of the sea; and if one look unto the land, behold darkness and sorrow, and the light is darkened in the heavens thereof.' Every effort at prayer or at calm recall of old thoughts still ended in that desolate verse. The first relief to these miserable dreams was the cool clear morning light, and by-and-by the early cathedral bells, then Grace's kind greeting made her quite herself; no longer feverish, but full of lassitude and depression. She would not listen to Grace's entreaties that she would remain in bed. No place was so hateful to her,' she said, and she came down apparently not more unwell than had been the case for many days past, so that after breakfast her mother saw no reason against leaving her on the sofa, while going out to perform some commissions in the town, attended, of course, by Grace. Miss Wellwood promised that she should not be disturbed, and she found that she must have been asleep, for she was taken by surprise by the opening of the door, and the apologetic face of the butler, who told her that a gentleman had asked if she would see him, and presented the card of 'Captain Alexander Keith.'
Eagerly she desired that he should be admitted, tremulously she awaited his sentence upon her mother's peace, and, as she thought of all he must have heard, all he must believe, she felt as if she must flee; or, if that were impossible, cower in shrinking dread of the glance of his satirical eye!
Here he was, and she could not look or speak, nor did he; she only felt that his clasp of greeting was kind, was anxious, and he put forward the easy-chair, into which she sank, unable to stand. He said, 'I saw your mother and sister going into the town. I thought you would like to hear of this business at once.'
'Oh yes, thank you.'
'I could not see the man till the day before yesterday,' he said, 'and I could get nothing satisfactory from him. He said he had taken the papers to a legal friend, but was not authorized to give his name. Perhaps his views may be changed by his present condition. I will try him again if you like.'
'Thank you, thank you! Do you think this is true!'
'He is too cunning a scoundrel to tell unnecessary lies, and very likely he may have disposed of them to some Jew attorney; but I think nothing is to be feared but some annoyance.'
'And annoyance to my mother is the one thing I most fear,' sighed Rachel, helplessly.
'There might be a mode of much lessening it to her,' he said.
'Oh, what? Tell me, and I would do it at any cost.'
'Will you?' and he came nearer. 'At the cost of yourself?'
She thrilled all over, and convulsively grasped the arm of her chair.
'Would not a son be the best person to shield her from annoyance,' he added, trying for his usual tone, but failing, he exclaimed, 'Rachel, Rachel, let me!'
She put her hands over her face, and cried, 'Oh! oh! I never thought of this.'
'No,' he said, 'and I know what you do think of it, but indeed you need not be wasted. Our women and children want so much done for them, and none of our ladies are able or willing. Will you not come and help me?'
'Don't talk to me of helping! I do nothing but spoil and ruin.'
'Not now! That is all gone and past. Come and begin afresh.'
'No, no, I am too disagreeable.'
'May not I judge for myself?' he said, drawing nearer, and his voice falling into tremulous tenderness.
'Headstrong--overbearing.'
'Try,' and his smile overbore her.
'Oh no, no, nobody can bear me! This is more than you--you ought to do--than any one should,' she faltered, not knowing what she said.
'Than any one to whom you were not most dear!' was the answer, and he was now standing over her, with the dew upon his eyelashes.
'Oh, that can't be. Bessie said you always took up whatever other people hated, and I know it is only that--'
'Don't let Bessie's sayings come between us now, Rachel. This goes too deep,' and he had almost taken her hand, when with a start she drew it back, saying, 'But you know what they say!'
'Have they been stupid enough to tell you?' he exclaimed. 'Confute them then, Rachel--dolts that can't believe in self-devotion! Laugh at their beards. This is the way to put an end to it!'
'Oh no, they would only detest you for my sake. I can't,' she said again, bowed down again with shame and dejection.
'I'll take care of that!' he said with the dry tone that perhaps was above all reassurance, and conquered her far enough to enable him to take possession of the thin and still listless hand.
'Then,' he said, 'you will let me take this whole matter in hand; and if the worst comes to the worst, we will make up to the charity out of the Indian money, without vexing the mother.'
'I can't let you suffer for my miserable folly.'
'Too late to say that!' he answered; and as her eyes were raised to him in startled inquiry, he said gravely, 'These last weeks have shown me that your troubles must be mine.'
A hand was on the door, and Rachel fled, in time to screen her flight from Miss Wellwood, whom Alick met with his usual undisturbed front, and inquiries for Mrs. Curtis.
That good lady was in the town more worried than flattered by the numerous inquiries after Rachel's health, and conscious of having gone rather near the wind in making the best of it. She had begun to dread being accosted by any acquaintance, and Captain Keith, sauntering near the archway of the close, was no welcome spectacle. She would have passed him with a curt salutation, but he grasped her hand, saying, 'May I have a few words with you?'
'Not Fanny--not the children!' cried Mrs. Curtis in dismay.
'No indeed. Only myself,' and a gleam of intelligence under his eyelashes and judicious pressure of his hand conveyed volumes to Grace, who had seen him often during Rachel's illness, and was not unprepared. She merely said that she would see how her sister was, substituted Captain Keith's arm for her own as her mother's support, and hurried away, to encounter Miss Wellwood's regrets that, in spite of all her precautions, dear Rachel had been disturbed by 'a young officer, I believe. We see him often at the cathedral, and somebody said it was his sister whom Lord Keith married.'
'Yes, we know him well, and he is a Victoria Cross man,' said Grace, beginning to assume his reflected glory.
'So some one said, but the Dean never calls on the officers unless there is some introduction, or there would be no end to it. It was a mistake letting him in to disturb Rachel. Is your mother gone up to her, my dear?'
'No, I think she is in the cathedral yard. I just came in to see about Rachel,' said Grace, escaping.
Miss Wellwood intended going out to join her old friend; but, on going to put on her bonnet, she saw from the window Mrs. Curtis, leaning on the intruder's arm, conversing so confidentially that the Dean's sister flushed with amazement, and only hoped she had mentioned him with due respect. And under that southern cathedral wall good Mrs. Curtis took the longest walk she had indulged in for the last twenty years, so that Grace, and even Rachel, beholding from the window, began to fear that the mother would be walked to death.
But then she had that supporting arm, and the moral support, that was infinitely more! That daughter, the spoilt pet of her husband, the subject of her pride, even when an enigma and an anxiety, whom she had lately been forced to think of as
'A maid whom there were few to praise And very few to love,'
she now found loved by one at least, and praised in terms that thrilled through and through the mother's heart in their truth and simplicity, for that sincerity, generosity, and unselfishness. It was her own daughter, her real Rachel, no illusion, that she heard described in those grave earnest words, only while the whole world saw the errors and exaggerated them, here was one who sank them all in the sterling worth that so few would recognise. The dear old lady forgot all her prudence, and would hardly let him speak of his means; but she soon saw that Rachel's present portion would be more than met on his side, and that no one could find fault with her on the score of inequality of fortune. He would have been quite able to retire, and live at ease, but this he said at once and with decision he did not intend. His regiment was his hereditary home, and his father had expressed such strong wishes that he should not lightly desert his profession, that he felt bound to it by filial duty as well as by other motives. Moreover, he thought the change of life and occupation would be the best thing for Rachel, and Mrs. Curtis could not but acquiesce, little as she had even dreamt that a daughter of hers would marry into a marching regiment! Her surrender of judgment was curiously complete. 'Dear Alexinder,' as thenceforth she called him had assumed the
