LITMIR.BIZ

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have some experience of Miss Mohun’s delightful manners, and none of Mrs. Hawkesworth’s, so I am no fair judge,’ said Alethea.

      ‘I really have done justice to Eleanor’s sterling goodness,’ said Lily.  ‘Now what should you think?’

      ‘I can hardly imagine greater proofs of affection than Mrs. Hawkesworth has given you,’ said Miss Weston, smiling.

      ‘It was because it was her duty,’ said Lilias.  ‘You have only heard the facts, but you cannot judge of her ways and looks.  Now only think, when Frank came home, after seven years of perils by field and flood—there she rose up to receive him as if he had been Mr. Nobody making a morning call.  And all the time before they were married, I do believe she thought more of showing Emily how much tea we were to use in a week than anything else.’

      ‘Perhaps some people might have admired her self-command,’ said Alethea.

      ‘Self-command, the refuge of the insensible?  And now, I told you about dear Harry the other day.  He was Eleanor’s especial brother, yet his death never seemed to make any difference to her.  She scarcely cried: she heard our lessons as usual, talked in her quiet voice—showed no tokens of feeling.’

      ‘Was her health as good as before?’ asked Miss Weston.

      ‘She was not ill,’ said Lily; ‘if she had, I should have been satisfied.  She certainly could not take long walks that winter, but she never likes walking.  People said she looked ill, but I do not know.’

      ‘Shall I tell you what I gather from your history?’

      ‘Pray do.’

      ‘Then do not think me very perverse, if I say that perhaps the grief she then repressed may have weighed down her spirits ever since, so that you can hardly remember any alteration.’

      ‘That I cannot,’ said Lily.  ‘She is always the same, but then she ought to have been more cheerful before his death.’

      ‘Did not you lose him soon after your mother?’ said Alethea.

      ‘Two whole years,’ said Lily.  ‘Oh! and aunt, Robert too, and Frank went to India the beginning of that year; yes, there was enough to depress her, but I never thought of grief going on in that quiet dull way for so many years.’

      ‘You would prefer one violent burst, and then forgetfulness?’

      ‘Not exactly,’ said Lily; ‘but I should like a little evidence of it.  If it is really strong, it cannot be hid.’

      Little did Lily think of the grief that sat heavy upon the spirit of Alethea, who answered—‘Some people can do anything that they consider their duty.’

      ‘Duty: what, are you a duty lover?’ exclaimed Lilias.  ‘I never suspected it, because you are not disagreeable.’

      ‘Thank you,’ said Alethea, laughing, ‘your compliment rather surprises me, for I thought you told me that your brother Claude was on the duty side of the question.’

      ‘He thinks he is,’ said Lily, ‘but love is his real motive of action, as I can prove to you.  Poor Claude had a very bad illness when he was about three years old; and ever since he has been liable to terrible headaches, and he is not at all strong.  Of course he cannot always study hard, and when first he went to school, every one scolded him for being idle.  I really believe he might have done more, but then he was so clever that he could keep up without any trouble, and, as Robert says, that was a great temptation; but still papa was not satisfied, because he said Claude could do better.  So said Harry.  Oh! you cannot think what a person Harry was, as high-spirited as William, and as gentle as Claude; and in his kind way he used to try hard to make Claude exert himself, but it never would do—he was never in mischief, but he never took pains.  Then Harry died, and when Claude came home, and saw how changed things were, how gray papa’s hair had turned, and how silent and melancholy William had grown, he set himself with all his might to make up to papa as far as he could.  He thought only of doing what Harry would have wished, and papa himself says that he has done wonders.  I cannot see that Henry himself could have been more than Claude is now; he has not spared himself in the least, his tutor says, and he would have had the Newcastle Scholarship last year, if he had not worked so hard that he brought on one of his bad illnesses, and was obliged to come home.  Now I am sure that he has acted from love, for it was as much his duty to take pains while Harry was alive as afterwards.’

      ‘Certainly,’ said Miss Weston, ‘but what does he say himself?’

      ‘Oh! he never will talk of himself,’ said Lily.

      ‘Have you not overlooked one thing which may be the truth,’ said Alethea, as if she was asking for information, ‘that duty and love may be identical?  Is not St. Paul’s description of charity very like the duty to our neighbour?’

      ‘The practice is the same, but not the theory,’ said Lily.

      ‘Now, what is called duty, seems to me to be love doing unpleasant work,’ said Miss Weston; ‘love disguised under another name, when obliged to act in a way which seems, only seems, out of accordance with its real title.’

      ‘That is all very well for those who have love,’ said Lily.  ‘Some have not who do their duty conscientiously—another word which I hate, by the bye.’

      ‘They have love in a rough coat, perhaps,’ said Alethea, ‘and I should expect it soon to put on a smoother one.’

      CHAPTER VII

      SIR MAURICE

      ‘Shall thought was his, in after time,

      Thus to be hitched into a rhyme;

      The simple sire could only boast

      That he was loyal to his cost,

      The banished race of kings revered,

      And lost his land.’

      The holidays arrived, and with them the three brothers, for during the first few weeks of the Oxford vacation Claude accompanied Lord Rotherwood on visits to some college friends, and only came home the same day as the younger ones.

      Maurice did not long leave his sisters in doubt as to what was to be his reigning taste, for as soon as dinner was over, he made Jane find the volume of the Encyclopædia containing Entomology, and with his elbows on the table, proceeded to study it so intently, that the young ladies gave up all hopes of rousing him from it.  Claude threw himself down on the sofa to enjoy the luxury of a desultory talk with his sisters; and Reginald, his head on the floor, and his heels on a chair, talked loud and fast enough for all three, with very little regard to what the damsels might be saying.

      ‘Oh! Claude,’ said Lily, ‘you cannot think how much we like Miss Weston, she lets us call her Alethea, and—’

      Here came an interruption from Mr. Mohun, who perceiving the position of Reginald’s dusty shoes, gave a loud ‘Ah—h!’ as if he was scolding a dog, and ordered him to change them directly.

      ‘Here, Phyl!’ said Reginald, kicking off his shoes, ‘just step up and bring my shippers, Rachel will give them to you.’

      Away went Phyllis, well pleased to be her brother’s fag.

      ‘Ah!  Redgie does not know the misfortune that hangs over him,’ said Emily.

      ‘What?’ said Reginald, ‘will not the Baron let Viper come to the house?’

      ‘Worse,’ said Emily, ‘Rachel is going away.’

      ‘Rachel?’ cried Claude, starting up from the sofa.

      ‘Rachel?’ said Maurice, without raising his eyes.

      ‘Rachel!  Rachel! botheration!’ roared Reginald, with a wondrous caper.

      ‘Yes, Rachel,’ said Emily; ‘Rachel, who makes so much of you, for no reason that I could ever discover, but because you are the most troublesome.’

      ‘You will never find any one to mend your jackets, and dress your wounds like Rachel,’ said Lily,

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