The Clever Woman of the Family

a time will come that he will want the home happiness I cannot give. Then he will not wear out his affection on the impossible literary cripple, but begin over again, and be happy. And, Alison, if your love for me is of the sound, strong sort I know it is, you will help me through with it, and never say one word to make all this less easy and obvious to him.”

VII

Waiting for Rose

“Not envy, sure! for if you gave me
Leave to take or to refuse
In earnest, do you think I’d choose
That sort of new love to enslave me?”

R. Browning

So, instead of going to Belfast, here was Colonel Keith actually taking a lodging and settling himself into it; nay, even going over to Avoncester on a horse-buying expedition, not merely for the Temples, but for himself.

This time Rachel did think herself sure of Miss Williams’ ear in peace, and came down on her with two fat manuscripts upon “Human Reeds” and “Military Society,” preluding, however, by bitter complaints of the Traveller for never having vouchsafed her an answer, nor having even restored “Curatocult,” though she had written three times, and sent a directed envelope and stamps for the purpose. The paper must be ruined by so discourteous an editor, indeed she had not been nearly so much interested as usual by the last few numbers. If only she could get her paper back, she should try the Englishwoman’s Hobbyhorse, or some other paper of more progress than that Traveller. “Is it not very hard to feel one’s self shut out from the main stream of the work of the world when one’s heart is burning?”

“I think you overrate the satisfaction.”

“You can’t tell! You are contented with that sort of home peaceful sunshine that I know suffices many. Even intellectual as you are, you can’t tell what it is to feel power within, to strain at the leash, and see others in the race.”

“I was thinking whether you could not make an acceptable paper on the lace system, which you really know so thoroughly.”

“The fact is,” said Rachel, “it is much more difficult to describe from one’s own observation than from other sources.”

“But rather more original,” said Ermine, quite overcome by the naivete of the confession.

“I don’t see that,” said Rachel. “It is abstract reasoning from given facts that I aim at, as you will understand when you have heard my ‘Human Reeds,’ and my other⁠—dear me, there’s your door bell. I thought that Colonel was gone for the day.”

“There are other people in the world besides the Colonel,” Ermine began to say, though she hardly felt as if there were, and at any rate a sense of rescue crossed her. The persons admitted took them equally by surprise, being Conrade Temple and Mr. Keith.

“I thought,” said Rachel, as she gave her unwilling hand to the latter, “that you would have been at Avoncester today.”

“I always get out of the way of horse-dealing. I know no greater bore,” he answered.

“Mamma sent me down,” Conrade was explaining; “Mr. Keith’s uncle found out that he knew Miss Williams⁠—no, that’s not it, Miss Williams’ uncle found out that Mr. Keith preached a sermon, or something of that sort, so mamma sent me down to show him the way to call upon her; but I need not stay now, need I?”

“After that elegant introduction, and lucid explanation, I think you may be excused,” returned Alick Keith.

The boy shook Ermine’s hand with his soldierly grace, but rather spoilt the effect thereof by his aside, “I wanted to see the toad and the pictures our Miss Williams told me about, but I’ll come another time;” and the wink of his black eyes, and significant shrug of his shoulders at Rachel, were irresistible. They all laughed, even Rachel herself, as Ermine, seeing it would be worse to ignore the demonstration, said, “The elements of aunt and boy do not always work together.”

“No,” said Rachel; “I have never been forgiven for being the first person who tried to keep those boys in order.”

“And now,” said Ermine, turning to her other visitor, “perhaps I may discover which of us, or of our uncles, preached a sermon.”

“Mine, I suspect,” returned Mr. Keith. “Your sister and I made out at luncheon that you had known my uncle, Mr. Clare, of Bishopsworthy.”

“Mr. Clare! Oh yes,” cried Ermine eagerly; “he took the duty for one of our curates once for a long vacation. Did you ever hear him speak of Beauchamp?”

“Yes, often; and of Dr. Williams. He will be very much interested to hear of you.”

“It was a time I well remember,” said Ermine. “He was an Oxford tutor then, and I was about fourteen, just old enough to be delighted to hear clever talk. And his sermons were memorable; they were the first I ever listened to.”

“There are few sermons that it is not an infliction to listen to,” began Rachel, but she was not heard or noticed.

“I assure you they are even more striking now in his blindness.”

“Blindness! Indeed, I had not heard of that.”

Even Rachel listened with interest as the young officer explained that his uncle, whom both he and Miss Williams talked of as a man of note, of whom everyone must have heard, had for the last four years been totally blind, but continued to be an active parish priest, visiting regularly, preaching, and taking a share in the service, which he knew by heart. He had, of course, a curate, who lived with him, and took very good care of him.

“No one else?” said Rachel. “I thought your sister lived at Bishopsworthy.”

“No, my sister lives, or has lived, at Little Worthy, the next parish, and as unlike it as possible. It has a railroad in it, and the cockneys have come down on it and ‘villafied’ it. My aunt, Mrs. Lacy Clare, has lived there ever since my