"There is the difficulty of home bringingup. A perfect education—at least so I take it-should not harden a boy's sensibilities, but teach him his exact relations to society and the world at large." "What do the wisest of us know about education as yet ?" Ralph answered, smiling. "Then, I suppose, if Geoff goes you will carry out your long-cherished scheme of a visit to America, and educate yourself, eh ?" "Yes; I have made up my mind to do that." "I should well like to go with you. Ah, there is the bell. Let us go to Cousin Alice and the tea-cups.” It was one of the numerous Sunday customs of the house, instituted by the master, that the poor deformed girl should preside at the tea-table, no matter how large or distinguished might be the company. Garland, with the instinct of true genius, well understood that feminine fondness for dispensing hospitality imputed by our great poet to Eve in Paradise. Cousin Alice, houseless, homeless, without a clan, without a name, felt herself for the time being mistress of the house, lady of the feast, "cynosure of neighbouring eyes." She would put on her brightest ribbons, her cheerfulest smile for these occasions, and her little thin hands would tremble with delight as she handed a cup of tea to this guest or that, for guests in abundance and variety were always there. Sometimes illustrious writers or artists from the world of London would come on a flying visit, at others poor waifs and strays like herself would pay much longer visits. All noticed her and made much of her. To Cousin Alice these Sunday tea-tables summed up the excellence of human enjoyment, and when Ralph himself took the chair beside her and chatted about the last new book or railed her pleasantly as to the coquetry of her toilette, her happiness knew no bounds. She adored him. What woman could help adoring a man as tender-hearted as women themselves ? The poor hump-backed girl would have been willingly put to a cruel death in order to afford him an hour's comfort. The tea over a meal taken at random, as it should ever be, sometimes in one room, sometimes in another, sometimes early in the evening, sometimes late-the younger children said good night, and the last part of the day's programme was carried out. All the company being seated and silent, Ralph, now conspicuously placed in their midst, produced a volume and began to read. His Sunday readings were as varied as the guests, the meats, the hours of meals, and everything else, in this delightfully irregular household; all seemed improvised on the spur of the moment, where nothing was constant but a pervading atmosphere of sweet charity, contentment and benignant welcome. So, when he leaned forward in his armchair, his shaggy locks overhanging the broad white brow, his large black eyes full of fervour and expectation, no one in the least knew what was coming. It might be a sermon of South or Jeremy Taylor; just as likely it might be a passage from Milton or Herbert. Occasionally it was some author, old or new, of whom even the most instructed part of the audience had never heard. But grave or gay, new or archaic, these readings always delighted beyond measure. The running commentaries of the reader or reciter-for Ralph knew scores of choice passages by heart, both in prose and poetry-might with impunity be interrupted by an intelligent query from the youngest listener in the room. Thus all took a minor part in the performance, although none other ever read or recited on Sunday evenings but himself. It was the head of the house preaching a long sermon to his family, the father moralising to his children, the teacher instructing his pupils, and many a golden lesson did even the wisest and oldest carry away with him. Having closed the book-too often, alas! with a look of pallid, even haggard, weariness, in striking contrast to the glow with which he had opened it-he leaned back in his chair, and beyond exchanging an affectionate good night with all, said no more. The blissful Sunday being thus brought to a close, each heart echoed a sweet and solemn Amen. Guests, children, servants, all went away, exuberating, in scriptural phrase, over a "day of gladness and feasting and a good day." Durham and his young companion turned back more than once in their steep descent to look up at the friendly little house, where lights still shone in every window, where, on week days, a light often shone in one till long past midnight. To-day, however, the pen no longer moved over the page; the broad shadow of the writer was not cast upon the pane; the bread-winner of the helpless, the homeless, the unhappy, rested from his labours. Garland's study was dark. Shine, friendly stars, on that haunt of peace and love and divine pity! Hover, guardian angels, about that unworldly, peace ful dwelling. Shield it, O ministering spirits, from malevolent influences, and bless the home of the guileless for ever! CHAPTER II.-FATED IN A DAY. TUTOR and pupil separated on the threshold, Geoff already full of sleep as a twelvemonth-old baby after feeding-time. Durham, still alert, trimmed his lamp and got out his books, preparing for that choice hour of scholarly delectation, when the noisy part of the world is asleep, and we know that nothing. can disturb us till morning. This time, he reckoned without his host. As he put the lamp in its place his eye lighted on one of those brown missives which find their way to us even on certain hours on Sunday. It was an Australian telegram, to this purport: "From Lady Auriol to Edgar Durham.Pearl Island, February 12, 186-. Break to my boy the tidings of his father's death. I shall return to England as soon as possible. Please have everything ready." The golden glimpse of ineffable tranquillity was gone. Durham sighed after its vanishing wings; then, pushing away his book, he gave his entire attention to the new visitants-dismay, perplexity, and congratulation. He knew well enough that the death so decorously announced must be a breaking up of prison-bars to one, poor prisoner, at least. Such things are. We may bid the undertaker and milliner to do what they can for us; the sable plume, the crape insignia, the ink-bordered paper are bound to tell one story to the world, whilst our hearts sometimes may-God pardon us!-even our faces tell another to Him and our friends. It was in this case no noble ship that had gone down in its pride, rather a battered hull that one kind wave had hidden from sight. Pity, not grief, makes us weep over such graves, and they are many. father equally so? And how would that mother shape his future career? Wisely or unwisely? He had a real fondness for his pupil, and pondered awhile on this new epoch in his existence with some anxiety. He determined to let him sleep on unmolested till the morning. Early next day, when Geoff's blue eyes were gradually opening, and he lay wondering how many minutes of blissful repose still remained to him, Durham opened the door. "Am I late, sir?" Geoff asked, starting up. "I am always twice as sleepy on Monday mornings." "Lie still," Durham said kindly; then sitting down beside him on the bed, he put one arm round his shoulder and with the other held up the brown envelope. "A telegram from mamma?" the boy asked, greatly excited. "Then something has happened." "Yes. There is good news and bad news contained in that telegram, my lad. I will tell you the good first. Your mother is coming to England immediately." "Then papa is coming too?" "Nay; that would be all good news. You know that your father's health has been failing of late. You must have expected to hear rather that he was worse than better." "Why does mamma leave him if he is worse? What is it?" said the boy, with scarlet cheeks, and tears already starting to his blue eyes. "Your father is dead." "And I shall never see him now!" was all that Geoff could say, the artless words going straight to Durham's heart. He consoled him as best he could; he tried to lead him to think of his mother. He would not for worlds have seen him unmoved at the gloomy tidings; but this childish outburst of sobs unmanned him also. The two were now brought nearer together by the quarter of an hour's deep feeling shared in common, than by the long, long years of daily intercourse passed by. Durham, under the circumstances, pondered more on the latter part of the telegram, "I shall return to England as soon as possible." Yes, he thought with some little exultation, "Do not go, sir," said the boy, catching his own prison-bars would soon be broken hold of Durham's long white hand, true also, and he, too, should be like a bird sud-hand of the scholar, as he rose from the bed; denly set at liberty. Geoff's mother once with him, the tutor's own responsibility would end. The charge he had undertaken ten years before was about to be surrendered. In a few months he should be free! Then he thought of the lad, and the effect such tidings would probably have on him. Would joy in the prospect of seeing an unknown mother console him for the loss of a "stay with me a little longer." The other consented, smiling, and after some further close talk, neither quite knew how it was, for the first time in their lives they kissed each other. Both had always been capital friends, and it was hardly possible for tutor and pupil, with such a difference of age between them, to live on pleasanter or more cordial terms. But Durham was not given to any outward show of affection, and Geoff's nature was retiring, almost timid, where his likings were concerned. All of a sudden, he felt himself growing expansive; as if this grave, learned tutor, of whom he had really seen so little, whom he knew so imperfectly, was somebody to be loved. "Come," Durham said at length, "this idling will never do. Had you not better get up? for remember that we have much to think about." "May I do my thinking in bed ?" Geoff asked. The every-day world seemed a confusing place to plunge into just then, and he wanted to lie quite still, pondering on all that had happened. "By all means stay where you are for the present," Durham answered. "I will send up your breakfast as if it were your birthday; and when you have quite done your thinking come down to me." Then he left the boy alone. Geoff did not care much about his breakfast that morning in spite of the luxury of eating it in bed, but preferred to lie quite still with his face turned to the window thinking as hard as he could. The usual exquisite picture that greeted his eyes on such spring mornings was there-dimpling green hills, wind-freshened sea, dancing sunlight, and black-keeled fishing-smacks being dragged down to the water's edge. The rhythmic shouts of the fishermen reached him where he lay, but he did not hear them, busily occupied with his thoughts-the first real thoughts, perhaps, of that heedless young life. nor and his wife held their state; but nothing was clear or definite. Between the boy and his future, however bright his fancy might picture it, stood a dread barrier he must first overpass; in other words, education. It was an understood thing that his education was to be as perfect as schools, tutors, and universities could make it before he should enter upon any career, and to Geoff the long interval had hitherto seemed interminable. Now all was changed. His mother's arrival in England meant home, freedom, loveeverything the blissful future of his dreams was to have given him. And what would that mother be like? Geoff had no more romance about him than most English schoolboys of fifteen. He delighted in the Waverley Novels, and in prattling about umbrellas, or playing chess with Georgie Garland, but there all sentiment began and ended. His ideal of the happiness suddenly floating towards him from those far-off seas would perhaps look a little earthy if put down on paper. The dream-mother who busied his imagina tion so long, filling his blue eyes with newly discovered joy, was most likely an angel of earthly, not divine, pattern. But with all the goodness and loveliness he knew of he clothed her, and no more could be expected of him. When, a couple of hours later, Durham, wondering what had become of the boy, went up-stairs to see, he found him fast asleep, his face slightly turned from the brilliant sunshine, his mouth parted, as if in pleasant dreams, every sign of sadness and tears vanished. The sleeping countenance of a three-years' old child clutching a new toy in his tiny fingers could not have been more ineffably serene. "Let him sleep," thought Durham, closing the door almost with a sigh of envy. Who in the middle of life, indeed, can help envying, if not the child's carelessness, the child's repose? When youth is past we still sleep on, but rest we no more. It seemed to him that nothing so sad could happen as the loss of a father, although no ideal portrait of his own had ever been put before him. Kindness in various shapes messages, but seldom letters; presents past counting, and occasionally dry pieces of paternal advice-had reached him from his earliest years by every Australian mail. This was all! That unknown parent-an invalid mentally and bodily for the last dozen years -had ever been a mystery to him; he had wondered a hundred times before what he was like, and had imagined that their life together, whenever it came, must be satisfying and delightful in the extreme, although upon what plan he only entertained the vaguest notions. Sometimes his parents' final return to Europe would be talked of, at others hints would be thrown out of Geoff's own journey to their far-off, "Will mamma live here, sir-in your almost fabulous home in the Mid Pacific-house ?" he asked, wondering at the abruptregion of coral reefs, palm groves, pearly grot- ness with which his question was answered. toes, and surely mermaids! where the Gover- "You are dreaming, my lad," Durham said The mid-day dinner brought Geoff downstairs, looking very grave for a quarter of an hour, whilst the subject of black clothes was gone into-beaming with animation as soon as Durham mooted the necessary preparations for his mother's arrival. The boy could hardly feel real grief for the loss of a father he had never seen. impatiently. "You forget that I am a poor man, and your mother is rich. She will want a big house, a carriage to drive in, plenty of servants. Besides, were it otherwise, I could not offer her hospitality." "Could you not?" Geoff continued with the utmost simplicity. "I am sorry for it. I thought how nice it would be to have mamma with us. She could have my room, and I could sleep in the attic, and every Sunday we should spend with the Garlands, of course. Mamma must like that———————” "You are dreaming!" repeated Durham. "Reflect for a moment; you must see that it cannot be." It was an understood thing that whenever Geoff's objections appeared foolish or vague, he might urge them again after a few minutes' reflection. He coloured, but without replying immediately pondered on his tutor's words. He could not see what should hinder that little plan from being carried out. The more he thought it out, the more attractive it be came. "No; I have been trying to see why it should not be, sir," he now began again, "but if mamma consents I can think of no objection. What nice evenings we should have! Mamma and I could play chess while you read the newspaper; and you would, perhaps, have the piano tuned "Geoff," Durham interrupted, partly amused, "you are joking. What we have to do now is, to find a house suited to your mother's requirements. First of all, we will dispatch our telegram, then go to the tailor's, and the rest of the afternoon must be devoted to house-hunting. There is not a moment to lose." The exploring expedition had a pleasing sound to Geoff's ears, for their round might probably lead to the eagle's nest on the cliff, and he was longing to tell Georgie everything that had happened since yesterday. As school was not mentioned, he thought it more prudent not to moot that disagreeable | topic; most likely an excuse had been sent for him, and, anyhow, that was not his affair. It was not often that Geoff got a walk with Durham now, his entire days being spent at the grammar school, and the rarity of such intercourse and. of their errand made this especial one seem a privilege. The boy tried to keep silence, for he knew that his tutor did not relish a too-talkative companion, but, for the life of him, one thought after another would find utterance then. Had Mr. Durham seen his mother? Had he any idea of what she was really like? She would be something like the portrait of Mrs. Garland, perhaps? and so on, all these questions being answered briefly and in the negative. Having accomplished their business in the town they turned inland, climbing always, and began their search. It never once occurred to Durham that a queen straight from fairy islands in mid-ocean would imprison herself in one of those dreariest of modern inventions, a house in a row. She would want flowers, space, atmosphere, he said to himself, and, without a second thought, quitted the garish, bewildering, gay world of the Marina, and set out for the airier, fresher region above, the undulating green hills. smiling down upon the azure, a Paradise on the borders of Vanity Fair. He knew well enough that in wooded ways and sheltered hollows behind those hills many a noble dwelling-house still remained of the good old time-the time when architects, masons, builders, and carpenters were not too hurried to do their work as well as it could be done. Scattered here and there were multitudes of newly constructed terraces and streets, but upon so small and ephemeral a scale that it seemed, indeed, as if a feebler race than that of human beings was to inhabit them. Could strong men trust their weight to such floors? Could those transparent walls keep out rain and frost? Could any but a race of Tom Thumbs find breathing space in such tiny chambers? The whole thing seemed a mockery, but it was meant in dreary earnest. At last, after making a round of several hours' duration, flanking both the old and new towns by the way, they descended a little, now, for the first time, losing sight of the sea. Following a coach-road bordered with lofty elms, they at last came upon one venerable mansion after another, each standing high and set far back in its well-walled garden, yet showing an hospitable front to the passers-by. Three or four of these stately dwellings of the olden time were here clustered together, as if out of sympathy with each other; and beautifully did the rich, mellow reds and deep, soft greys of their time-honoured walls harmonize with the antique trees growing round about. Before one of these, neither a magnificent nor a particularly picturesque bit of architecture, simply a fine, liberally-proportioned, characteristic English house of two centuries ago, with a vast garden at the back sloping upwards, Durham stopped triumphantly. A white board, bearing the inscription "To let" in conspicuous letters, was placed above the garden wall. "Well," he said, looking down with some amazement at the boy's face; "well!" "Shall we live in such a home as this?" asked Geoff, almost breathless, and with his blue eyes wide open. "And why not?" "You seem to forget that your mother is rich," Durham said, quietly unlatching the gate. "We can anyhow see what there is to be seen, for I have not been inside this beautiful old house for years." It was certainly beyond what Geoff's ingenuous mind had figured it, yet only magnificent by comparison with their own modest abode. The portly entrance door swung back softly, and Geoff, treading on tip-toe, followed Durham and the housekeeper. What the brow is to the human face, is the staircase to an interior; this being poor and narrow, nothing can lend dignity to the whole. A noble staircase indicates so many handsome things-suggests so many agreeable possibilities. We know by the breadth of it whether guests frequently go up and down, and of what manner they are. Stately visions flash before us as we ascend; we all but see the doors of the banquetinghall open wide, the gold and crystal table-service glitter, velvety peaches glow; we fancy we hear the silvery laughter of the ladies-the clear, epigrammatic speech of the men. They first saw the library, which was shut off from the hall by a passage; a long, cool, lofty alroom, lighted, as any library should be, by windows on one side only, these looking on to a blind alley of the garden, disturbed at rare intervals by the gentle grinding of the gardener's wheelbarrow. A monastic Scriptorium could hardly convey an idea of deeper, more learned repose than this library of an English gentleman formed in the reading days of Queen Anne, shelves of darkstained oak and mellowed calf bindings being as restful to the eye as was the perfect stillness to the mind. They were next shown the billiard-room, which impressed Geoff's young mind perhaps more than anything in the house, although every part seemed to him . little short of princely. The spacious dining-room, with its high-backed chairs in brown leather stamped with a gold crest; the morning-room, light, gaysome, airy, suggesting cheerfulness and play only; the really superb drawing-room, many-windowed, many-alcoved, richly dight in the imposing furniture of by-gone days, It "A duke's daughter used to live here! is a very grand place indeed. There is stabling for I do not know how many horses," the boy gasped out. |