending round the plate, that the Lord had blessed him with another increase to his numerous family, and that they would in future, with the Lord's blessing, sit down fifteen to their porridge—a timely hint which, no doubt, had a marked effect on the contributions.

All these circumstances were duly noted and commented upon in the little township, but without enthusiasm, and the bored inhabitants were ardently longing for some new diversion. It came at last, and from a most unexpected quarter.

The event which caused a new flutter of excitement was the arrival of an important personage in the locality—the Honourable Gerald Brindsley, a prominent politician and member of the Government, a noted ‘swell’, and a wealthy man into the bargain.

Mr Brindsley was an old friend of the Seymours, and during the recess he was taking a well-earned holiday, and had come to spend a few days at their hospitable house.

Mr Brindsley was a fine type of man, and one especially appreciated page 265 in the colonies, where enterprise and energy make generally much better headway than mere intellectual qualifications.

He was a good-looking fellow, tall, broad-shouldered, ruddy complexioned, healthy and hearty—a thorough country gentleman. He rode well, played cricket, was a keen sportsman and a crack shot, was something of a bon-vivant, and could tell a capital after-dinner story. He always looked well-dressed, even in ‘bush’ costume, was highly respectable, and a regular attendant at church. He belonged to a good English family, had been to Eton, then taken his degree at Oxford; had travelled on the Continent, married an heiress, and afterwards emigrated to New Zealand, where he had done well as a sheep-farmer and secured a splendid property; had been elected to the Colonial Parliament, and had finally become, while still in his prime, a pillar of the State. He appeared to bear the burden very comfortably. In politics he was a conservative, and a staunch defender of the rights of property, but quite capable of going, as far as it suited him, with the democratic movement. Personally he was liked and trusted, for he had a frank and jolly way about him which pleased the populace, even when his policy was least acceptable; he had fair average capabilities for business, and could even be diplomatic when the occasion required it, and he could make a telling speech. He had, therefore, every qualification for a colonial statesman, and being, moreover, considered an honest man, he was looked upon as a very safe guide for the destinies of a young nation.

Mr Brindsley was a widower. He had married young, and had made what the world looks upon as a good match, for he had married money. In other respects the union had not been a remarkably happy one. For the lady belonged to a very artificial type. She could not live out of London society, and all her attention was devoted to the care of an exquisite complexion. She was, therefore, in no respects a suitable companion for a sturdy energetic man, who loved outdoor exercise, and was intent on carving out for himself a successful career in a young colony. So it came to pass that they had soon agreed to an amicable separation, which allowed of their both following their own inclinations. Mr Brindsley had remained most of his time in New Zealand extending his sheep-farming operations, while his wife, who was always in delicate health, tasted all the delights of fashionable life in the old country. Occasionally they would meet, but soon to part again. One son only had been born of the marriage, and he was at this time a student at college in England.

Mrs Brindsley had died rather suddenly from a chill caught by rashly exposing herself, much against the doctor's orders, at some page 266 fashionable assembly, and thus she had fallen an early victim to the only passion of her life.

Her husband had been inconsolable for two years, after which interval he had overcome the sorrow of his heart, and removed the crape from his hat, and had once more thrown himself with considerable zest into the pastimes and pleasures of his existence. Indeed it was the popular idea that he was not at all disinclined to seek for another and more suitable mate. As he was still young, good-looking, and well off, it need hardly be remarked that he had not far to seek for plenty of eligible partners only too willing to share his lot. As a matter of fact, he was considered a most desirable parti, and was much run after in consequence.

Now the Honourable Gerald was not of a retiring disposition, neither was he a particularly modest man; he fully appreciated his own advantages, and he was fully cognisant of the flutter of excitement that he was causing in society, nor was he in any way indifferent to these flattering female attentions. But he had also seen much of the world; he had become somewhat wary and cynical, and although such a good catch, he was not easily to be caught.

With the Seymours he felt quite at home; he had known them intimately for many years, was very partial to the daughter of the house, while for her father he cherished the highest regard.

Indeed, it was partly with the view of inducing his old friend to accept a seat in the Upper House, and to lend support to the Ministry, that he had made his present visit to Glenmoor. But Mr Seymour, although not positively refusing, was disinclined at his time of life to forsake his pleasant retirement, and to enter the arena of colonial politics. He wavered and asked for further time for consideration.

Mr Brindsley, on his part, was only too willing to wait, and to prolong his visit for a few weeks; he was glad also of the opportunity afforded of making himself well acquainted with the district, and of recruiting some political support there. Thus he managed to combine a little business with pleasure. He went the rounds of the neighbourhood in the company of his obliging host, and was introduced to all the principal residents; he attended a public meeting at Sunnydowns and delivered a forcible address on the government policy, which was widely reported and very well received; he laid the foundation stone of the new post office, and in a general way he managed to make himself popular in the district.

Every effort was made to render his stay agreeable; riding parties were frequently organised, he was ceremoniously conducted to the top of Mount Pleasance, he was provided with some excellent duck shoot- page 267 ing up the river, and a grand picnic was given in his honour. Mr Brindsley made a very hearty response to all these friendly attentions, and expressed himself on all occasions as quite delighted with his visit.

It soon, however, got bruited about that the real attraction which held the great man to the place was not altogether the unrivalled claims of Sunnydowns, its unsurpassed healthiness as a resort, its lovely scenery, or even the hospitable reception afforded by its inhabitants; but that it arose from another and more tender cause, and was all centred in the charming young lady who did the honours of her father's house.

All eyes were at once turned upon Miss Seymour, and upon her supposed admirer. The two were often to be seen together in their rides over the downs, at pleasure parties, and especially at the more formal receptions. It was remarked that apart from the politeness which the occasion demanded the distinguished guest was extremely attentive to the young lady, that he showed a marked preference for her society above all others, and clung tenaciously to her side wherever she went.

This was more than sufficient to set all Sunnydowns talking. By general accord it was decided that the Hon. Gerald Brindsley had been quite smitten, that the young lady fully responded, that the esteemed father was highly delighted at the prospect of attaining so desirable a son-in-law, and that all went merrily as a marriage bell.

The next report, which was widely circulated, confirmed the first surmise. It was then positively declared that a proposal had been made and accepted, and that all was settled. Nothing was then wanting to make everybody happy but the formal announcement, and this was eagerly looked forward to, for the residents to pour in congratulations from every quarter.

The news was very popular. Miss Seymour was personally much liked and the family highly respected. It was felt also that the choice of the Minister of the Crown did honour to the district. It was ardently hoped that the great man might be induced to reside there, and to give the struggling little settlement the benefit of his patronage and large fortune.

Moreover, every one expected that the forthcoming wedding would be quite a grand affair, and would bring Sunnydowns into more prominent notice.

A little excitement, too, was so badly wanted in those dull times.

No commiseration was expressed for the former suitor, and poor Mr Richard Raleigh was by common consent relegated to deserved page 268 obscurity. It was then discovered that he had never been really engaged to Miss Seymour, but was, at best, but a sort of interloper, who had no money or standing in society, and who had evidently taken advantage of his intimacy with the family to make surreptitious love to the daughter of the house, who was much too good for him.

It was affirmed also, on the best authority, that Captain Fitzroy and the other connections of the family, had expressed the strongest opposition to the first reported engagement, and that Mr Seymour had given it his emphatic veto. It was also currently related in the district that considerable pressure had to be brought to bear on the young lady to induce her to give up the foolish attachment.

Gossip alleged that she had proved very obstinate in the first instance, and that as a last resource it had been found necessary to divulge to her Raleigh's alleged intrigue with Mrs Wylde, and the scandal that was likely to arise from it. That Miss Seymour had insisted upon proofs, and that well-disposed committee of ladies had readily obtained these, and had convinced her of the utter unworthiness of her former ‘intended’. That she had, moreover, been authoritatively informed that the abandoned young man would shortly have to appear publicly as a co-respondent in a threatened divorce suit. That this last piece of intelligence had settled the matter, and had induced her to formally dismiss him. That the opportune arrival of the Hon. Gerald Brindsley on the scene had brought a happy termination to this otherwise unfortunate affair, as, of course, no young lady in her senses could be supposed to hesitate for a moment between a wealthy and aristocratic suitor—a minister of the Crown—and a poor insignificant clerk of a District Court, with a tarnished reputation to boot.

Yet, after all this, it was a matter of some surprise to the public of Sunnydowns, to learn that Mr Richard Raleigh continued to visit at Glenmoor very much as before, that he even had the assurance to show himself at public entertainments in the presence of his successful and eminent rival, and that Miss Seymour had openly addressed him as ‘Cousin Richard’ and spoken of him as her dearest friend.

Some people had pretended to be scandalised at this, and had blamed the Seymours in the matter; but, on the other side, it had been pointed out that there might have been good reasons for this tolerance, and that it might not have been considered advisable to occasion a scandal by any appearance of a sudden rupture with an old friend.

The expected formal announcement did not take place previous to the departure of Mr Brindsley, who left for the southern tour in due course, and apparently in the best of good spirits. He had prolonged page 269 his stay at Glenmoor for a whole month, and he promised to call there again on his way back to the seat of government.

His final leavetaking at Sunnydowns partook something of the character of a public demonstration, but it was noticed that Miss Seymour was not present at the gathering, and her absence was readily accounted for through the intimate relationship which was supposed to have sprung up between the two.

* * * * *

For once the public of Sunnydowns was not altogether wrong in its surmises. As a matter of fact, the Hon. G. Brindsley had been very much smitten with the charming daughter of his host. His partiality for her had indeed been very marked, and in his own mind he had come to a conclusion that the young lady was in every respect well suited to make him an excellent wife.

He did not want a giddy or fashionable belle, neither was he looking for an heiress. He had no desire to make an aristocratic union. Miss Seymour was no longer in the first flush of youth, she was verging on thirty, but then he himself was in early middle life, and he did not believe in too great a disparity in years.

But probably her strongest claim to his esteem arose from the fact that she was such a marked contrast to his former wife.

The late Mrs Brindsley had been a tender and fragile plant of hot-house growth, from her earliest years inured to luxury; pampered, frivolous, and artificial to the core—a social butterfly; a dainty little creature, indeed, but only suitable for show, and only in love with herself. Alice Seymour was in every respect the reverse—healthy and hearty, demure, earnest, practical, and yet redolent of good spirits; a worthy helpmeet for any man, and fit for any position; devoted to duty and entirely unselfish.

He had also been charmed at the manner in which she managed her father's house, and dispensed hospitality.

Yet the visitor had not declared his love. He had not been backward in his attentions, but he had hesitated at a formal declaration, until he felt more sure of her sentiments in return.

Alice, on her part, while extremely cordial in her manner and appreciative of his gallantry, had not afforded any encouragement to his suit. She had been as frank and as jolly as usual, but not sentimental.

But if Mr Brindsley had not actually proposed, he had adopted some preliminary and diplomatic steps in the matter, and had sounded the head of the family. He had opened his heart pretty clearly to his page 270 old friend Mr Seymour, who had expressed himself greatly pleased at the prospect, and had promised to break the matter discreetly to his daughter. At the same time, Mr Seymour had declared that the disposal of Alice's hand rested entirely with herself, and that he could not presume to dictate to her feeling in the least, or to influence her choice.

The opportunity was soon forthcoming, and hardly had the distinguished guest left the house, after much affectionate leavetaking, and the promise of an early return, than the elated father called his daughter to his side, and began in his humourous way to cross-examine her on the tender subject of her heart. He complimented her on gaily having made so grand a conquest.

Alice, noways abashed, replied in a similar strain, and tried to make light of the little episode. She expressed herself as quite ‘gone’ on the Honourable Gerald—quite fascinated, in fact—although she admitted to have stood rather in awe of him.

She admired so much, she said, his noble carriage, although it was rather too stately for her humble condition. She called him dignified, polished, superb—unfortunately much too grand for her. She was sure that nothing could surpass his courtly bow, and especially that graceful swing of the hat, which she had never seen equalled off the stage.

This set her laughing, and she made a funny attempt to imitate this profound bow with her father's beaver. Then she rattled on that the ‘Honourable Gerald’ was not quite her beau ideal notwithstanding all his excellent points. The man her fancy painted must be romantic; he must wear moustachios and not ‘mutton-chop whiskers’; he must have curly locks, languishing eyes; he must be sentimental—very sentimental.

‘You know, papa dear,’ she exclaimed merrily, ‘that nothing but contrasts rightly agree. The man of my dreams is as much unlike myself as possible. I am rather undemonstrative; he must be positively gushing. I am steady-going and practical; he must be a poet—an enthusiast; he may live in the clouds, mustn't come too near the earth. I am short, he must be taller, but not too tall; now, I barely reach to the collar of the Honourable Gerald, and looking up to him to such a height both hurts my neck and my sense of dignity. He is a grave statesman, an important personage, a perfect gentleman of the old school. Oh! that courtly bow! But you see, papa dear, my ideal is quite different, something you can hug and nestle up to. A dear, good sort of nice-looking fellow; a bit flighty even, and full of romance, page 271 and then sentimental. Oh, so very sentimental! I should want lots of kisses in store for me.’

Her father listened complacently to his daughter's lively prattle, while patting her cheek and playing with her tangled hair.

He reclined comfortably in a wicker lounge chair, under the cool shade of the broad verandah, smoking a long pipe and with his usual benevolent expression, and a far-off look in his eyes. Alice had gathered herself together on a low camp-stool by his side, with her head resting on his shoulder, and occasionally peering up laughingly into his face.

‘My dearest child,’ he remarked, after a pause, in his dreamy way, ‘you must really be a little more subdued, for this is a serious affair. You must have surely noticed how very earnest and devoted Mr Brindsley was in his attentions to you. There, my pet, don't begin again—it is no laughing matter with him. In fact, I may tell you at once that he considers his happiness at stake. He is an humble suitor for your hand.’

‘Oh, father!’

‘It is quite true, Alice; our excellent friend is only waiting to ascertain your feelings towards him before making you an offer of marriage.’

‘Did he commission you to tell me this?’

‘Well, not in so many words, but he made it clearly understood; and, Alice dear, in all seriousness, I know of no one in the world who I would sooner call my son-in-law.’

And the genial old gentleman, finding that Alice remained silent, gave full vent to his tongue, and grew quite eloquent in praise for his worthy protégé, and descanted with much warmth on the prospects of such an eligible union.

His daughter, however, did not appear in any way to share his enthusiasm; she continued silent and pensive, and with a look of almost blank dismay on her expressive features.

‘Well, my dear,’ he said at last, rather nervously, and taking her hand affectionately in his, ‘have you nothing to say?’

‘I am glad, father,’ she replied very quietly, ‘that Mr Brindsley should have made this declaration to you, as it has spared me the pain and confusion of having to … refuse him.’

‘Refuse him? Why, Alice, don't you like him then?’

‘I like him extremely.’

‘But then, why should you object? Surely, my dear child—’

‘I object to matrimony,’ she answered, in her demure and curt way.

‘You don't want to abandon your old father.’

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He looked down tenderly into her sweet, earnest face that was upturned towards him, and the tears gathered in his eyes as he pressed her yielding form gently against him.

‘I don't, and what's more, I won't,’ she blurted forth, with a sob in her voice.

‘Now, my pet, you must patiently listen to me for a few moments, for I have something to tell you. You have sacrificed yourself long enough for your old father——’ She made an imploring gesture to him to stop, but he caught her hand in his, and held it firmly. ‘You must hear me out, Alice. I will not consent that your young life be marred by this spirit of self-abnegation on your part, this absolute devotion to me. No, my child, it must not be; it is not right, neither is it required, for there is no necessity that we should part. I must let you into a little secret. If you should go with Mr Brindsley to the North Island, to reside at the seat of government, I should go too. I had thought to have cut work for the rest of my days, and looked forward to a life of ease and retirement. I am rather old, perhaps, to put myself into harness again, and yet I don't know, I feel quite equal to the task, and believe there is an opening for me. Brindsley has hinted that, if only I would accept a nomination for the Upper House, and support his party, the Attorney-Generalship would be offered me. It will need an effort. It is a plunge into “a sea of troubles”, after the happy tranquil existence we have been living here, but I daresay I shall be all the better for it.’

‘We are so happy as we are,’ murmured Alice.

‘Yes, child, supremely so, but you don't know all. I have hesitated at imparting to you some of the financial difficulties which have, of late, caused me much anxiety. The prevailing depression has affected us more seriously than you can imagine. The value of all property has gone down, nothing is saleable; there has been hardly any return from the estate, and I find myself considerably involved. At times the prospects look gloomy enough.’

‘But we have Glenrmoor, father?’

‘We might have to part with it. I fear that, with my usual improvidence, I have overlooked the paying part of the business. I have given myself too much of that charming hobby of mine—my paradise of a garden, while leaving the sheep and the cattle to take care of themselves. I fear that I was never cut out for money-making, I have no eye to business. At present the place is overstocked, and there is no market for the produce. And then the Bank worrying me to reduce my overdraft. The old, old story!’ He shook his head rather dolefully.

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‘Never mind, father dear!’ exclaimed Alice, pressing closer to him. ‘We shall weather the storm as others do, and, even if the worst happens, we shall always have something to fall back upon—bread and butter is assured us. What does it matter, after all, so that we can enjoy good health and can remain happily together, and do a little good, perhaps, in our small way, to those around us. As for me, I should be easily contented. I attach very little importance to all these so-called luxuries, and none whatever to mere appearances.’

‘That is quite true, my child, but the world does——’

‘And who cares for the world?’ She gaily snapped her fingers. ‘Just as much as the world cares for us! There will always be plenty of people around us much worse off than we shall be, and we shall never lack friends—among the poor.’

‘Alice, you carry this spirit of sacrifice, and the self-abnegation principle too far. But if you have no thought for yourself, no care for your position in the world, and your future prospects, it is all the more reason why I, your father, should study your interests. Now, if you were only once well married and provided for——’

‘Father?’ she interrupted hastily, ‘if by that you mean married to a rich man who could afford to keep me in grand style, then you may just as well give up the idea, for I have not the slightest intention of doing anything of the sort.’

‘Alice, how impetuous you are! I should not wish to force your inclinations in any way, nor would I have you act against the dictates of your heart; but Mr Brindsley is a man in every respect worthy, he is sincerely attached to you, and he is deserving of your highest esteem.’

‘He has my esteem, father dear, but I will never consent to be his wife. Pray don't allude to the subject any more, for it pains me. Mr Brindsley is your friend, and, for my part, I have sincere regard for him; but I do not love him, and without love—true, heartfelt, all-absorbing, and all-inspiring love, the very idea of marriage is to me utterly repugnant. A manage de convenance has always seemed to me a sacrilege. I should abhor myself for entertaining the notion of such a thing.’

‘Is there nothing then in friendship, mutual esteem, congeniality of disposition; … there's your sister, who made an excellent match——’

‘Oh, father! Do not mention her. My poor, sweet, darling May; she is most unhappy. Would to God that she had never seen him!’

‘Unhappy? My darling child unhappy!’ exclaimed Mr Seymour, with a perturbed look, as he sat bolt upright in his chair. ‘No, it cannot be! She has been ill, Alice, through that unfortunate mishap.

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At present, she is in delicate health, and depressed in mind perhaps, but not unhappy, surely. They may not be quite as united as they should be; there may have been some little jars and differences between them, some incompatibility of temper at the start, some neglect on his part, some disillusion on hers. That often happens at the outset of married life. But they will get over all that. There is no reason why they should not be thoroughly happy together. He is a fine fellow, handsome, manly, and generally popular. A bit vain perhaps, and rather spoilt by the attentions women are always lavishing upon him, but good at heart and very proud of Mary. She has a beautiful home, complete with every luxury, lots of friends, an excellent position in society—everything she can want. Why on earth should my darling child be unhappy? What could make you think such a thing, Alice?’

Alice did not reply. She hung her head to avoid his searching gaze, for her eyes were filled with tears. The very thought of her sister's marriage made her intensely miserable, for she knew a great deal more on that topic than she cared to communicate to her father. He had purposely been kept in the dark, and still fondly nursed the illusion that all would be well with his youngest daughter. But Alice was better informed; she had quite lately returned from a visit to her sister, to whom she was devotedly attached, and she was profoundly impressed with the most melancholy misgivings. She had found the young bride, who scarcely a twelvemonth before had been the picture of health and sprightliness, so sweet, so bright, and fair, already sadly altered, afflicted in body and mind, her bloom faded, and pining, pale, and careworn, in a cheerless home.

There were also unfortunately some circumstances connected with this sudden and deplorable alteration in her sister's health, which Alice could not bear to think about, and which roused a fiery indignation in her breast. Towards Captain De Courcy Fitzroy she expressed anything but favourable sentiments; she could, indeed, hardly trust herself to speak of him. That good-looking athletic but rather inane young man was popular among a certain class of people and very much run after by the women, but he had not turned out a model husband. He was probably neither better nor worse than he had previously been, but then such bright hopes had been cherished of his reformation in the estate of holy matrimony. These had not been in any respect realised. He was the same vain, empty-headed, self-indulgent, and sensually inclined sort of person that he had always shown himself, especially since he had been pampered, and indulged in all his vices by prosperity. But he carried it all off under page 275 a well-bred air and affable manner and the semblance of jollity. During the first few months of his marriage he had made a bid for high respectability, and acted the part of the reformed gallant very fairly. He had been quite demonstrative in his attentions to his fair young bride, and was gratified to notice the admiration she received. But he had soon got tired of the rigid proprieties, and had fallen back into his old ways, and frequented his old bad resorts, while showing himself jealous, moody, and tyrannical in his own home. The two had already drifted far asunder, and to Alice's earnest and pureminded way of thinking the breach was irreparable. But she only grieved over her dear sister's unhappiness, and said nothing.

Mr Seymour saw plainly that the turn which the conversation had taken was unfavourable, and that the moment was inopportune for any further discourse on the subject he had most at heart. Besides, he well knew that his daughter, when she had once made up her mind on a matter touching her most sacred convictions, was not likely to alter it in a hurry. In his heart he admired her singleness of purpose, her pure ideal in life, and her disinterestedness of character, and although he had felt a shock of disappointment at the unexpected eclipse of a seemingly delightful prospect, yet he repressed any exhibition of annoyance, and, hending over her crouching form, he kissed her affectionately, and with a ‘God bless you, my dear,’ he went away.

Left to herself Alice rose hastily, and ran off to her room, where throwing herself on the bed, and hiding her tearful face amidst the pillows, she found the usual relief in a good cry.