people call fine children.' In fact, Alick's sensitive tenderness towards his sister's motherless child took the form of avoiding the sight of it, and being ironical when it was discussed; but with Mr. Clare, Rachel was sure of sympathy, ever since the afternoon when he had said how the sounds upstairs reminded him of his own little daughter; and sitting under the yew-tree, he had told Rachel all the long stored-up memories of the little life that had been closed a few days after he had first heard himself called papa by the baby lips. He had described all these events calmly, and not without smiles, and had said how his own blindness had made him feel thankful that he had safely laid his little Una on her mother's bosom under the church's shade; but when Rachel spoke of this conversation to her husband, she learnt that it was the first time that he had ever talked of those buried hopes. He had often spoken of his wife, but though always fond of children, few who had not read little Una's name beneath her mother's cross, knew that he was a childless father. And yet it was beautiful to see the pleasure he took in the touch of Bessie's infant, and how skilfully and tenderly he would hold it, so that Rachel in full faith averred that the little Alexander was never so happy as with him. The chief alarms came from Mrs Comyn Menteith, who used to descend on the Rectory like a whirlwind, when the Colonel had politely expelled her from her father's room at Timber End. Possessed with the idea of Rachel's being very dull at Bishopsworthy, she sedulously enlivened her with melancholy prognostics as to the life, limbs, and senses of the young heir, who would never live, poor little darling, even with the utmost care of herself and her nurse, and it was very perverse of papa and the doctors still to keep him from her--poor little darling--not that it mattered, for he was certain not to thrive, wherever he was, and the Gowanbrae family would end with Uncle Colin and the glassblower's daughter; a disaster on which she met with such condolence from Alick (N. B. the next heir) that Rachel was once reduced to the depths of genuine despair by the conviction that his opinion of his nephew's life was equally desponding; and another time was very angry with him for not defending Ermine's gentility. She had not entirely learnt what Alick's assent might mean.
Once, when Mrs. Menteith had been besetting her father with entreaties for the keys of Lady Keith's private possessions, she was decisively silenced, and the next day these same keys were given to Alick, with a request that his wife would as soon as possible look over and take to herself all that had belonged to his sister, except a few heirloom jewels that must return to Scotland. Alick demurred greatly, but the old man would not brook contradiction, and Rachel was very unwillingly despatched upon the mission on one of Alick's days of prostration at home. His absence was the most consoling part of this sad day's work. Any way it could not be otherwise than piteous to dismantle what had been lately so bright and luxurious, and the contrast of the present state of things with that in which these dainty new wedding presents had been brought together, could not but give many a pang; but beside this, there was a more than ordinary impression of 'vanity of vanities, all is vanity,' very painful to affection that was striving to lose the conviction that it had been a self-indulgent, plausible life. The accumulation of expensive trinkets and small luxuries, was as surprising as perplexing to a person of Rachel's severely simple and practical tastes. It was not only since the marriage; for Bessie had always had at her disposal means rather ample, and had used them not exactly foolishly, but evidently for her own gratification. Everything had some intrinsic worth, and was tasteful or useful, but the multitude was perfectly amazing, and the constant echo in Rachel's ears was, 'he heapeth up riches and cannot tell who shall gather them.' Lord Keith could hardly have found an executrix for his poor young wife, to whom her properties would have done so little harm. Rachel set many aside for the cousins, and for Mrs. Menteith, others she tried to persuade the Colonel to call Gowanbrae belongings, and failing in this, she hoped through Grace, to smuggle some of them into his Gowanbrae; but when all was done, there was a mass of things that Lord Keith never wished to see again, and that seemed to Rachel to consist of more ornaments than she could ever wear, and more knick- knacks than a captain's wife could ever carry about with her.
She was putting aside the various packets of letters and papers to be looked over more at leisure, when the Colonel knocked at the morning- room door, and told her that his brother would like to see her, when her work was done. 'But first,' he said, 'I must ask you to be kind enough to look over some of these papers, and try to find receipts for some of those bills.'
'Here they are,' said Rachel, 'I was going to look them over at home.'
'If you have time to examine them here with me,' said Colonel Keith, gently, 'I think it might save Alick some pain and vexation.'
Rachel was entirely unaware of his meaning, and supposed he only thought of the mere thrilling of the recent wound; but when he sat down and took a long account out of a tradesman's envelope, a chill of dismay came over her, followed by a glow of hope as she recollected a possible explanation: 'Have these wretched tradesmen been sending in bills over again at such a time as this?' she exclaimed.
'I should be very glad to find their receipts,' returned the Colonel.
They opened the most business-like looking bundles, all of them, though neatly kept, really in hopeless confusion. In vain was the search, and notes came forth which rendered it but too plain that there had been a considerable amount of debt even before the marriage, and that she had made partial payments and promises of clearing all off gradually, but that her new expenses were still growing upon her, and the few payments 'on account,' since she had been Lady Keith, by no means tallied with the amount of new purchases and orders. No one had suspected her money matters of being in disorder, and Rachel was very slow to comprehend; her simple, country life had made her utterly unaware of the difficulties and ways and means of a young lady of fashion. Even the direct evidence before her eyes would not at first persuade her that it was not 'all those wicked tradesmen;' she had always heard that fashionable shops were not to be trusted.
'I am afraid,' said Colonel Keith, 'that the whole can scarcely be shifted on the tradesmen. I fear poor Bessie was scarcely free from blame in this matter.'
'Not paying! Going on in debt! Oh she could not have meant it;' said Rachel, still too much astonished to understand. 'Of course one hears of gay, thoughtless people doing such things, but Bessie--who had so much thought and sense. It must be a mistake! Can't you go and speak to the people?'
'It is very sad and painful to make such discoveries,' said Colonel Keith; 'but I am afraid such things are not uncommon in the set she was too much thrown amongst.'
'But she knew so well--she was so superior; and with Alick and her uncle to keep her above them,' said Rachel; 'I cannot think she could have done such things.'
'I could not think, but I see it was so,' said Colonel Keith, gravely. 'As I am obliged to understand these things, she must have greatly exceeded her means, and have used much cleverness and ingenuity in keeping the tradesmen quiet, and preventing all from coming to light.'
'How miserable! I can't fancy living in such a predicament.'
'I am much afraid,' added the Colonel, looking over the papers, 'that it explains the marriage--and then Keith did not allow her as much as she expected.'
'Oh, Colonel Keith, don't!' cried Rachel; 'it is just the one thing where I could not bear to believe Alick. She was so dear and beautiful, and spoke so rightly.'
'To believe Alick!' repeated the Colonel, as Rachel's voice broke down.
'I thought--I ought not to have thought--he was hard upon her--but he knew better,' said Rachel, 'of course he did not know of all this dreadful business!'
'Assuredly not,' said the Colonel, 'that is self-evident, but as you say, I am afraid he did know his poor sister's character better than we did, when he came to warn me against the marriage.'
'Did he? Oh how much it must have cost him.'
'I am afraid I did not make it cost him less. I thought he judged her harshly, and that his illness had made him magnify trifles, but though our interference would have been perfectly useless, he was quite right in his warning. Now that, poor thing, she is no longer here to enchant us with her witcheries, I see that my brother greatly suffered from being kept away from home, and detained in this place, and that she left him far more alone than she ought to have done.'
'Yes, Alick thought so, but she had such good reasons, I am sure she believed them herself.'
'If she had not believed them, she could not have had such perfect sincerity of manner,' said the Colonel; 'she must have persuaded at least one half of herself that she was acting for every one's good except her own.'
'And Mr. Clare, whom Alick always thought she neglected, never felt it. Alick says he was too unselfish to claim attention.'
'I never doubted her for one moment till I came home, on that unhappy day, and found how ill Keith was. I did think then, that considering how much she had seen of Alick while the splinters were working out, she ought to have known better than to talk of sciatica; but she made me quite believe in her extreme anxiety, and that she was only going out because it was necessary for her to take care of you on your first appearance. How bright she looked,
