LITMIR.BIZ

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man on his early rising, as he expressed the ordinary wish of the day. “Yes,” said Maurice, “I had something special to do. Many happy Christmases, sir! I don’t know much about its being happy to me.”

      “Why, what ails you ?”

      “It’s a nasty sort of day, isn’t it?” said Maurice.

      “Does that trouble you ? I rather like a little snow on Christmas Day. It has a pleasant, old-fashioned look. And there isn’t enough to keep even an old woman at home.”

      “I dare say not,” said Maurice, who was still beating about the bush, having something to tell, but not knowing how to tell it. “Mr. Lownd, I should have come to you first, if it hadn’t been for an accident.”

      “Come to me first! What accident?”

      “Yes; only I found Miss Lownd down here this morning, and I asked her to be my wife. You needn’t be unhappy about it, sir. She refused me point blank.”

      “You must have startled her, Maurice. You have startled me, at any rate.”

      “There was nothing of that sort, Mr. Lownd. She took it all very easily. I think she does take things easily.” Poor Isabel! “She just told me plainly that it never could be so, and then she walked out of the room.”

      “I don’t think she expected it, Maurice.”

      “Oh, dear no! I’m quite sure she didn’t. She hadn’t thought about me any more than if I were an old dog. I suppose men do make fools of themselves sometimes. I shall get over it, sir.”

      “Oh, I hope so.”

      “I shall give up the idea of living here. I couldn’t do that. I shall probably sell the property, and go to Africa.”

      “Go to Africa!”

      “Well, yes. It’s as good a place as any other, I suppose. It’s wild, and a long way off, and all that kind of thing. As this is Christmas, I had better stay here to-day, I suppose.”

      “Of course you will.”

      “If you don’t mind, I’ll be off early tomorrow, sir. It’s a kind of thing, you know, that does flurry a man. And then my being here may be disagreeable to her;—not that I suppose she thinks about me any more than if I were an old cow.”

      It need hardly be remarked that the rector was a much older man than Maurice Archer, and that he therefore knew the world much better. Nor was he in love. And he had, moreover, the advantage of a much closer knowledge of the young lady’s character than could be possessed by the lover. And, as it happened, during the last week, he had been fretted by fears expressed by his wife,—fears which were altogether opposed to Archer’s present despondency and African resolutions. Mrs. Lownd had been uneasy,—almost more than uneasy,—lest poor dear Isabel should be stricken at her heart; whereas, in regard to that young man, she didn’t believe that he cared a bit for her girl. He ought not to have been brought into the house. But he was there, and what could they do ? The rector was of opinion that things would come straight,—that they would be straightened not by any lover’s propensities on the part of his guest, as to which he protested himself to be altogether indifferent, but by his girl’s good sense. His Isabel would never allow herself to be seriously affected by a regard for a young man who had made no overtures to her. That was the rector’s argument; and perhaps, within his own mind, it was backed by a feeling that, were she so weak, she must stand the consequence. To him it seemed to be an absurd degree of caution that two young people should not be brought together in the same house lest one should fall in love with the other. And he had seen no symptoms of such love. Nevertheless his wife had fretted him, and he had been uneasy. Now the shoe was altogether on the other foot. The young man was the despondent lover, and was asserting that he must go instantly to Africa, because the young lady treated him like an old dog, and thought no more about him than of an old cow.

      A father in such a position can hardly venture to hold out hopes to a lover, even though he may approve of the man as a suitor for his daughter’s hand. He cannot answer for his girl, nor can he very well urge upon a lover the expediency of renewing his suit. In this case Mr. Lownd did think, that in spite of the cruel, determined obduracy which his daughter was said to have displayed, she might probably be softened by constancy and perseverance. But he knew nothing of the circumstances, and could only suggest that Maurice should not take his place for the first stage on his way to Africa quite at once. “I do not think you need hurry away because of Isabel,” he said, with a gentle smile.

      “I couldn’t stand it,—I couldn’t indeed,” said Maurice, impetuously. “I hope I didn’t do wrong in speaking to her when I found her here this morning. If you had come first I should have told you.”

      “I could only have referred you to her, my dear boy. Come —here they are; and now we will have prayers.” As he spoke, Mrs. Lownd entered the room, followed closely by Mabel, and then at a little distance by Isabel. The three maidservants were standing behind in a line, ready to come in for prayers. Maurice could not but feel that Mrs. Lownd’s manner to him was especially affectionate; for, in truth, hitherto she had kept somewhat aloof from him, as though he had been a ravening wolf. Now she held him by the hand, and had a spark of motherly affection in her eyes, as she, too, repeated her Christmas greeting. It might well be so, thought Maurice. Of course she would be more kind to him than ordinary, if she knew that he was a poor blighted individual. It was a thing of course that Isabel should have told her mother; equally a thing of course that he should be pitied and treated tenderly. But on the next day he would be off. Such tenderness as that would kill him.

      As they sat at breakfast, they all tried to be very gracious to each other. Mabel was sharp enough to know that something special had happened, but could not quite be sure what it was. Isabel struggled very hard to make little speeches about the day, but cannot be said to have succeeded well. Her mother, who had known at once how it was with her child, and had required no positive answers to direct questions to enable her to assume that Isabel was now devoted to her lover, had told her girl that if the man’s love were worth having, he would surely ask her again. “I don’t think he will, mamma,” Isabel had whispered, with her face half-hidden on her mother’s arm. “He must be very unlike other men if he does not,” Mrs. Lownd had said, resolving that the opportunity should not be wanting. Now she was very gracious to Maurice, speaking before him as though he were quite one of the family. Her trembling maternal heart had feared him, while she thought that he might be a ravening wolf, who would steal away her daughter’s heart, leaving nothing in return; but now that he had proved himself willing to enter the fold as a useful domestic sheep, nothing could be too good for him. The parson himself, seeing all this, understanding every turn in his wife’s mind, and painfully anxious that no word might be spoken which should seem to entrap his guest, strove diligently to talk as though nothing was amiss. He spoke of his sermon, and of David Drum, and of the allowance of pudding that was to be given to the inmates of the neighbouring poorhouse. There had been a subscription, so as to relieve the rates from the burden of the plum-pudding, and Mr. Lownd thought that the farmers had not been sufficiently liberal. “There’s Furness, at Loversloup, gave us a half-a-crown. I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself. He declared to me to my face that if he could find puddings for his own bairns, that was enough for him,”

      “The richest farmer in these parts, Maurice,” said Mrs. Lownd.

      “He holds above three hundred acres of land, and could stock double as many, if he had them,” said the would-be indignant rector, who was thinking a great deal more of his daughter than of the poorhouse festival. Maurice answered him with a word or two, but found it very hard to assume any interest in the question of the pudding. Isabel was more hardhearted, he thought, than even Farmer Furness, of Loversloup. And why should he trouble himself about these people,—he, who intended to sell his acres, and go away to Africa? But he smiled and made some reply, and buttered his toast, and struggled hard to seem as though nothing ailed him.

      The parson went down to church before his wife, and Mabel went with him. “Is anything wrong with Maurice Archer?” she asked her father.

      “Nothing,

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