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BELFOREST.
LONDON :
CLAY, SON, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS,
BREAD STREET HILL.
BELFOEEST.
TALE OF ENGLISH COUNTRY LIFE.
BY THE AUTIIOn OF
" MARI POWELL/' AND " THE LADIES OF BEVER HOLLOW.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
RICHA.IID BEXTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1865.
8^i
1
\ CONTENTS.
>
CHAPTEE I.
t^ PAGE
THE VILLAGE POST-OFFICE 1
CHAPTEE IL
nessy's trouble 15
CHAPTER III.
"why don't he write?" 26
CHAPTEE IV.
A MISUNDERSTANDING .38
N CHAPTEE V.
'a^^ PYRRHUS 54
«\
K. CHAPTEE VI.
A VISITOR 68
4
VI CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VII.
PAGE
NES8Y ENCHANTED 83
CHAPTER VIII.
THE DAILY ROUND 98
CHAPTER IX.
THE UNCOMMON TASK 109
CHAPTER X.
DISAPPOINTMENT 126
CHAPTER XI.
ROSABEL 142
CHAPTER XII.
THE COTTAGE 158
CHAPTER XIII.
MRS. HOMER 175
CHAPTER XIV.
SUNDAY WELL SPENT 192
CONTENTS. VU
CHAPTER XV.
PAGE
SACRED MUSIC 209
CHAPTEE XYI.
CLASSES 225
CHAPTER XYII.
THE OLD LADY 243
CHAPTER XVIII.
FRIENDSHIP CEMENTED 260
CHAPTER XIX.
MRS. Early's shortcomings 276
CHAPTER XX.
COUNTRY LODGINGS 292
BELFOREST.
CHAPTER I.
THE VILLAGE POST-OFEICE.
Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop. Micliael Saffeiy
is stamping the letters for the night post. He
has abeady closed the shutters of his little
drapery-shop ; the bright brass kettle is singing
on the hob in the little back-parlour, a buttered
muffin is basking before the fire, and he is
cosily shut in for the night. I wish every one
had as snug a berth !
That buttered muffin is not for Mr. Saffery ;
it has been toasted by a little girl of remark-
ably prim demeanour, who is now spreading
the tea-table of the lodger. Mr. Saffery 's
parlour is behind the shop ; but the lodger's
parlour, which is larger, is parallel vv^ith the
VOL. I. B
2 BELFOREST.
shop, and looks into the village street. This
street, a very devious one, of considerable
width, meanders up a hill and then meanders
down the opposite side of it, dodging the
declivity a little. It is the only street in the
village, though there are one or tAvo populous
lanes and a green encircled with homesteads.
Opposite Mr. SafFery's shop the street has a
wide reach or bay, with a little knoll or islet
off the opposite coast, wooded by a hoary oak
with a seat round it. Under the lee of this
oak is the village inn — the "Swan" — where,
at this moment, a farmer's cart bound for the
beast-market is baiting ; it is full of calves
calling piteously on their mothers ; the air is
filled with the incessant, melancholy plaint.
Also, the tinkling bell of a muffin-boy from
a neighbouring town, a man calling " Live
shrimps," and several barking dogs and squeak-
ing pigs prevent any approach to silence. Yet
how different from London noises !
The lodger's parlour is scantily furnished,
but filled to repletion with his own belongings.
The little girl has once already had the privi-
lege of dusting them, and she has eyed them
with intense curiosity and interest. There are
BELFOKEST. 3
books, a strange medley; portfolios, sketch-
books, paints, easel, palette, and all tbe appa-
ratus of an artist.
The young man is straining his eyes to read
the " Life of Nollekens," by the waning light.
As the queer little sprite flickers about the
table, he eyes her furtively, with some curiosity,
and at length says abruptly —
" I say, little one, how old are you ? "
In a very staid manner, she answers,
"Thirteen, sir."
" Thirteen ? "Why you don't look eleven ! "
" No, sir ; I'm aware I'm very small of my
age " (with a deep sigh). " Some people think
I shall never otow ao-ain."
This was said as if all the faculty had been
consulted about it.
" Why should they think that ? "
" I've had a serious illness, sir. A fever.
And it settled on my nerves. That's why I'm
away from boarding-school."
" Ha ! WeU, I dare say you'll be better
some day. W^hat's your name ? "
" Nessy."
" Jessy ? Bessy ? "
" No, sir, Nessy."
b2
4 BELFOREST.
" What a queer name I Why could not
your parents call you Jessy or Bessy ? "
" My parents had nothing to do with it,"
said Nessy, looking deeply wounded. "My
godfather and godmothers gave me that name
— at least one of my godmothers did, who
left me a fortune ! "
" Oh, my goodness ! So you re an heiress !
To the tune of what?"
" Sir," said Nessy, with severity, " I have
thirty pounds a year — shall have, at least,
when I'm of age ; if I live as long— which
perhaps I shall not. And that's why I'm being
brought up like a lady ; for it is all laid out
on me."
" And why does a lady wait on my table ? "
*' Oh," said Nessy, looking pleasantly at him
for the first time with her dark-blue eyes,
which were very pretty, " it's no trouble, it's a
pleasure. I — "
At this moment a sound in the other parlour
made her start, as if she were shot, and then
dart out of the room. The artist thought he
heard the kettle boiling over, and a hasty
ejaculation of "0 my!" from the pseudo-
young lady. An instant after, something
BELFOREST. 5
whisked past tlie window, in what appeared to
him the aforesaid young lady's shabby black
silk frock.
As it was now quite too dark to read, he
began to be impatient for tea and candles,
which seemed unnecessarily delayed, and rang
the bell.
In sailed Mrs. SafFery, a fresh-coloured,
comely woman, with the lighted candles in
highly-polished candlesticks, not of the precious
metals, but borne on a waiter with equal dis-
tinction. She drew down the blind and with-
drew. Then Nessy brought in the hot tea-pot,
and then the — or, at least, a hot muffin. The
lodger observed she had been crying.
" What was the matter just now ? " said he.
" The matter," said Nessy, reluctantly, " was
that the kettle boiled over the muffin, and com-
pletely spoiled it ; but I knew the muffin-boy
was only at the other end of the village, so I
ran after him and got another; only my mamma
says — "
And, suppressing a little sob, she withdrew,
and appeared no more that night. The artist
pitied the poor child, who had probably been
chidden for gossiping with lodgers instead of
6 BELFOREST.
minding her own business ; but he did not
give it a second thought, diverting himself
with his book during tea and while the table
was being cleared, and employing himself with
pencil and pen during the remainder of the
evening. His name was Leonard Antony —
Leonardo his comrades laughingly called him.
He was now in country quarters while his
town lodgings were being painted. Of course,
an artist never goes into country quarters of
any description without finding something or
other to enrich himself with in the way of
new materials. This very morning, Mr. Antony
had noted a couple of curiously-carved oaken
stools in a cottage, and, while sketching them,
had been told they were used at funerals to
rest the coffin upon while the service w^as
being read. He came upon some quaint me-
morials, too, of Cardinal Wolsey, and he spent
the evening in writing down w^hat he had
heard of him, and in finishing his sketch of
Wolsey's well.
At dead of night Mr. Antony was roused
from sound sleep by a voice loudly bawling
under his window —
"Michael Saffery! Michael SafFery!" and,
BELFOEEST. 7
concluding it could be for notMng short of
murder, fire, or thieves, he sprang out of bed
and began by hitting his head violently against
the bedpost. At the same time, a creaking
window was tln'o^\Ti up in the adjoining room
and speedily shut doA^m again, and, after some
gruff mutterings, silence ensued. Mr. Antony
rubbed his head, supposed all was right, and
went to bed again.
Kext morning, when he entered his parlour,
he saw Nessy, with her back to him, immersed
in one of his books. Without ceremony, he
took it out of her hand, saying —
" Do you know that you should not meddle
with what is not yours ? "
She started violently, and said, " I should
not have hurt it, sir.'*'
" That's as may be ; at any rate, it might
hurt you."
" I don't think it would," she said, regTct-
fully. " It was a very pretty story."
" Ay ; but, my good girl, it is anything but
a pretty trick to touch what does not belong
to you. I'm a very particular gentleman, and
if I find I can't leave my things about ^\T.thout
their being meddled ^dth, I shall go away."
8 BELFOREST.
Nessy looked sorry and ashamed. She said,
" I promise you, sir, I won't do so any more.
It did not occur to me it was wrong, and I'm
so fond of reading."
" Yes, but you must confine yourself to books
that are given you."
" Given ? " Nessy's tone implied that in that
case she should have none.
" Or lent," said Mr. Antony, sitting down to
his breakfast.
Nessy went for the kettle ; and, when she
had brought it, she said, very humbly —
" I'm sure, if you lent me that book just to
finish, I would take the greatest care of it — "
" To finish ? Why, how much have you read
already ? "
" Nearly to the end, sir."
"Oh well, then," said Mr. Antony, almost
gruffly, " you may take it away, and make an
end of it while I am at breakfast; but mind
you bring it back, and don't meddle with any
other books of mine, nor even ask for them."
" Very well, sir. Thank you." And away she
went with " Paul and Virginia."
When she brought it back, he said, "Well,
have you finished it ? "
BELFOREST. 9
" Yes, sir/' with a little sigh.
" It did not end very happily, you see."
*^ No, sir."
And then, after a minute's silence, as she
swept away the crumbs, she added, reflec-
tively—
" Virginia was very rich."
" Eich ! yes, but it did not make her happier,
you see, but quite the contrary," said Mr. Antony,
delighted at the unexpected opening for a
moral.
" We can't tell what she mis^ht have done if
she had not been cbowned," said Nessy.
" No, Nessy ; but take my word for it, that
riches do not, of themselves, make people
happy."
" Should not you like to be rich, sir ? "
" Well, that's a poser," said he, laughing a
little. "We can't get on very well without
some money, but too much of it is bad for us ;
it's a great responsibility, for which we shall be
called to account, whether we think so or
not."
" But if we use it well," suggested Nessy.
" Ay, then indeed," said he, with a sln-ug
and a smile ; and the little maiden, seeing
10 BELFOREST.
he did not mean to say any more, went
away.
" Ten to one/' thought he, as he got his
painting apparatus together, "that child in-
tends to do great things with her thirty
pounds a year. To her it probably seems as
considerable an income as I should think a
thousand. Should not I like to be rich, indeed !
I believe I should ! " And he set to work
with all his might.
At sujDper-time the alarm of the previous
night occurred to him, and he said to Mrs.
SafFery, as she waited on him —
" By-the-bye, what was the meaning of that
tremendous uproar last night ? I thought the
house must be on fire."
" Oh, did you hear it, sir ? " said Mrs. SafFery,
looking rather conscious.
" Hear it ? I must have been deaf if I did
not.''
" Well, sir, you see it was the guard, come for
the letters. It's an awkward time of night, and
SafFery can't be always sitting up for him, so he
makes up the bag before bedtime and takes it
up to his room, and lets it down through the
window with a string."
BELFOREST. 1 1
" When he happens to wake."
" Oh sir, he always wakes first or last."
" Well, I hope to-night it will be first. It's
mi/ turn to sleep, this time."
Mrs. Safiery said she knew she ought to
apologize. She wished Safi'ery did not sleep
so heavy.
" Could not you wake him ? "
" Well, sir, you see, I sleep hea\y too. Fve
got used to it, so it makes no impression — at
first, that is. But we always hear it, soon or
late."
" If you did not, I suppose you'd lose your
situation ? "
" Oh, sir, it could never come to that. We
always hear it, soon or late."
" I wonder the guard has patience."
" He hasn't, sir ! He curses and swears."
" Humph ! no wonder."
" It's trying, I know," said Mrs. Safi'ery,
"but when people work hard, they sleep
heavy."
" That little girl of yours does not seem to
work hard. Why don't you let her let do^Aai
the letters ? "
" Nessy, sir ? Oh, she's such a tender plant !
12 BELFOREST.
YouVe no idea! The night air through the
open window would kill her out of hand."
" Well, I suppose it might — she doesn't look
very strong."
" No, sir, Nessy is far from strong. She's a
great anxiety. She took on so at school that it
gave her a nervous fever."
" Were they cruel to her ? "
" No, sir, no ; they were kind enough. But
she worritted herself to learn more than she
could learn — she has such ambition, has
Nessy."
" Oh, indeed. She told me she was a young
lady of property."
" Ah, that's child's talk, sir. Thirty pounds
a year does seem a fortune to a girl of thirteen,
that has but tw^opence a week pocket-money ;
but, dear me, thirty pounds is little enough to
dress and educate her upon, let alone extras.
And the extras, sir, I do assure you, at these
genteel schools, just double the account ! "
"No doubt of it."
" When I found that," said Mrs. Saffery, " I
knew we could not afford extras to Nessy, and
I proved it to her in black and white, for she's
a reasonable child ; and she saw it could not
BELFOREST. 13
be. But as her aunt liad laid it do^vu strict
that she was to be a lady, she couldn't abear to
be ignorant of anything a lady should know.
And so she got doing one thing and another
for her schoolfellows, over and above her o^vn
tasks, helping them with their sums, mending
their gloves and stockings for them, and such
like, all in an obliging way, to get them to
teach her something in return that they learnt
of the masters. And so she got a little draw-
ing of one, and a little music of another, all
in play-hours, you know, sir,, and hindered her-
self of her natural recreation and rest, which
every child, to be healthy, wants ; and her mind
always on the full stretch, anxious-like. But
the end of it was, that poor Nessy broke down,
and instead of getting ahead, had to give up
learning entirely, which was a sore grief and
disappointment to her. And so, as she was
getting no good at school, we thought it a
needless expense ; and had her home to take
the run of the house and get well.''
"Much the best thing you could do," said
Mr. Antony. "And you know, Mrs. SafFery,
that it is not playing and drawing that makes
the lady. A lady may be a lady and do
14 BELFOREST.
neither. A woman may be no lady, yet do
both/'
But Mrs. Saffery shook her head, and with-
hekl her assent to this proposition.
BELFOREST. 15
CHAPTEK 11.
nessy's trouble.
" I needn't have been cross to ttie queer little
thing," thought Antony. " She shall have the
run of my books, barring NoUekens, if she likes
— though I question if she will find anything
she can understand. At any rate, the prohibi-
tion shall be removed."
So, at breakfast-time, he said, " I wiR lend
you my books, one at a time, since you are fond
of reading, except the one I am reading myself ;
but only on condition of your doing them no
injury."
Nessy's face shone with pleasure. She
thanked him, and, to his surprise and amuse-
ment, laid her hand at once and without hesi-
tation on a volume which doubtless had already
attracted her.
"What is it?" said Mr. Antony. "Oh!
Mrs. Graham's 'Journal of Three Months'
1 6 BELFOREST.
Eesidence in the Mountains East of Rome.'
Yes, read that and welcome."
So, for the rest of the morning, Nessy was
supremely happy ; for, having performed her
customary tasks of dusting, washing up, &c.
she, with her mother's concurrence, took the
book, carefully covered in newspaper, to a certain
lath construction, garlanded with scarlet-runners,
dignified by the name of " the arbour," which
to her on the present occasion was a veritable
bower of bliss. Soon she was, in imagination,
exploring Poli and Palestrina, enjoying pleasure
parties among old Roman remains, and witness-
ing country sports and rustic feasts. Soon she
was devouring the stories of the brigands, thir-
teen of whom kept in terror a town of twelve
hundred inhabitants — I have not read the book
since I was about Nessy's age, but I remember
it all as vividly as yesterday — how banditti
carried off a poor surgeon named Cherubini,
and threatened his life unless his family sent an
enormous ransom — how the shepherds were in
league with the brigands — how the robber chief
quarrelled with one of his prisoners and slew
him — how a handful of soldiers and the bravest
of the townspeople went in pursuit of the
BELFOREST. 1 7
brigands and came upon their lair while it was
yet warm — all this and much more did Nessy
read with avidity, and realize the better inas-
much as there ^v^ere illustrations of the narrative
by Eastlake's graphic pencil. Having finished
it all too soon, she sat in a maze, her head rest-
ing on her hands, li^dng it over again. Then
she thought what a pity it was she could not
keep the book to read over and over whenever
she liked, and it occurred to her that the next
best thing to possessing it would be to copy
it.
No sooner said than attempted. Nessy flew
into the house for an old ledger her father had
given her, in which she had already inserted
many ill-written exercises. Providing herself
with this tOTYie, and with pen and ink, she re-
turned to the arbour ; her facile mother being
satisfied that she must be doing herself good as
long as she was in the open air.
And thus, returning to the house only for
her dinner, Nessy spent the whole afternoon,
industriously and happily, but gradually get-
ting feverish over her work, and writinor worse
and worse. It was her grand ambition (Mrs.
Safiery had said Nessy was ambitious) to finish
VOL. I. C
18 BELFOREST.
Cherubini's letter before the early tea-hour ;
but this she almost despaired of doing ; espe-
cially, as, in the over-haste, which is worst
speed, she had made sundry omissions, which
necessitated interlineations, sadly marring the
neatness of her manuscript.
" One page more only," thought she, rapidly
dipping her pen.
At that moment, her mother, at the garden-
door, sharply called, " Nessy ! " making the
poor, nervous girl start from head to foot ; and
oh, woe ! a round, black drop of ink fell on the
page of Mr. Antony's book.
The complicated terrors of the event pre-
sented themselves at one glance to Nessy.
There was the book spoilt ! There was her
promise that it should not be injured broken !
How could she tell him ? What would he
think of her ? Could she sop the ink up ? No,
it was already dry. There stood the inefface-
able spot, like the drop of blood on Lady
Macbeth's hand.
An evil suggestion darted through her mind.
Should she shut up the book and return it
without saying anything about it, trusting to
its never being discovered? That suggestion
BELFOREST. 19
only presented itself to be rejected. It was a
great point in Nessy's life. To you, to me, the
dilemma may appear trivial ; it did not seem
so, it was not so, to her. Oh, no I it was a
very serious crisis ; but, happily, she at once
decided virtuously ; and as she did so, the
hot tear it cost her fell on the blot, but
without effacing it. She carefully wiped away
the tear, and, deeply sighing, closed the book
and carried it indoors. As she entered the
house, Mrs. Saffery said, more crossly than was
her wont, —
-" Nessy, there are but few things you h^ve
to do, and I expect you to do them. Mr. Antony
has rung twice, and I have had to leave . my
clear-starching to carry in his tea, because you
were out of the way. Take in his muffin."
*' Yes, mother." She carried it in sadly ;
then, after a moment's pause, said, in an un-
steady voice, " I'm sorry, sir, I must return you
your book."
" Why so ? " said Mr. Antony, in surprise.
" Because I've blotted it."
" The deuce you have ! " said he, hastily.
Her pale face became very red.
" How came you to do so } " continued Mr.
C 2
20 BELFOREST.
Antony, taking the book from her roughly, and
running the leaves through his fingers.
Nessy could hardly command her voice, but,
seeing that he could not find the place, she
said, " ril show you, sir," and found it.
" Ho ! — humph ! Yes, it's a bad job, cer-
tainly ! Serves me right for lending books
to little girls that don't know how to use
them."
Nessy 's heart swelled;
"YouVe made it worse, too, by trying to
wash it out."
" No, sir, no ! "
" What makes it so wet, then ? "
" Sir, it was only a — " — and other tears rolled
down.
" Only a tear, do you mean ? " said he,
softened.
Nessy nodded : she could not speak.
" Well, it's no good crying. The mischief 's
done."
" Yes ! I'm so very, very sorry ! "
" Come, you needn't cry any more about it.
Only you can't expect me to lend you any
more books."
" Oh, no, sir ! No, indeed ! "
BELFOREST. 21
" How came you to be meddling witli ink ?
What were you doing with it ? "
" Copying it."
" Copying it ? Cop}TJig what ? "
" The book, sir."
Mr. Antony looked much inclined to laugh.
" Do you really mean you liked this book
so much that you were going to copy it out,
right through ? "
" Yes, sir, great part of it."
" Why, it never would have repaid your
time and trouble."
" Oh ! " said Nessy, " the trouble was a
pleasure, and my time is of no value."
" Go and fetch this precious performance of
yours. I think it must be a curiosity."
Nessy, much relieved at the turn the dialogue
had taken, hastened to obey his directions, and
soon returned, carrying the ledger.
" I know it's very badly done," said she,
apologetically.
" Yes," said he, after a pause, during which
he had looked through what she had been
writing, "it is, as you say, badly done — very
badly. Of course, your chief object was to
secure the contents of the book (why it should
22 BELFOREST.
interest you so mucli I know not), and for that
purpose any readable writing would do, though
I can hardly call this readable. However, I
suppose you can read it yourself."
" Oh, yes, sir 1 "
" Well, Nessy, considering how you aspire to
be a lady, I think you might aspire to write a
better hand. Your mother can hardly believe
— ^what is quite true, however — that music and
drawing will not, of themselves, make a lady,
and that a lady may be a lady who knows
neither ; but a lady can hardly be a lady who
does not write a good hand. No lady would
write such a hand as this. It is what used to
be called, when I was a little boy, a chandler's-
shop hand ; but in these days of education,
chandler's-shop people vn:ite very good hands,
and would be quite ashamed of writing like
this. Take my advice, therefore, and try to
write better, whether you aim at being a lady
or not."
"Yes, sir," said Nessy, softly, and looking
much humiliated.
" And as for this book — ahem — you may
finish reading it, since you have begun it, if
you will not make any more blots."
BELFOREST. 23
" I have finished it, sir, thank you."
"What! all through? I see you have at-
tempted to preserve it, too, by covering it with
newspaper. Well, we won't say any more of
this blot, especially as you came and told of
it at once (not but what I should have been
safe to find it out). But, as for lending you
any more, I really don't think I have any here
that you would care to read."
"Oh, sir, I don't expect such an indul-
gence."
" But would it he an indulgence ? "
" Yes, certainly, sir."
" What would you like to have, supposing I
suffered myself to be prevailed upon to be so
very weak and soft as to make trial of you
again ? "
Nessy saw he was not at all cross now, so
she at once put her finger, smiling and silently,
on the corner of the "Life of Nicholas Pous-
sin."
" WeU," said Mr. Antony, " I think you'll
find yourself disappointed in it ; but, however,
you may try. But no ink, Nessy, this time,
if you please. If you copy, it must be in
pencil."
24 BELFOREST.
" Oh, yes, sir ; I wish I had done so before.
It is very good of you to trust me/^
And away she went, happy as a queen, yet
with a nervous catch in her breath, like the
ground-swell after a storm : and when she re-
membered what a shock and temptation and
struggle were safely overpast, she could not
help her eyes from filling with tears.
But she felt very thankful that she had been
carried safely through it ; and very grateful to
Mr. Antony for being so placable and benig-
nant. I repeat it ; this was a poiat in Nessy's
life — a crisis that helped to form her character.
Seeming trifles, such as these, are sometimes
very important to little people ; and to great
people too.
" Poor little wretch ! " thought Mr. Antony,
as he ate his mufiin, " she was properly fright-
ened, if ever child was. An honest little
creature, too, to come and tell of it as she did,
instead of waiting to be found out. What a
funny fancy of hers, to copy all that ! What
was there in it that she was taken with, I
■yvonder? To me the narrative seemed trite
enough. But I suppose he^- own imagination
dressed it up for her, somehow — just as mine
BELFOREST. 25-
did Sir Kobert Ker Porter's campaign in Eussia,
which now I can't for the life of me see any'
charm or spirit in. Sometimes the sunshine
illumines a landscape, and gives it, for the
moment, a beauty not its own."
26 BELFOREST.
CHAPTEE III.
" WHY don't he write ? "
It is curious how hunger will find palatable
and wholesome nutriment in food that in
ordinary circumstances we should consider
uninviting. Not to speak of the Esquimaux
relish for tallow candles and soap, we know
that necessity compelled the Huguenots to the
preparation of tripe, the French soldiers in the
Crimea cooked dainty dishes of nettles, and
the German peasants rejoice in daisy and
dandelion salads. Appetite is a good sauce.
Just so with books. Hunger for new and
vivid impressions makes us hunt them out
where most unlikely to be found. As a child,
I used to delight in forty-eight numbers of the
Edinburgh Review, from which I culled many
a graphic extract and false impression ; and
it is curious to remember now, how, while
adopting unquestioningly its canons of criti-
BELFOREST. 27
' cism, and considering it beyond doubt that
"the Lake poets" must be very silly men, I
devoured every scrap that was vouchsafed of
the Lake poetry.
In like manner, Nessy fed, not so much on
what she would as what she could ; and, failing
any more such dreamy romances as " Paul and
Virginia," was fain to content herself ^dth
" Nicholas Poussin." Nor was it difficult : Nessy
was in the habit of forming pictures to herself ;
and here were pictures by the dozen ; not por-
trayed, indeed, but described.
What had attracted her to the book were
two of Fenelon's " Dialogues of the Dead," in
the appendix ; for children love easy dialogue.
These dialogues were between Poussin and
Parrhasius. She did not know who Parrhasius
was, nor who Poussin, but she had before her
the means of resolving the latter question. As
for the banks of the Styx, she had learnt a
mythological catechism at boarding-school, and
read Butler s Astronomy in class, so she was
at least as well up in that department as
most real young ladies. Far more vivid was
the pleasure she took in it ; for Nessy, uncon-
sciously, had something of the temperament
28 BELFOREST.
of a poet ; and even our best, most Christian
poets, find themselves glad, somehow, to trick
allusion and metaphor in the old Greek fable.
These dialogues, then, were nuts to Nessy ;
and many a true and false canon of art did
she derive from them. A new world was open-
ing to her ; she had scarcely seen a picture,
and yet now her mind was full of pictures.
After the dialogues came a descriptive catalogue
of Poussin's paintings. She formed images of
them all. Such passages as the following, for
instance, were vividly suggestive.
" No man, perhaps, ever equalled him in the
choice of subjects, or in the happiest moment
in which to seize his history — as in the sa\diig
of P3n:rhus. The rebels have just reached the
party, and are seen fighting with the guards
of the young prince : the Megarians, on the
other side of the river, beckoning, show that
there is a probability of safety; but there is
still enough of uncertainty to give interest and
action to the piece. None better than Poussin
knew how to excite the passions and afiec-
tions."
" ' Moses exposed.' Jochebed is placing the
cradle of bulrushes carefully on the river's
BELFOPvEST. 29
brink, near a recumbent statue of Nile leaning
on a sphinx. Her husband has turned away,
and little Aaron follows him. Miriam stands
by her mother, and makes signs that some one
is approaching. Nothing can be more expres-
sive than all these figures; behind them are
some fine trees, at the foot of one of which
there is an altar covered vnth ofierings, and
on the branches are hung a bow and quiver,
and some musical instruments ; through the
trees, a majestic city, partly composed of local
views of Eome." (I regret to say that this
incongruity did not strike Nessy.)
" * The Finding of Moses.' The princess here
has seven attendants, besides a man in a
boat, who appears to have been employed in
saving the child. The Nile and sphinx occupy
a portion of the foreground. ... In the back-
ground are persons in a boat, engaged in hunt-
ing the hippopotamus, an incident taken from
the Prsenestine pavement."
" ' Moses trampling on the Crown of Pharaoh.'
Pharaoh, seated on a couch, has his crown lying
by him, on which Moses, apparently two years
old, treads. The priests, considering this an
evil omen, one of them is about to stab the
30 BELFOREST.
child, wlio is saved by a female attendant ;
the princess and her women taking part. The
background is very simple ; it is a wall, over
which appears a single palm-tree, and the upper
part of a temple of the Ionic order."
The following were, with equal industry,
copied in pencil.
" ' Achilles discovered by Ulysses.' While
Ulysses appears only intent on selling the con-
tents of his box of pedlar s ware, and is offering
a diadeni to Deidamia, Achilles has seized a
sword, and is eagerly drawing it from the
scabbard."
" ' Young Pyrrhus saved.' This is one of the
most celebrated of Poussin's works. The story
is admirably told, ^acidas, king of Molossis,
having been driven from his kingdom by rebels,
his two friends, Angelus and Androclides, fled
with his infant son Pyrrhus and his nurses.
The enemy pursued them so closely that the
same night they came up with them on the
banks of a river, swollen by recent floods.
Finding it impossible to ford the stream, one
of them wrote a few lines on the bark of a
tree, and tying them to his spear, threw it to
the opposite bank, to ask the assistance of the
BELFOREST. 31
Megarians. They tied trees together to make
a raft, and saved the prince. The moment
Poussin has chosen is that in which the Mega-
rians are prepared to receive Pyrrhus and his
friends : the enemy is at hand ; the terror of
the women is lively, the friendly strangers
beyond the river are making signs to them
to cross it. One of them uses the common
modern manner of beckoning in use among
the Eomans at this day, and as it is probable
that they have retained more antique customs
than other nations, he has shown his judgment
in adopting that action."
This was an epic — the next was an idyl. I
know some one who has quite as much pleasure
in copying it as Nessy had.
" * Arcadian Shepherds.' The thought in
this picture has been greatly and justly praised.
Two Arcadian shepherds and a shepherdess are
looking on the inscription on a tomb in the
midst of an agreeable landscape. The inscrip-
tion carries the moral — it is simply, /, too,
dwelt in Arcadia"
"I, too, dwelt in Arcadia." Nessy, if her
feelings had been thoughts, could have echoed
those words. The book took her quite out of
32 BELFOREST.
and away from herself — made her now and
then give great sighs.
She began the painter's life with reverence,
and found it interested her less than she
had expected and wished. She pitied him for
being recalled from his beloved Kome to the
French court, to be employed in trifles, and
sympathized with him in his joy when he got
back. One or two sage axioms fixed them-
selves in her retentive memory. " * As I grow
older,' wrote Poussin to a friend, * I feel
myself more than ever inspired with the desire
of surpassing myself, and of attaining the
highest degree of perfection.' It has been
observed that where a sound mind and body
have remained, painters have improved, even to
extreme old age. Titian improved to the last,
and he died of the plague at ninety-seven."
There was something pleasant in the idea
that one might go on improving to the age of
ninety-seven.
After reading so much about painting it was
natural that she should aspire to bring theor}'
into practice. One day, when Mr. Antony
returned to dinner, he saw Michael Saffery
standing at his shop door, with a very compla-
BELFOREST. 33
cent expression of countenance, whicli was re-
flected on the faces of his wife and daughter
who stood on either side of him. Their heads
bobbed up and do^Ti as they alternately looked
across the road and then at a small white paper
Michael Safiery held in his hand ; but as soon
as Nessy saw Mr. Antony, she vanished out of
sight.
" This isn't exactly bad, sir, is it ? " said
Michael Saflery to the artist as he approached,
at the same time handing him the paper. The
first sight of it nearly threw Mr. Antony into
fits ; it was so difficult to avoid an explosion of
laughter, which, had he yielded to, would have
deeply wounded the parental feelings. Nessy
had drawn the view from the attic window on
the horizontorium principle ; so that, if you
could not see round four sides of a square cube,
you certainly could see three, and the efiect was
most grotesque. Again, the gToups of figures,
not sparsely introduced, were truly Chinese,
almost more alive than life. ]\ir. Antony,
controlling his muscles by a violent efibrt, pro-
nounced the single word " capital,'^ and passed
on into his room, leaving his host impressed
with a conviction that he was very laconic.
VOL. I. D
34 BELFOREST.
Nessy was too conscious to wait at table that
day ; though she might have done so with im-
punity, for, after the first minute, Mr. Antony
never bestowed a thought on her performance.
There was a poor woman, dressed in shabby
black, who used to come almost daily to the
post-office with the same inquiry —
" Please, sir, is there a letter for me from my
son George ? "
And when Mr. Saffery replied in the in-
variable negative, she as invariably rejoined —
" Dear me, why don't he write ? "
To this, Mr. Saffery would gravely reply that
perhaps he had no pen, ink, and paper, or no
stamp, or was a long way from a post-office, or
on a journey, or too busy, or had nothing to
say, or had no mind to write. To these varied
conjectures she would sometimes reply queru-
lously—
"But he's gone to the gold-diggings — he
might send me a money-order."
Mr. Saffery would answer by a little shrug
and shake of the head, or sometimes put her oflf
with —
"Perhaps he will write by the next mail."
On which she would look wistfully in his
BELFOREST. 35
face for a little while, then give a deep sigh and
withdraw.
Mr. Antony had heard her make the inquir}-
one day, and, being struck by the humour
rather than the pathos of it, had echoed her
words when Mrs. Saffery brought in his supper,
saying —
" Well, Mrs. Saffery, have you brought me a
letter from my sister ? "
And when she said " No, sir,"
"Why don't she write?"
It was one of the privileges of lodging at the
post-office, that instead of getting his second-
delivery letters at breakfast-time, he had them
overnight; that is, when there were any to
have. But, like all forestalled pleasures, this
sometimes only forestalled disappointment ; for
he knew all the sooner that he had no letters to
receive.
After one or two trials of this sort, he was
rewarded by ]\irs. Saffery's coming in to him
with her pleasantest smile, saying, " A letter,
sir," and handing it to him on a waiter with
very little japanning left on it. He smiled too.
It was a nice, fat little packet, directed in a
pretty, ladylike hand ; so he settled himself in
B2
36 BELFOREST.
the most comfortable postm^e for enjoying it,
snuffed the candles and began.
" My dear Leonard, Jones street, May 16.
" I had nothing particular to write about
yesterday, and did not feel very well, so I
thought I would wait till to-day. The paint
made me feel rather sick, in spite of what I
gaid to you, so I took your advice at last and
came here, where Miss Hill is very glad to
receive me. The men were off work yesterday,
so the second coat was not put on as promised,
and this, of course, will occasion a little more
delay. I am sorry to say my little story is
* declined with thanks.' I suppose the editor's
hands are full. So it did not much signify that
there was a difference of fiY^ pounds in our
estimates of its value. Mr. Penguin does not
take your ' Sunshine — Storm coming on.' He
says there are so many. Not with the same
effect, though, / think. It will be sure to sell,
soon or late ; good pictures always do. Hit off
some bright little thing for the next exhibi-
tion, such as will be sure to please — a young
mother with her child, or something of that
sort, — without fretting over unsuccessful efforts
already made, and trying to force them down.
BELFOREST. 37
" It came into mj head last night, as I was
lying awake, that it is nonsense for people to
say such and such a thing is hackneyed. Nothing
is hackneyed to real genius. Of course, if
Shakspeare were to come to life again, and sit
down to vn:ite on any or all of the subjects now
called hackneyed, he would turn out something
perfectly fresh. Set one of our great essayists
to write on some trite theme — on Truth — on
Honour — on Fame — he would produce some-
thing perfectly new, something we wondered we
had never thought of saying ourselves. And so
with everything else. Therefore do not fancy,
my dear Leonard, as you do sometimes when
you are dispirited, that all the good subjects are
taken up. They may all be used over again in
a new way ; and there are hundreds of others
besides. I am sorry for this little disappoint-
ment of yours, because I know you were rather
in want of the money ; but I have carefully gone
over last month's expenses, and they were just
sixteen-pence halfpenny less than the month
before, and even then, you know, we were living
within our means.
Your affectionate sister,
Edith Antony."
38 BELFOREST.
CHAPTEE IV.
A MISUNDERSTANDING.
This letter did not enliven Mr. Antony. It
was a short one : what made the envelop so
fat was that it also enclosed a boot-maker's bill ;
on seeing which, he muttered, " Bother ! '"
He sighed. Old Penguin had seemed so
likely to buy that " Sunshine — Storm coming
on ;" and now he said " there were so many."
So many what? Storms coming on? Very
likely. Stupid old fellow. Stingy old fellow.
He, fancy he knew a good picture !
*"Hit off some bright little thing for the
next exhibition/ That's cool of you, Miss Edith.
Suppose I were to advise you to hit off some
bright little thing for the Cornliilly Macmillctn,
or Fraser, ' Peclined with thanks.' DonH they
thank one ? Well, it's best to be civil. Poor
little Edith ! that's a disappointment to her, 1
know. It's a shame they won't have it : that
BELFOREST. 39
story of hers is worth a dozen of the washy,
flashy things they print — for washy, flashy
readers. Humpty-dumpty sat upon a wall.
Ay, and got a great fall; there's a moral in
that, my masters. Aim highly, fall nobly. But
rd rather not fall.
" ' Fain would I climb, but that I fear to fall.'
* If thy heart fail thee, do not climb at all.'
" Ha, ha — capital ! Almost as good as — "
" ' My grief ls great, because it is so small.
Then were it greater, if 'twere none at all ! '
" Query, is that a sequitur ? Heigho, I'm as
flat as a fish. Why could not the girl say a
word about Kosabel ? Probably because she
had not a word to say.''
In this disjointed fashion did Mr. Antony
pursue his cogitations till Mrs. Safiery came in
to clear the table. She was a good sort of
homely woman, not disinclined, now and then,
to a little chat; and on the present occasion
she seemed disposed to take the initiative.
Instead of removing the tray, she fidgetted a
little with the tray-cloth, and, after clearing her
throat, said, rather hesitatingly —
" Pray, sir, if I may be so bold as to ask, do
you ever give lessons ? '^
40 BELFOREST.
"Well, no," said Mr. Antony, in suq)rise.
" That is, I certainly did give a few lessons
to a young lady once ; but it is not in my
line."
" I humbly beg your pardon, sir. I hope no
offence ? "
" None at all, Mrs. Saffery."
" Then, as you did give lessons to a young
lady once, sir, maybe you might not quite
object to do so again ? "
"Well, I hardly know," said Mr. Antony,
rousing up at the thought of pounds, shillings,
and pence, and yet not much relishing the way
by which they were to be acquired. " Do you
know any one in this neighbourhood in want
of lessons ? "
" Nessy, sir."
" Nessy ! " repeated he with surprise and
aversion. " Oh, Mrs. Saffery 1 that would not
suit me at all. I mean, it would not suit you.
My terms would be too high."
" We concluded, sir," resumed Mrs. Saffery
after a pause, " that your terms would be high.
Whether they would be too high is another
question."
"What should you say to half-a-guinea an
BELFOREST. 41
hour, for instance ? " said Mr. Antony, thinking
to startle her.
" Half-a-guinea an hour," said Mrs. Saffery,
after another pause, " is a considerable sum, sir.
There are many that couldn't pay it. Being so
high, it would compel Nessy to have the fewer
lessons. But then, sir, we should always have
the privilege of saying that Nessy had had
the best of teaching at half-a-guinea a lesson.
It might be an advantage to her, sii\ all her
life."
This was such an unexpected argument, that
Mr. Antony had not, for the moment, one
word to say in reply. But his repugnance to
teaching Nessy was undiminished.
"Mrs. Saffery," said he, rather haughtily,
"you don't quite understand our relative
positions. I am not a professed teacher; I
feel as if I should be letting myself down
somewhat by it — at least, by teaching such a
very little girl as Nessy."
"Nessy's older than she looks," put in
Mrs. Saffery.
" Yes, yes, I know ; but still, she's venj
young, and has had no previous instruc-
tion."
42 BELFOREST.
"I thought, sir, that might be an ad-
vantage."
"Well, perhaps it is so," he reluctantly
admitted ; " but why should you think it ? "
" All the easier, sir — "
" Oh no, you re quite on the wrong tack,"
interrupted he. " It is merely that I should
not have the faults of a bad teacher to correct,
as well as her own."
" The mind of youth has been compared to
a sheet of white paper," observed Mrs. SafFery ;
adding, with a view to improve the illustration,
" on which you may draw either landscapes or
figures."
"Ay; or carts and horses; or pigs and
poultry."
" Then, sir," said Mrs. Saffery, after another
and longer pause, "Fm afraid I am to under-
stand you decline the proposal."
" Well— no," said poor Antony, as the question
of ways and means rose up against him. " I
don't like to disappoint you, Mrs. Saffery, but
I really think you might employ your money
better."
" Sir," said Mrs. Saffery, " toe must be the best
judges of that."
BELFOEEST. 43
" But it really will seem to me like picking
your pocket."
"Why should it, sir? We have a certain
sum per annum to lay out on Nessy's teaching ;
and it may as well go into your pocket as any
one else's."
" But an inferior and cheaper master would
suit your purpose as well or better."
" Are the cheapest things, sir, always the
best?"
" No ; but you really are taking me too
much on trust. You don't know that my
teaching will be worth the money."
" Oh, sir ! those lovely things of yours ! "
said Mrs. Saffery, extending her hand towards
his pictures, and gazing towards them in fond
admiration.
Mr. Antony could not help smiling, and
feeling mollified.
*' You take a deal of persuading, sir," she
added.
" Well, I do," said he, •" because, you see, it's
against my judgment, and against my inclina-
tion, too. For I don't hesitate to say, Mrs.
Safiery, that I am not, in a general way, fond
of teaching."
44 BELFOEEST.
" Perhaps, sir, the young lady you mentioned
as having taught was particularly trouble-
some."
" No, she was not," he said, hastily. " Well,
Mrs. Saffery, since you will have it so, so let
it be. But the lesson must be one hour long,
and no longer."
" Suppose, sir, since you are so afraid of its
being too long, we divide it, and say half an
hour at a time for five and threepence. That
would come easy."
" I don't think we could do much good in
half an hour," said Mr. Antony. "However,
well see. So, let Nessy come to me to-morrow
morning at ten o'clock."
On this, Mrs. Saffery was voluble in thanks,
and at length she carried out the supper-tray,
leaving him hardly conscious whether he were
annoyed or pleased. It is certain he was not
in a very good humour that night ; and after
spending half an hour very discontentedly, he
carried himself and his discontent to bed.
Next morning, true to the hour, Nessy
appeared in her shabby-genteel black silk
frock, staid and prim as usual, but immensely
happy, though rather embarrassed.
BELFOREST. 45
"Well, Nessy, here you are/' began ]\Ir.
Antony, looking up. Now, then, for it. Let
us see what we shall see. Can you use a piece
of chalk?"
" I dare say I can, sir."
" Humph ! Can you cut it ? "
" Yes, sir."
"Well, now, here's a piece of cartridge-
paper, and here's a piece of chalk. Draw
some lines like these."
" Oh ! " said Nessy, in blank dismay, " tliat^s
not what I was to learn ! "
" Not what you were to learn ? Why, what
were you to learn ? "
" To paint in oils."
" My good girl, if you were going to build a
house, should you begin with the chimney-pot ?"
" No," said Nessy, resentfully, and losing all
her fear of him under the burning sense of
indignity at being called a good girl.
" Well, that would be just like beginning to
paint before you can draw."
"But I can draw, and I don't want to
draw," she answered, impetuously. " I want
to paint, and it is for painting only that my
mamma is willing to give so much money."
46 BELFOREST.
" Whew ! Good morning, Nessy."
Her throat swelled. " I don t call you
Leonard, sir ! ''
" I stand corrected, Miss SafFery. Good
morning, miss. Our engagement, if you please,
is ended." And he sat down, and began to
write a letter.
Nessy stood still, and silently cried. Pre-
sently he looked up.
" Well, Miss Saifery, I must say this is not
very polite.''
" I hope youll forgive me, sir."
" No, I don't think I shall."
Tears flowed afresh. The letter was con-
tinued.
" Well, Miss SafFery, I really am surprised.
I thought this room was my own for the time
being."
" Sir, I am going," said Nessy, in smothered
accents ; yet still she stayed. A long pause.
"WeU, MissSaffery?"
She walked a step or tw^o towards him.
" Oh, what an opportunity to lose ! Sir,
will you teach me ? "
He burst into a roar of laughter. She
looked amazed and scandalized.
BELFOKEST. 47
" Were you laugliiiig at me all the while ? "
said she.
" No, certainly not," said Mr. Antony ; " but
I never knew such a tragi-comedy. 0 Nessy !
— Miss Saffery, I mean — "
" You may call me Nessy, sir, if you like."
"A thousand thanks for so inestimable a
privilege. Well, Nessy, are you going to be
a baby or a sensible girl ? "
" A sensible girl — if I can, sir."
" Very well ; then now for it. You know,
if you are going to teach me, our positions are
reversed. If I am going to teach you, you
must mind what I say."
" Yes, sir."
Here Mrs. Saffery looked in, anxiously.
"I hope Nessy is getting on pretty well,
sir?"
" Oh, swimmingly ! "
" Be a good girl, Nessy."
(Exit Mrs. Saffery.)
" My mamma would be so disappointed,"
said Nessy, timidly, " if she thought I did not
give satisfaction."
" Ah ! it's a difficult thing to satisfy me,"
said Mr. Antony, with a sort of groan or
48 BELFOREST.
grunt, accompanied by a terrific shake of the
head. " Here, suppose you and I look over
this portfolio of pictures together."
Nessy was silently transported.
" There ! what do you call that ? "
" That's a man."
" Clever girl ! Yes ; and that^s a woman."
" Not a very pretty one," said Nessy.
" Not pretty ? " and he looked daggers.
" Pray, Miss Saffery, what is the matter with
her?"
" Her nose is too straight."
" Why, that's a Grecian nose. A Grecian
nose is beautiful ! "
Nessy was silenced; but she did not think
her a pretty lady.
" She h^s a pretty name," observed she,
finding Mr. Antony continued to look at the
head, and wishing to conciliate. " Is her name
Kosabel ? "
" It is, and yet it is not," said he oracularly ;
and he turned another drawing over it.
" There. What's that ? "
" An angel."
" Is the angel's dress in straight lines ? "
" No, wavy."
\
BELFOREST. 49
" That wavy line is the line of beaut}^ It is
elegant, graceful. Straight, angular forms are
ungraceful. Wavy lines are beautiful."
" I thought you said just now that straight
noses were beautiful," said Nessy.
" Do you prefer crooked ones ? " said he.
" There ; go and draw me some wavy figTires
on that cartridge paper."
" What sort of figures, sir ? "
" Any sort you like, so that they abound in
the line of beauty (waving his hand in the
air) — fairies, angels, zephyrs."
She sat down to obey this vague direction
as well as she could, and drew very quietly
and patiently for nearly a quarter of an hour.
Mr. Antony stood at his easel the while, and
began filling in a background.
" Well," said he at length, " let me see how
you are getting on. Come, this is famous.
Here is the line of beauty and no mistake.
Double s's running into one another as they do
in the Lord Mayor s gold collar."
She drew a deep breath.
" Are you tired ? "
"A little."
" Well, your half-hour is almost up."
VOL. I. E
50 BELFOREST.
She looked at him with timid entreaty.
" Might not I paint, just for five minutes,
sir?"
" Well, yes, if you like. I suppose nothing
else will make you happy."
He put the brush and palette into her hands.
She held them awkwardly, afraid of dropping
them.
" What am I to do ? "
" Here's a millboard that will be none the
worse for a coat of paint. You may fill in a
plain background all over it."
" What ! all over that beautiful picture ? "
"The picture is not beautiful, and if you
don't cover it over, I shall."
"Oh, then I will!" cried Nessy. "■\^aiich
colour, sir ? "
" Mix them all together into a sort of sky-
blue scarlet."
She knew he was laughing at her, but she
did not mind. It was so delightful to handle
the palette-knife ! When she had mixed all
the colours together, she found they made a
dirty drab.
" Is that sky-blue scarlet, sir ? "
"Well, it will do for it. Now take the
BELFOEEST. 51
largest brush. Laissez-aller. Don't crumple
up your fingers as if they were tied together
with a piece of string. Don't niggle-naggle.
Firmer, firmer. That's better. That's well."
After working away for some time with
evident enjoyment, she looked up at him with
a smile, and said —
" At any rate, it teaches me the use of the
brush."
Mr. Antony's conscience smote him for
letting her waste her time so ; but, in fact, she
was not wasting it.
"Now hatch it," said he, taking the brush
from her and showing her^what he meant.
*' That's right. Come, you'll beat Apelles some
day."
" Or Nicholas Poussin," observed Nessy,
smiling.
" Ay, you know more about him."
" There's something about Apelles though,
sir, in Butler's ' Globes.' "
" Ah, that's a book of universal information.
Have you been through all the problems ? "
" No, sir."
Here Mrs. Saffery looked in with a smile
and said —
E 2
UNIVERSITY OF lUlNOlS
52 BELFOREST.
" Nessy, the time's up."
" Oh ! " said Nessy, with a start, " how sorry
Iain!"
" Stay, you may as well just cover the mill-
board," said Mr. Antony, " or I shall have to
do so myself. Another five minutes will
finish it."
" There's no more paint, sir."
" No ? Then we must have a little more.
Squeeze it out of these little tubes. Not too
hard, or you'll burst them, and spoil your frock.
I advise you not to paint in a silk frock in
future."
" It is such an honour to paint at all, that I
think I ought to wear my best," said Nessy.
" Things that are inappropriate are not the
best. Some day you'll upset the palette on
your frock, and then who will you have to
thank? Wilful waste brings woful want.
That's why I didn't bring my best hat into
the country."
" Did not you, sir ? " said Nessy, in surprise,
which made him laugh.
'* There, now you've done it ! What a splen-
did achievement ! "
" Good morning, sir. Thank you."
BELFOREST. 53
" You had better take that chalk and cart-
ridge paper with you, and draw some more
angels/'
" Do you believe in angels, sir ? "
" Believe in them ? Yes, to be sure ! and in
zephjrrs and fairies, and all such things. Do
you think Fm a Sadducee ? Here, Nessy, just'
stop while I show you one thing."
She hesitated, looked wistful, but went to-
wards the door.
" No, sir, my lesson's over. I must not use
any more of your time."
And the door closed after her.
"A conscientious little monkey," muttered
Mr. Antony.
54 BELFOREST.
CHAPTER V.
PYRRHUS.
On the first Sunday of Mr. Antony's stay at
the post-office, Mrs. Saffery had said to her
husband at dinner-time —
" Where did Mr. Antony sit in church this
morning ? ''
" I don't think he sat an3rwhere/' said Mr.
SafFery. " I don't believe he was in church."
" No, I don't think he was," said Nessy.
" That's abominable," said Mrs. Saffery.
" I've no notion of young men being infidels
and heretics ; let them be the finest young
gentlemen ever born. I shall tell him a bit of
my mind, if I find it's the case."
** Oh, mother, don't," said Nessy, hastily.
"But indeed I shall, though," said Mrs.
Saffery. " Many a man's soul has been lost
through the false shame of his neighbours."
*^ False nonsense, my dear," said Mr. Saffery.
BELFOREST. 55
"You shouldn't judge folks so hastily. Mr.
Antony may have been in church after all, or
have had some good reason for staying away.
He may not have had a hymn-book."
" That's true," said Mrs. Saffery, " though he
might have asked for one, and that was a poor
reason for keeping from church. However, he
shall not have that objection to make this
afternoon."
So when the church bell began to go, she
tapped at her lodger s door, and on his saying,
" Come in," she entered with a bland smile, and
found him louno-ins^ in the American chair,
reading the Artist's World.
"Oh, sir, our afternoon service begins at
three," said she, in carefully modulated tones ;
" and though the church is rather full of a
morning, there's always plenty of room in the
afternoons. I thought you might be glad of one
of the hymn-books we use — it's the collection
authorized by the Bishop of London, and pub-
lished by Koutledge, price fourpence." Saying
w^hich, she laid the little book on the table.
"Thank you," di'ily said ]\Ir. Antony, re-
suming his reading in a posture of more com-
plete ease.
b6 BELFOREST.
Mrs. Saffery was a good deal excited. " I don't
believe," said she, returning to her husband,
" that he has any more idea of stirring than
that table."
"Well, my dear, it's no business of ours,"
said the placid Mr. SafFery.
" Strictly speaking, it may not be ; but
I can't see a fine young man going to wrack
and ruin without feeling pained. It's not in
my nature. Catch me remembering to let
him have the next Artist's World till Monday
morning ! "
" Why, if you don't give it him, he'll only
ask for it ; and if he don't get it, he'll only
read something else," said Mr. Saffery.
" Then I hope it will be something awaken-
ing," said Mrs. SafFery.
Nessy had been alarmed and pained by this
little dialogue, and she felt uncomfortable
whenever the subject of Mr. Antony's faith
and practice occurred to her. Noio she seemed
to have found the solution of the enigma, so at
dinner she cheerfully said, " Mamma, I know
wdiy Mr. Antony does not go to church ; it's
because lie has not brought his best hat."
" Nonsense ! " said Mrs. Saffery, in disgust ;
BELFOREST. 57
" he didn't expect yoii to believe that, did he ?
His hat is good enough, and besides, he would
not wear it in church."
This had not occurred to Nessy. " At any
rate," said she, in a lower voice, " he believes
in angels, and he says he is not a Sadducee."
" What a very odd remark/' said her mother.
" No, nor a Pharisee, neither, of course. Why,
the Pharisees and Sadducees were Jews ; and
he isn't a Jew, even if he is not a Christian.
I tell you what, Nessy. Mr. Antony is a good
deal cleverer than you or I, whatever his prir-
ciples may be, and I don't pay him to teach
you religion, but painting ; so you must let
alone these kind of subjects, or I shall stop
short your lessons. Your business is to paint,
not to talk."
This was a check to poor Nessy, who feared
losing her lessons more than anything.
" Now, here's a stupid thing for somebody to
go and do," said Michael Saffery, beginning to
stamp the letters. '' Here's somebody been and
posted a letter mthout ever a direction on it.
Where is it to go to, I wonder ? "
" To the dead-letter office, of course," said
his wife ; " but, dear me, Michael, let us try to
58 BELFOREST.
make out who can have put it in. Is there a
seal upon it ? "
" Yes, with Q. P/'
*' Why, that's Quintillia Prosser ! Of course
you know Mrs. Prosser's name is Quintillia, be-
cause she signs it to her money-orders."
" Well, but of course I don t know who Mrs.
Prosser meant to direct this letter to."
" No, but Nessy can take it to her and get
her to direct it. One would not wish to dis-
oblige Mrs. Prosser. Put on your bonnet,
Nessy, this minute, and run off with it."
Nessy was just then about some little affair
or other that she particularly disliked being
interrupted in. However, she put it aside and
dressed herself for the walk. It was a pleasant
afternoon, and the air was very fresh and sweet
as she crossed the common on the skirts of
which was Mrs. Prosser s cottas^e. It stood a
little below the turfy, undulating waste, so that
you only saw the brown tiled roof till you
came close upon the white palings ; and then a
steep little pebbled path took you down to the
porch, which, in heavy rains, was apt to be
under Avater. Nessy was always fond of this
place, though she could not tell why. It was
BELFOEEST. 59
like two or three small cottages converted into
one ; and hardly two rooms in it were on the
same level.
Mrs. Prosser was one of those very clever
people who sometimes do very stnpid things.
She had been in great haste, she said, which
must have occasioned the oversight, and she
was very much obliged to Mr. Saffery for
sending back the letter, and to Nessy for
bringing it. She hoped she had not minded
the walk. . Oh, no, Nessy said, she liked it very
much. Altogether, it was a bright, pleasant
little interview, and Nessy was glad Mrs. Pros-
ser had forgotten to direct the letter.
She walked home more at her leisure —
daunering, as the Scotch say, and pausing here
and there to look about her and enjoy the
pleasant air. A river, winding through the
lower ground, lost itself in a tangled thicket ;
some anglers were crossing it in a punt ; on
the other bank were one or two of their party
hallooing and beckoning. All at once Nessy
was reminded of the description of Poussin s
picture, " The Saving of Pyrrhus." She had a
great desire — " ambition," her mother would
have called it — to produce a sketch, and here
60 BELFOREST.
was a subject ! She hastily pulled out a crum-
pled piece of paper and the stump of a pencil,
and rudely scrawled the scene, writing " trees "
and " grass " at certain points of it.
That evening, when her day's work was
done, Nessy Hjusied herself by making what
artists would call a finished study of this piece.
First, she drew it out on a slate ; after several
corrections of the original sketch, she copied it
on the cartridge paper ; taking care to intro-
duce the withies, the ashes, the poplars, the
sedges, the water, the boat, and the steep,
broken foreground. All this, of course, was
very rudely portrayed. Then she put in the
figures, which were still worse executed, but in
lively action. Costume, of course, of no par-
ticular period.
As Mr. Antony's stay was expected to be
short, it had been arranged that Nessy should
take four half-lessons a week, viz., on Tuesday,
Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Saturday
and Monday were busy days, when Nessy was
expected to attend to certain light tasks in the
way of dusting and cleaning, getting up fine
linen, gathering fruit and vegetables, shelling
peas, stringing and slitting French beans, top-
BELFOREST. 61
ping and tailing gooseberries, &c. ; employments
that lier mother averred no lady need think
scorn of. At all events, Nessy liked them very
well, and never thought of despising them ; so
that, on the whole, her time passed as happily
as a little girl's time could.
When she tapped at Mr. Antonyms door, in
readiness for her second lesson, he called out,
" Come in," in his usual cheerful manner.
" Stop a bit," said he, without looking up, as
she entered, " I want just to finish what Fm
about before I attend to you."
" Yes, sir ; " and she stood a few paces be-
hind him, watching him with deep interest.
He was painting a little landscape with figures.
" Now then," said he, at last, laying down
palette and brushes, and turning round upon
her. " I suppose you've a basketful of angels ?
Hallo ! what's this ? "
" The saving of Pyrrhus, sir."
In a much lower voice, she repeated, " The
saving of Pyrrhus."
"Who's Pyrrhus?"
Nessy did not know. She believed he was
a prince or king, or something of that sort.
62 BELFOREST.
" King of what ? "
She could not tell.
" Well, this is the funniest thing I ever heard
of. To draw a picture of you don't know what
and cannot tell ! Why, Nessy," after a long
pause, during which she felt penetrated with
shame, "you don't know how well, in some
respects, you've done this 1 "
She gave a great start.
" Here's genius ! But you don't know what
that is, neither. Where did you get this back-
ground ? "
" Oh, sir," said Nessy, colouring crimson,
" you must not think it invention. I copied it."
" Oh ! From what ? "
" From Fairlee Common, as I crossed it
yesterday."
" And the boat ? "
" The boat was there too, and some of the
people."
" Men in Greek tunics ? "
*' No, I took them from the picture-Bible,
because I did not know how people dressed in
Pyrrhus's time."
" Hum — combination. What on earth put
Pyrrhus into your head ? "
BELFOREST. 63
" One of Poussin s pictures, sir. The descrip-
tion of it, I mean.'*
" Turn it up. I don t remember it."
Nessy speedily found the description, and
showed it him. He read it very attentively,
with a little frown on his brow, which made
her doubtful whether he were pleased or the
reverse.
" Humph," said he at last ; " it is a queer
thing to take hold of you. You Ve got it all
in, one way or another, nurses, soldiers, and all.
The figures, preposterous, of course. Still — "
and a long pause ensued.
"Nessy," said he abruptly, at length, "you
are but a little girl, whatever you may think,
but Fm going to talk to you, for once, as if
you were a woman." And he looked grave,
almost stern. "I said, just now, you had
genius. Have you the least idea what that
means ? "
Nessy blushed painfully, and said, "Yes,
sir."
" Oh, you have, have you ? Wliat is it ? "
After a pause, she said, " A person may know
what a thing is, without knomng how to ex-
plain it."
64 BELFOREST.
" I won't admit that. Come, try at it."
" Genius makes you do at a thought —
ahnost without thouojht — what others can't do
with ever so much thinking."
" Not bad that. But you hardly improved
it by adding ' almost without thought.' ' At a
thought,' was the thing. It don't come without
thinking. And that one particular thought
that hits the mark comes of many foregone
and wistful thoughts, that seemed to have no
particular end. They wrap themselves up, at
last, into this bright thought that suddenly
knocks the nail on the head ! " And he rapped
the table with his knuckles. " D ye see ? "
" Yes, sir."
Another pause.
" There are many people, Nessy, who never
attain to that one bright thought — they go on
hammering and hammering, this side and that
side the nail, very close to it sometimes, hut
never 07i the head."
" No, sir."
*' Those people," pursued Mr. Antony, frown-
ing darkly, " when they see you hit the nail,
cry, 'bless my soul, how was it / could not
do that ? That's just what I meant to do, and
BELFOREST. 65
was going to do, only you've done it first/
Don't believe it ! They would never have done
it ! " And he shook his finger at her.
" No, sir."
" Just as if you knew anything about it,"
muttered he, after another pause. Nessy felt
aggrieved.
"Now," resumed he, "after what IVe said
of genius, very likely you think those who have
it have won the battle. Quite a mistake. Be-
cause genius is a giftj that doesn't make it
self-sufficient. Because you've a nose, that
does not enable you to do without eyes and
mouth, does it ? "
" No, sir."
" And what's the good of a mouth without
something to eat ? No more good than genius
without workmanship ! Genius is a capital
thing, Nessy, to start with ; but it's no good
at all, you'd far better be without it, unless
you know how to use it. N0W3 at present you
don't know how to use yours. You know
absolutely nothing. And I don't see how you
are ever to learn much. And I don't see what
good it would be to you to learn much."
" Oh, sir ! " And Nessy looked miserably
VOL. T. F
66 BELFOREST.
disappointed. " I thought," faltered she, " it
was always good for us to improve our minds."
" If we do improve them," said Mr. Antony.
" But we are not improved by what takes us
out of our own sphere."
" I thought all that was settled, sir, between
you and my mamma. Surely we need not go
all over it again ? "
" Well, no. It has been decided that I am
to give you a little smattering of drawing, and
it will be but a little smattering, Nessy. You
must not plume yourself on having had a few
lessons, and fancy they have taught you every-
thing ; for, at best, they can but teach you
very little. A man cannot learn to make a
pianoforte at the first trial ; no more can you
learn to paint. It requires a long apprentice-
ship. And if it was needful for you to undergo
that apprenticeship, you have a very fair capital
of genius to start with. But happily for you,
it's not needful. I say happily, because you
would find it very hard and very ill-rewarded
work. So many others are in the field, that
even when you deserve it, you can't always
get on."
She sighed.
BELFOREST. 67
" As for this sketch, I advise you to put it
in the fire."
" Oh, sir ! "
" Yes, put it in the fire, I say ; there's no
real value in it ; though, considering the cir-
cumstances, it is a curiosity. Artists would
only laugh at it."
Oh, surprise ! Mrs. Safiery, opening the door,
said, "Nessy! your time's up." And Nessy
had done nothinor.
F 2
68 BELFOREST.
CHAPTER YL
A VISITOR.
" I MUST say, sir," said Mrs. SafFery, presently
returning to the parlour, where Mr. Antony
was sitting in a thoughtful posture — " I must
say, sir," said she in an accusatory tone, " that
I didn't expect Nessy to be a wasting of her
time as I find she's been a doinsj this morninor.
You must have the kindness, sir, to keep her
to it a little more strictly, if you please."
" It was my fault, Mrs. SafFery ; I was talking
to her."
"Well then, sir, if I may say so without
offence, we are not rich enough people for you
to be talking to her at five-and-threepence the
half-hour."
" Of course not. I did not consider the
lesson begun. Send her back ; she shall have
it now."
*' No, sir, she has one of her bad headaches.
BELFOEEST. 69
Nessy's a curious child, she doesn't bear too
much thinking ; and it was partly because her
father and I did not like to see her so much at
her books, that we wished her to paint, as we
noticed, sir, that you always stood at your
easel, and that your sketching took you so
much into the open air."
" That's true ; but you are mistaken, Mrs.
SafFery, if you suppose that painting does not
require thinking. It requires constant thought
of the closest kind ; a really good painter has
his art always in his head — always is taking
notice of happy effects in light and shade, bits
of drapery, &c. For instance, there's a capital
fold at this instant in your apron, Mrs. Saffery ;
don't move, for your life ! Ill jot it down in
a moment. 1 beg your pardon."
Poor Mrs. SafFery stood transfixed, like the
Lady in Comus, for full five minutes, wishing
the artist at Jericho.
" There ! " said he, presently, " that bell-
shaped fold was too good to lose. Well, Mrs.
Saffery, you see I had a great deal to explain
to your little girl this morning. She fancies,
and so do you, that one may be an artist at a
jump ; at any rate, in five or six lessons. JMy
70 BELFOREST.
good lady, do you think you could teach me
to make a gooseberry-pie in five or six
lessons ? "
" Well, sir,'' said Mrs. SafFery, beginning to
smile, " I'm afraid your crust might be heavy.
You see, that's woman's work."
" Oh, pardon me I we have plenty of French
pastrycooks, and Scotchmen, and Italians too."
" Well, sir, you see they're taught."
"That's the very thing," said he, quickly.
" They have a seven years' apprenticeship.
And do you think it easier to paint a picture
than to make a pie ? "
" Well, sir, many ladies paint very prettily."
Mr. Antony shrugged his shoulders. " They
had better stick to their bead -work and button-
holes," said he. " At least, that's my mind."
" It will never be theirs, sir."
^' No, I am afraid not."
^' Then, since that's the case, sir, why should
not Nessy paint like the rest ? Just in a lady's
way, you know, sir."
" Well," said he, " the fact is, Nessy might
do better than nine ladies out of ten, if she
were regularly put to it."
" Would not it be worth , while, then, sir,"
BELFOEEST. 7l
said Mrs. Saffeiy, brightening, "to put her
regularly to it ? "
" To what end ? In the first place, you
would not like the means. They would be
expensive, and take her quite away from her
usual work — set her above it.''
"That would be bad, certainly," said Mrs.
Saffery.
"Yes, and even supposing her health could
bear the training, which I very much doul^t, if
half an hour's quiet talking, such as you and I
are having now, gives her a nervous headache."
" Oh, sir, I doubt it too ! "
" Very well ; but even supposing her health
to bear it, and supposing her to become as
good an artist as I am, for instance — which
indeed, Mrs. Saffery, vanity apart, is a very
wide supposition — what has she attained then ?
— what have I ? Have / made my fortune, or
secured a lasting fame ? is my name even
familiar to my countrymen ? "
He shook his head. " They hang my jDic-
tures — not in the silver teapot row or the silver
milk-jug row ; no, nor yet even in the dead-
game row ! — l3ut at the very top or else at the
very bottom."
72 BELFOREST.
" Is it possible, sir ! " said Mrs. Saffery, " that
there can exist such bribery and corruption ? "
He could not help laughing a little. " Not
in reality, perhaps," said he, "but people will
consider their own friends first, and we, the
overlooked, are apt to attribute all our slights
to envy and malice."
"Ah, that's human nature, sir ; but you — that
you should be overlooked ! "
" Wonderful, isn't it ? But, you see, I am but
young yet, and have time to make my way.
Perhaps at sixty I may have made my fame."
" I hope so, sir."
" Meanwhile, you see, I paint to live, instead
of living to paint. And the upshot of it is,
Mrs. Saffery, that you may be very glad your
little girl is not a little boy, with his way to
make in the world."
" Yes, sir, I am very thankful Nessy is
provided for."
" Send her out to pick gooseberries, since her
head aches with thinking too much ; and let
her come to me to-morrow."
When Nessy came to him the following day,
he said, very calmly —
" Well, now we will propose to ourselves
BELFOREST. 73
some easy task that shall not be too much for
our nervTS. I think it will be best for you
not to aim at the highflying school, severe
history, and so forth : leave Pyrrhus, Pericles,
and all the rest of them, to take care of them-
selves, and stick to little rustic pieces."
" Yes, sir."
" By-the-way, let me have another look at
that grand performance of yours."
" Oh, sir ! I burned it."
" Burned it ? "
" You told me to do so," said Nessy, her lip
quivering.
" But I did not think you would:"
" I wish I had known that, Fm sure, for I
should have liked very much to keep it."
" Well, I am sorry I told you so, since it
gave you so much pain. However, I give you
credit for it ; and it really is a good thing to
have cleared it away, for you could have made
nothing of it."
" It would have been pleasant to look at
sometimes."
From this time, Mr. Antony gave Nessy his
best attention, both in drawing and painting ;
so that in a fortnight, it was surprising how
74 . BELFOREST.
mucli progress she had made. In fact, her
mind was at work all day long, and even in
her dreams ; so that Mrs. SafFery, fearing she
would be ill, invented errands that continually
sent her into the open air.
One day, when Nessy returned from one of
these excursions, her mother was dismissing a
tall, pale, thin old man, who seemed to have
been seeking relief mthout getting any. Deeply
sighing as he turned away, he said —
"I think ni go into the House. There I
shall, at any rate, have plenty of victuals, and a
roof over my head ; but somehow I don't think
I can stand being shut up, for I've been in
the open air all my life, and I did hope that
nothing but death would part my old mistress
and me/'
Mr. Antony, as he passed through the shop,
was struck by the unaffected expression of pity
on Nessy's face. She was feeling in her empty
pocket.
"Hallo, old man," said he, "what's the
matter with you ? "
"Nothing, sir," said the old man, "but
want."
" Do you want to have your likeness taken ?"
BELFOREST. *75
"You're a merry young gentleman, sir. I
wish I wanted nothing more than I want
that."
" Well, but / want to take it, if you don't,
which comes to the same thing. Your withered
cheek, and tresses grey, seem to have known a
better day. Step in here, my old friend ; I'll
hit you off in ten minutes, and then give you a
shilling.*'
The old man, in surprise and joy, followed him
into the parlour, saying, " You may hit me as
much as you like, sir, if you don't hit too hard."
" Is not that nice, mother ? " said Nessy,
gladly.
"Yes, very nice," said Mrs. Saffery. "And,
now I think of it, there's a bit of cold hashed
mutton, not enough for a dinner, but quite
enough for a relish, which you may put into
the oven for him if you like, and give him
when he comes out."
" Oh, thank you ! "
^^^len the old man, who had enjoyed a good
chat with Mr. Antony during the sitting, came
out with the shilling in his pocket and a smile
on his face, Nessy met him with the plate of
warm food and a piece of bread.
76 BELFOREST.
" Do you mean this is for me ? " said he, in a
glow of pleasure, as she presented it to him.
" Well, this is a bright day for me, that I
thought was going to be so dark. For what 1
am going to receive, may the Lord make me
truly thankful ! "
" You may come again to-morrow," said Mr.
Antony.
"Thank'e, sir! thank'e ! "
Nessy had set him a little table, with a knife
and fork, and he despatched his little meal so
like a famished man that she thought it a pain-
ful pleasure to watch him. The thought sud-
denly was borne in upon her —
" Surely, there can be no happiness equal to
that of giving food to the hungry ! "
Day followed day. Mr. Antony had been
nearly a month at the post-office, when he told
Mrs. Saffery, to her great regret, that he was
going to return home at the end of the week.
This was a sad blow to Nessy, but she had
known it must fall. Notwithstanding his having
been mischievous enough to dismay Mrs. Saffery
by saying to her one Sunday, " Cannot Nessy
and I have a little painting this morning ? " he
really had gone punctually to church, though
BELFOREST. 77
occasionally in some distant village ; spending
the interim between the services in the open air.
On the morning of his last day, as Nessy was
reluctantly leaving the room at the end of her
last lesson, the parlom* door suddenly opened,
and, instead of Mrs. SafFery, there appeared a
vision of delight in the person of a very bright,
blooming young lady, who looked brimful of
mirth and sm^e of a welcome.
" Hallo, Edith ! how are you, old girl ? "
She burst out laughing, and they kissed one
another. Nessy vanished.
" Why, how glad I am to see you ? Why
did not you come before 1 "
" Why did you never ask me, Mr. Leo ? "
"I did!"
" No, not once ! You said you were sorry I
could not come."
"Because I thought you would not. And,
besides, I knew that there is not a corner in this
house in which to put you."
" That's a valid argument ; however, you
might have asked me to come for the day, as
Fve come now."
"And you might have come for the day
wdthout asking, as you have come now ! "
78 BELFOKEST.
On which they joined again in a merry-
laugh.
" Fm very glad you are come/' said
he, taking her hand. *'How well you are
looking ! "
" Oh, no ; the paint has half poisoned me."
" Why did not you stay with Miss Hill ? "
" She was so tedious. I preferred the paint."
" Was not that tedious too ? "
" Well, they have been very slow about it,
but it looks so nice now ! And we have clean
blinds and clean curtains and — "
" And I hope Martha has a clean face."
Edith laughed and said, " It is always clean
in the afternoon. You must not expect too
much of her in the morning."
" What 1 not to wash her face when she gets
up?"
" Oh dear, no, Leonard ! Only think, Mrs.
Gregory rings her up at ^ve, and she dresses by
candlelight."
" Not at this time of year. She puts on her
clothes with a pitclifork, does not she ? "
" If you knew what it is to be a lodging-house
servant, you would not be so hard on poor
Martha."
BELFOREST. 79
" I hope I should always begin by washing
my face."
" AVell, but what have you been doing ?
Falling in love with another pupil ? "
" How can you talk such rubbish ; my pupil
went out as you came in."
" That plain little girl ? " said Edith, raising
her eyebrows.
" Hush ! walls have ears : and these walls are
thin. She's a clever little body. Besides, what
nonsense you were talking just now of ^ another '
pupil ! Just as if a man could care for two
at once. By-the-bye, have you seen Rosabel
lately?"
"Yes, I have."
" Tell me all about it," said he, eagerly.
" There's not much to tell. I met her and
her father coming along the square. They both
saw me, but he pretended not to do so. She
would have stopped, but he pulled her on : so
she gave me this kind of look — as much as to
say ' you see how it is ! ' "
"Brute!"
"Well, I clont think it's any good for you
to mind it, or to think much about her, for I
fear nothino^ can come of it."
80 BELFOREST.
" Just as if I could help it ! "
" Every man ought to be able to govern his
own mind."
Mr. Antony sighed like a furnace.
"You dont know what my feelings are,"
said he.
"Oh yes, I do, pretty well. But, Leo, we
can talk about this at home* What shall we
do here ? Show me your sketches. I see you
have a pretty little thing on the easel — just
such as I told you to paint."
" Painted to order, then."
" This will be sure to sell. And here is a nice
study of an old beggar ; ' Pity the sorrows of a
poor old man,' will be just the motto for it."
"By-the-bye, Edith, you must be hungry.
What will you have ? Marmalade, anchov}^
paste, eggs and bacon, bread and butter, or
what?"
" Nothing before dinner, thank you. I had a
bun as I came along."
" Ah, I must think about dinner. If you had
given me notice, we might have had salmon
and lobster-sauce, ham and chicken, rhubarb
tart and custard."
" Only, as I did not, we must have two
BELFOREST. 81
inutton-cliops and two potatoes ! Well, it will
not be the first time. But I don't care about
dinner, I want to take a long walk first."
" With all my heart. Where shall we go ? "
"Oh, I must put myself under your guid-
ance."
" Suppose we go to the Dulwich gallery. Do
you mind stretching out three or four miles ? "
" Not in the least. I am as fresh as a lark,
and shall enjoy it of all things."
"Suppose we take little Miss Saffery with
us."
" Oh, no ! that would spoil sport. Suppose we
take some bread and butter with us, and have
our mutton-chops at tea. Then we shall be
independent."
" Yes, that's well thought of Perhaps Mrs.
Saffery will contrive us some sandwiches out of
something or nothing, and let us have some
biscuits."
He rang the beU. Nessy answered it.
"Nessy, my sister and I are going to walk
over to the Dulwich gallery, and we shall not
want our dinner till tea-time ; then we will have
them both together. But it is a long walk, and
ladies are apt to get hungry, so that if Mis.
VOL. I. G
82 BELFOREST.
SafFery could by any possibility invent a few
sandwiches for us, we should be infinitely
obliged. And do you think, Nessy, we could
have a few biscuits ? "
" Oh, yes ! " said Nessy, with alacrity, " I'll go
for them myself, and lend you a pretty little
basket. It will hold the sandwiches besides,
and Fm sure mamma can cut some slices off
the Bath chop."
Her blue eyes seemed to smile as she spoke ;
and, after bestowing an admiring look on Edith,
she retired, on hospitable thoughts intent.
" She seems a nice little thing," said Edith.
" Suppose we revise our sentence, and take her,
if you think she would care to go."
" Let her get the biscuits first," said ^Ir.
Antony. " One thing at a time will last the
longer."
When Nessy came in with her basket, she
was almost out of her mind with joy at the in-
vitation that awaited her. She had been think-
ing how Mr. Antony and his sister were going
to enjoy themselves, and how delightful it would
be to be either of them ; and now, to be asked
to make a third !
" 0, che gioia ! che contento !_
Di picer mi balza il cor! "
BELFOREST. 83
CHAPTEE YIL
NESSY ENCHANTED.
" It was so kind of yon to let me come/' said
Nessy, shyly, to Edith as they started.
" Kindness is its own reward then," said
Edith laughing, " since you have undertaken to
carry the basket."
It will suffice to say of the walk in general
terms, that it was delightful. It led them
across the country, tln^ough out-of-the-way
places, and now and then Mr. Antony caused a
halt, that he might sketch. On the confines of
an old deserted house, that looked gloomy,
windy, and full of ghosts, they came to a gap
in some mossy park -palings, within which was
a sylvan brake that Edith pronounced the very
spot for their sandwiches. A felled tree afforded
them an excellent seat ; and Nessy, with some
self-importance; first unfolded a tray napkin at
the top of her basket, and spread it for a table-
G2
84 BELFOREST.
cloth; then placed on it a very respectable
packet of sandwiches, three hard-boiled eggs,
and a little paper of biscuits. Mr. Antony de-
clared that one of the eggs was much larger
than the others, and insisted they should draw
lots for it with dandelion-stalks. And his
sense of equity was so exact that he made Nessy
count the sandwiches into three allotments, and
distribute them equally. He said they Yv'anted
nothing but strawberries and cream.
" There must always be a want," said Edith.
" The best way is to be content with wdiat we
have.
" What though from fortune's lavish bounty,
No mighty treasures we possess,
We'll find within our pittance plenty,
And be content without excess."
" If we are all going to say a hymn, FU re-
peat * The Little Busy Bee,' " said Mr. Antony.
" ril give you my last sandwich if you can
say two verses without missing a word."
He did so, and had the sandwich.
" Now then. Miss SafFery, I call upon you."
" Oh, no ! " said Nessy, hastily ; " I can't say
anything."
" Not even the multiplication table ? "
BELFOREST. 85
She smiled and said slie did not think he
would care to hear that.
" Let us start some improving subject, how-
ever. Who is the greatest living painter ? "
" ]\Ir. Antony."
" There, Leonard ! You are satisfied, I hope.
What a pretty spot this is ; it is like one of
Euysdael's pictures."
" No, it is not. You'll see some of his pic-
tures presently."
" Well, but they are not all alike. Miss Hill
told me a curious fact, Leo, about Wordsworth."
" What was it ? "
"His eyes used to get very much inflamed,
particularly when he was composing ; but the
inflammation was very much subdued by his
looking at pictures. They amused his mind,
which, no longer fretting at his ailment, allowed
his eyes to get well."
"Nothing like leather," said Mr. Antony,
which seemed to Nessy an irrelevant remark.
" I should think the fairies danced here on
moonlight nights," continued Edith.
" To what music ? "
" ' The pipe of Pan, to shepherds crouched Id
the shadow of Menalian pines.' "
86 BELFOREST.
" If I had a fiddle, I would play while you
and Miss Saffery danced."
^' Or you might dance to your own playing,"
said Edith, laughing as if the idea tickled her
fancy.
•' Edith, you are weak, or you could not
laugh at such nonsense. Come, we had better
go forward."
Laughing and talking, they soon found them-
selves within the precincts of the secluded col-
lege.
" What shall we do with the basket and
sketchbook ? " said Edith. "Shall we leave them
under the hedge ? "
" No, put them in that empty cart."
" Suppose the cart should go away."
" There is no horse in it."
" Suppose somebody should steal them."
"Not a creature is near."
So they put the basket, the book, and an
umbrella into the cart, and then entered the col-
lege. The gallery-keeper, looking at Nessy, said,
" We don't admit children under twelve."
" Tm thirteen," cried Nessy.
" This lady is thirteen," said Mr. Antony ;
" her birthday was on the 25 th of March — "
BELFOREST. 87
(" No, tlie first of August ! ")
" Oh, yes ! the first of August. "WTiat a memory
I have ! She is above the age ; you have done
her gross injustice."
The keeper smiled and let her pass. So they
entered the suite of three rooms, in which there
was not another living creature.
" Come, this is nice ! " said Edith. " "We have
the gallery all to ourselves. You soon put down
the keeper."
" I saw it was necessary to take a firm
tone," said ]\Ir. Antony, vrith. one of his awful
looks.
" Taking a firm tone means bullying, does
not it ? ''
" Bullying is not a lady's word."
" Is it a gentleman's deed ? "
" Only in politics now and then."
"Bringing a barbarous nation to reason, for
instance ? "
" Just so. Look at this AYouvermanns."
"How charming. The man on the bank
seems spying at that ship in the offing. How
unafi'ectedly earnest all the figures are, in what-
ever they are engaged ! "
" Good distance."
88 BELFOKEST.
"Very/'
"What is Miss SafFery looking at? A lady
playing on a keyed instrument. You don't
call that a good picture, Nessy ? "
"I think it a pretty picture," said Nessy,
continuing to look at it.
" Yes, so do I," said Edith. " I can almost
hear the jingling wires. She is playing some-
thing of Sebastian Bach's."
" Come here, and I will show you something
better."
" Oh, please let me go on regularly," implored
Nessy.
" I obey commands. Now you are at the
lady buying dead game of an old man. You
like that, I suppose."
" Yes, I do. How nicely her satin dress is
done ! "
" Ah ! — " drawing in his breath with a
hissing sound.
" Is it not ? "
" Yes, but it is not high art."
" Who said it was ? " interposed Edith.
'' There is one glory of the sun, and one glory
of the moon. Leo, what a capital Teniers
that is! Teniers himself, and his wife, with
BELFOEEST. 89
foot-boy at their heels, sauntering out on a
showery afternoon. How well the rain-clouds
are done ! "
" ' There are so many of them/ "
" Oh ! quoting my letter ! That pricked
you, did it ? "
" Of course."
" But I don't think any one could have said
so of these rain-clouds."
*' No one but a gaby."
"You see, Leonard, this picture is so ob-
viously original."
"Do you mean to say mine is not. Miss
Edith ? "
" Not like this."
" Granted."
Nessy was now looking at a hunting party.
A man was taking a stone or thorn out of a
mule's foot. The animal's pain was so natu-
rally expressed, that it gave some pain to
witness it.
" ' Eubens' Mother I ' " exclaimed Mr. An-
tony, with a burst of admiration. " Glorious ! "
" That's a very nice old lady," said Nessy.
"Nice ! what an unworthy expression ! "
" What should I have said ? "
90 BELFOREST.
" ' Glorious/ of course," said Edith.
The brother and sister went into the details
of the painting in a manner that Nessy liked
to hear, though she could not entirely under-
stand. Mr. Antony retreated a few paces, and
looked up.
" Guercino's St. Cecilia," said he. " She plays
other guess music than the lady on the keyed
instrument."
" That charming Moorish girl with her lap-
ful of flowers 1 " said Edith. " One of Murillo's
prettiest domestic studies."
" Yes ; but she has no ideal beauty. None
of his women have."
Nessy was living quite in a world of her
own, while she looked at the Meeting of Jacob
and Kachel.
" Look here, Nessy ! " said Mr. Antony, sud-
denly. " Here is David with the head of
Goliath. Do you like it ? "
" No," she said with aversion.
" No ! Why, this is by your famous Poussin."
" Oh, is it ? " cried she, surprised and dis-
appointed.
" Yes. Does it not equal what you expected
of him?"
BELFOEEST. 91
" Oil, no ! David has red hair."
" Nay, that's no great matter. Perhaps
David's hair was red."
" No, he ^Yas a Jew. Jews are dark, Avith
black hair."
" He consulted the general tone of his picture,
which is red."
"Too red," said Edith. "He neglected
Ephraim Holding's advice — 'Don't put too
much red in your brush.' "
"The manner is dry," said Mr. Antony,
after a close survey ; " but the picture has all
his peculiar excellences — learning, propriety,
dignity. The drawing is good ; so is the
expression."
" I think I might learn to like it better in
time," said Nessy, who was reluctant to give
up Poussin at first sight. " But there are many
prettier pictures here."
"If you were told you might have fom*,
which should they be ? "
She looked full of thought, pressing her
hands tightly together ; and then said, " The
Boy Eating the Cheese-cake, Jacob and Eachel,
the Mule with the Hurt Foot, and the Lady
Playing on the Harpsichord."
92 BELFOREST.
"Not bad, Nessy, though you might have
chosen better than the last."
" Looking at that lady took away my head-
ache."
" Indeed ? Well, if she had such sedative
power, you have wisdom in your choice."
"I," said Edith, "would have St. Cecilia,
Murillo's Assumption of the Virgin, the Scene
on the Sea-shore, and the Conflagration of a
Town by Night."
" Oh, what bathos ! "
" No ; there is poetry in it."
" Which, of course, an authoress thinks more
of than painting."
" Are you an authoress ? " said Nessy, in
surprise.
Edith smiled, but did not say whether or no.
She stood much higher, however, in Nessy's
estimation, from that moment.
" Mr. Antony has not told us," she presently
observed, " which his four pictures would be."
" I think I would have Guido's St. John,
Rubens' Mother, Rembrandt's Jacob's Dream,
and one of the Cuyps."
" I don't much care for the Rembrandt," said
Edith. " Jacob is so badly drawn."
BELFOREST. 93
" But the ladder is so wonderful. Come, let us
sit down. Miss Saffery, do you see that door ? "
"Yes.''
" Suppose you go and open it, and look in."
" Oh dear," cried Nessy, " I could not take
such a liberty ! "
" I will give you sixpence if you will."
" Indeed I don't want sixpence ! It would
be so odd I The keeper might be there."
" I am sure he is not."
" Perhaps," cried Nessy, " there is some trick.
I have heard my mamma say, that when she
was a little girl, she was taken to the Painted
Hall at Greenwich, and an old pensioner gave
her a key, and said, ' If you will go and unlock
that door, it will let you into Queen Anne's
garden.' When she went close up to it, she
found it was only painted — keyhole and aU !
There was no real door. My mamma said she
could never help thinking that if there had
been a door, it would have opened into a
beautiful garden, full of terraces and foun-
tains."
Mr. Antony laughed, and then said, " I give
you my word for it, that is a real door."
" Have you ever opened it ? "
94 BELFOREST.
" Is any one inside ? '*
" Not a living soul."
" Will there be any harm in it ? "
" None whatever."
" Then I'll go." She walked briskly to the
door, though with secret trepidation. The
moment she opened it, she started to find her-
self in a flood of saffron light ; at the same
instant, the door was suddenly closed behind
her.
" Oh, let me out," cried she in a paroxysm
of fear ; but the next moment she was ashamed
of herself, for she knew it could only be Mr.
Antony who had shut her in. So she looked
around her with admiration and awe. It was
a small mausoleum to the memory of Lady
Bourgeois, and only lighted by orange and
purple glass. In a minute or two she tried
the door again j and found it open ; she re-
entered the gallery, it was empty. At the
farthest end of the most distant room, Mr. and
Miss Antony, with their heads close together,
were apparently absorbed in contemplation of
a picture ; but Nessy saw a little smile at the
corner of Edith's mouth.
BELFOREST. 95
" You shut me in ! " said she to ]\Ir. Antony.
" What a shame ! ''
" Dear me," said he, with a pretended start,
" have you come out of the tomb ? I thought
you never would come back I "
" 75 it a tomb ? "
" Something of the sort."
" I was not in it two minutes."
" My dear Miss Saffery, what are you think-
ing of ? Half an hour, you mean. (He looked
at his watch, and appeared to think himself
confirmed in his statement.) You took no
note of time. I suppose it passed as agree-
ably as it did to Father Felix in the ' Golden
Legend,' who had a momentary peep, as he
thought, into Paradise, which, in fact, lasted
forty years."
" This was not Paradise."
" No ; but the mausoleum of a very beautiful
and beloved lady, full, I should think, of sug-
gestive fancies."
" Was she beautiful and beloved ? "
*' No question of it."
"I don't believe," said Edith, "that you
know any more about her than we do."
96 BELFOREST.
" If slie had been otherwise, would she have
had such a mausoleum, think you ? "
" Perhaps not."
And so their visit to the gallery ended.
When they reached the place where the cart
had been, the cart was there no longer. They
all looked rather foolish. Presently, a turn of
the road brought them to a gravel pit, and
there was the cart with a horse in it : and there
was a man shovelling gravel into the cart, and
there were their things on the bank. The man
laughed a little, and said —
" I thought you d find 'em."
" That was a very unwarrantable thought of
yours," said Mr. Antony ; " and, to pay you off,
I shall put you and your horse and cart and
the gravel pit into my book."
He very composedly set to work, till the
man, who did not seem half to like it, filled
his cart and drove it away ; and then they all
walked on again.
" I am sure there must be some story be-
longing to that deserted house," said Mr.
Antony. " Some miser, perhaps, like old Elwes,
lived in it. How I should have liked to tumble
out all his hoards ! "
^ BELFOREST. 97
"I thouglit you were not fond of money/'
said Nessy.
" Leonard not fond of money ! " cried Edith.
" Why, he's always thinking of it ! "
" That I'm not !" said Leonard. " Only one
can t entirely get on without it."
VOL. T.
98 BELFOREST.
CHAPTEK VIII.
THE DAILY EOUND.
AVhat a happy day it was ! and thougli Nessy
was very sorry to see the brother and sister
go away, she had so much to think about that
she was almost glad to be by herself, that
she might live those happy, happy hours over
again. She was not sorry to be sent to bed,
where she could do so at her leisure ; but she
was so tired by her long walk, that she fell
asleep directly she laid her head on her pillow,
and did not even dream.
In the morning, Mrs. SafFery affixed a small
white paper to the parlour window, bearing the
single word " Lodgings." She and Nessy found
plenty of work for themselves in taking up the
carpet and giving the room a thorough clean-
ing. Mr. Antony had made Nessy a parting
gift of sundry properties, not very valuable to
himself, but of immense importance to her —
BELFOEEST. 99
an old palette, a few brushes, some half-empty
bottles of oil and varnish, sundry paints, and a
piece or two of millboard. With these she
intended to do wonders ; and she very wisely
resolved always to get her regular household
tasks accomplished before she addressed herself
to the fine arts. By this means she secured
uninterrupted leisure, and escaped sundry scold-
ings that otherwise would certainly have fallen
to her lot.
Nessy's life at this time was very happy ;
for Mr. Antony had so far given her a start,
that she could pursue her course without
immediately coming to a check. Of course
her painting was what he or any other artist
^/,._-ld have pronounced vrorthless; but neither
• e nor her parents w^ere aware of this ; so that
sne jogged on with a very comfortable belief
that she was treading the very same path that
Poussin and all the gTeat ones had taken
before her.
Her first check was the want of more j)aints,
and thous^h it was decided that she must and
should have a fresh supply, they were not to
be obtained till Mr. Safiery's next ^dsit to
London, which was not immediate. In the
II 2
100 BELFOREST.
interim, Nessy had nothing to fall back upon
but her sewing, over which she became very
dreamy.
From this rather unhealthy state of mind
she was roused unwillingly by the advent of a
new lodger. Mrs. Puckeridge, the new comer,
was by no means an agreeable lady. She was
very self-indulgent, and her favourite indul-
gences were eating, drinking, lying in bed, and
reading novels. It was a good thing for Nessy
that she received a severe scolding for meddling
with one of her books ; for it was a wrong
habit, which she required to be broken of, and
the books were not good ones for her to read.
The poor girl was starving, however, for want
of mental aliment.
She grew so downhearted and absent, tUov/,
Mrs. Saffery got into the way of scolding her,
and saying, " Why, Nessy, you are not like the
same girl ! Those painting-lessons spoilt you,
I think."
"Oh, no," she would say, "they did me a
great deal of good ; only I am losing all I
learnt now, as fast as I can."
Then Mrs. Saffery told her husband that the
paints must really be procured ; so Michael
BELFOREST. 101
Saffery brought his business affairs to a focus,
and went up to London for the various things
he wanted, not forgetting the paints.
When Nessy set to work again, it was as
good as a play to hear Mrs. Puckeridge inveigh
on the utter absurdity of a tradesman's allow-
ing his daughter to paint in oils. Nessy would
have fared badly, had she had to stand the
brunt of her indignation by herself ; but Mrs.
Saffery came to the rescue with gxeat effect,
saying the lady must really pardon her, but she
must beg leave to think herself the best judge
of what was suitable for her own daughter.
Nessy had property — a very pretty little pro-
perty— and the tastes and inclinations of a
lady; and, as long as they did not interfere
with her domestic duties, which they had
never done yet, it was her parents' desire that
those tastes and inclinations should be culti-
vated.
Nessy had escaped into the kitchen, but she
could not help hearing the above, and some
more, through the open door ; and Avhen ]\Irs.
Puckeridge said abruptly to her, the next time
she went into the parlour, " AMiat property
have you ? " she coldly replied—
102 BELFOEEST.
" Did not my mamma tell you, ma'am ? "
" No ; or I shouldn't have asked you."
" Then, since my mamma did not think
proper to do so, I had better not," said Nessy.
"Oh, pray keep your own counsel, if you
like. It's not of the least consequence," said
Mrs. Puckeridge, in dudgeon. " I regret to
have troubled myself to ask such an insig-
nificant question. I suppose the * property ' is
so small that you are ashamed of mention-
ing it."
Nessy did not answer this taunt ; and as
she afterwards waited upon the indignant lady
at dinner, in perfect and almost melancholy
silence, she thought to herself that it might
be possil^le she and her mother really did plume
themselves too much on the thirty pounds a-
year. It was the first time such a possibility
had ever suggested itself to her.
The silence was broken in rather a ridiculous
manner, for Nessy had to help Mrs. Puckeridge
to some Scotch ale. The ale was " up," and
sent the cork flying to the ceiling, and sprinkled
Nessy's face, and made her involuntarily laugh
a little, though she begged pardon the next
instant. Mrs. Puckeridge drily remarked —
BELFOEEST. 103
"People of property can't be expected to
know how to draw a cork. I kave property
myself, and I never did an}i:liing so menial in
my life, so of course you cannot be expected to.
I rather prefer being waited on by servants who
are servants, and not above their work, nor yet
below it. I believe I shall quit these lodgings
as soon as it suits my convenience ; but not
before it suits my convenience," she added
quickly, as Nessy left the room.
"Mother," said Nessy, in a low voice, to
Mrs. Saffery, " I cannot think how a lady
can be as cross as Mrs. Puckeridge. She says
she has property, but I don't think any
amount of property can make up for such a
temper."
" You are right, Nessy," said her mother ;
"money gives nobody a right to airs and ill-
nature. Let it be a lesson to yourself. Yoar
father and I are a little apt to spoil you some-
times— you are never snubbed — "
" Oh, yes, mamma ! — by Mrs. Puckeridge.'^
" By us, I was going to say, if you had not
interrupted. It's a bad habit of yours, Nessy,
and proceeds from conceit. Mrs. Puckeridge,
I was going to say, might, at your time of life,
104 BELFOREST.
have been as good a girl as yourself — there,
I did not mean that ! "
" Thank you for it, though, mamma, all the
same."
"Well, you are a good girl, and that's the
long and short of it; only see, Nessy, what
even a good girl may come to, if she gets
spoilt, and has property, and never is snubbed."
" Only I don't know that Mrs. Puckeridge
ever was a good girl," said Nessy, " and can't
fancy it. There goes the bell. Is the pudding
ready?"
The pudding-sauce was not to Mrs. Pucker-
idge's mind, and her remarks on the person
who made it were unflattering. One way and
another, she contrived to make the Safl'erys'
gains by her very dearly earned ; and Nessy
ardently hoped she would fulfil her threat of
going away. She did not do so for some
months, but when autumn came, and Hastings
became tempting, she gave notice to quit at
the week's end.
The family had never beeu so glad to be by
themselves. So quiet, and so cheerful ! No
bell-ringing, iio fault-finding, no meals but
their own to prepare, Mr. SafFery bought a
BELFOPvEST. 105
lobster for tea, because lie said he tbouglit they
all deserved a treat after what they had put up
with. As for Nessy, she now had leisure for
the paints, which had long been in the house
without her being able to use them ; for directly
she began to lay her palette, JVIrs. Puckeridge's
little handbell was sure to ring. It had a pecu-
liarly querulous tone, and she carried it from
place to place with her wherever she lodged.
But now Nessy, Avith her mother s concur-
rence, placed her easel in the window of the
unoccupied first-floor room, with a little tln-ee-
legged table beside it on which she arranged
her colours and brushes. Then, ha\'in.o- com-
pleted her mornings work, and the dinner
being cleared away, and her mother dressed
and seated behind the counter wdth her plain
work, and her father reading the Times in his
arm-chair, still at the little dining-table in the
parlour behind the shop, — and the shadows
beginning to fall from west to east, and the
whole village seeming steeped in quiet, so that
you might hear the mewing of a stray kitten
from one end of it to another — under these
propitious circumstances did Nessy compla-
cently take her stand before her easel, and,
106 BELFOEEST.
having long ago settled what she meant to
do, begin to sketch with a piece of chalk on
the sheet of primed millboard upon the trongh
the general features of the village-green ; the
"Swan," with its yards, stables, coachhouses,
and out-buildings— the old oak on its islet of
verdure — the now leafless lane, winding out
of sight — the baker s shop, the cottages, the
gardens, pigsties, pigeon-houses, beehives — and
the old man Mr. Antony had painted, sunning
himself on a mossy bank.
It was a pretty, homely subject, prettily
sketched. She started when her mother called
her to get tea. Could it be four o'clock already?
More than an hour fled before she could return
to her darling task. Meantime, the shadows
had surprisingly lengthened. The scene was
prettier now than before.
With continual interruptions, yet with daily
intervals of leisure, Nessy lovingly and perse-
veringly continued her task, till she had painted
in a really attractive little oil-sketch. Of course,
it was rude and full of faults and imperfections,
and would have been utterly valueless in the
estimation of a picture-dealer ; but still it pleased
the eye — the unprofessional eye, at any rate.
BELFOREST. 107
Mr. and Mrs. Saffery vieAved the performance
^vith undisguised delight. It was put in the
shop-window, and seen by every one in the
village. Many were the encomiums which drew
modest blushes into Nessy's cheeks, and made
her heart overflow with pleasure. You may
talk of your Eafi'aelles, Correggios, and stuff —
she was as happy as any, or all of them. She
could say, " I, too, am a painter."
The artist thrives on praise as the infant on
milk and kisses ; but " solid pudding is better
than empty praise," say you. Well ! suppose
I tell you Nessy earned that too. A traveller,
strolling round the green while the horses were
changing, spied the picture, and, struck with
the exact reproduction of details, went in and
bought it of Mr. Saffery for seven-and-sixpence.
Nessy was out at the time, and when she
returned, was divided between disappointment
at the loss of her picture and elation at its
ha^-ing^ been bouo;ht.
" Why, Mr. Antony sells his pictures, don't
he ? " said Mr. Saffery. " Leastways, when he
can. Don't be circumcilious, Nessy. Be thank-
ful you can earn money, for it's not what all
108 BELFOREST.
of 'em can do. As for your picture, you can
paint another like it/'
'' I'm not quite sure I can," said Nessy, " but
I'll try."
Her father held towards her the three half-
crowns.
" Is it mine ? " said she, glowing with plea-
sure. " May I have it all to myself ? "
"All to yourself? Yes, to be sure," said
Michael SafFery. " You earned it yourself, and
you may spend it yourself"
" Oh, thank you, father ! — papa, I mean."
And our young lady of property took her
three half-crowns more joyfully than poor
Correggio his sackful of coppers.
BELFOREST. 109
CHAPTEK IX.
THE UNCOMMON TASK.
Just as Mr. SafFery and his daughter were
thus standing with smiling faces at the counter,
Mrs. Early, the poor widow-woman, whose son
had gone to Australia, came in, looking more
shabby and woebegone than ever, and anxiously
said —
" Any letter for me, Mr. Saffery ? "
" No, Mrs. Early," said he, still gaily.
She looked, almost with reproach, from one
cheerful face to the other, and exclaimed, with
passionate querulousness —
" Why don't he write ? "
Then, bursting into tears, and covering her
face with her hands, she hurried out of the
shop.
" Oh, papa, it's very shocking ! " said Nessy,
piteously.
" Well, yes, so it is, poor creature ! " said he ;
110 BELFOREST.
" but what can we do ? We can't ma,ke the
thriftless scapegrace write."
" He must be a very bad son, I think," said
Nessy.
" He may be dead," said Mr. Saffery.
One afternoon the letter-bag contained a
dirty, foreign-looking letter, directed to " Mrs.
Early, Providence Cottages, Belforest, Surrey,
England," with a rather indifferent portraiture
of Her Majesty on the stamp, which bore the
superscription " Victoria, Sixpence."
" Why, here's a letter from George Early, I
do suppose 1 " cried Mr. Saffery.
" Let me run down with it to her then, papa,
please," said Nessy. " It will give Mrs. Early
so much pleasure ! "
" Off with you in a jiffy, then," said he,
good-humouredly tossing it to her; and, put-
ting on her garden-bonnet without even waiting
to tie the strings, Nessy ran off to Providence
Cottages. She tapped twice at the door before
a stifled voice said, " Come in," and, when she
entered, she saw Widow Early sitting on a low
nursing-cliair with her apron at her eyes.
"Mrs. Early, here's a letter for you," cried
Nessy, cheerfully. " A letter from Australia."
BELFOKEST. Ill
" Oh, you blessed, blessed girl ! " exclaimed
she, starting up, but instantly dropping again
into her seat. " Give it me ! give it me ! He's
alive, then ? — thank God ! I knew he'd ^mte."'
Her outstretched hand dropped feebly at her
side. She faintly said, " My head is full of
strange noises ; everything dances before my
eyes. Open the window, my dear, will
you ? "
Nessy did so, rather awe-stricken, and the
fresh air revived the poor widow, who began
to shed tears. She said, "Never mind, my
dear, it relieves my head, and clears my sight
— it is doing me good."
Then she imprinted two or three eager kisses
on the letter, and began to open it with trem-
bling hands, but she tore the thin paper with
her nervous fingers, and Nessy said, " Let me
cut round the seal for you," and produced her
bright little scissors, which were tied to her
side with a ribbon.
" Thank'e, my dear, thank'e kindly. I might
have torn the writing. Why, how small
he do write ! and so little of it ! and in such
pale ink ! Maybe there's a money-order in it.
No, there isn't. Oh, dear me ! — oh, dear ! "
112 BELFOREST.
Her sigh was almost a sob ; and Nessy's
quick thought was, " She is thinking more of
money than of her son. That is not right."
But, pitying the old woman, she said, " Have
not you spectacles? shall I find them for you?"
" They're broken," said Mrs. Early, dolefully,
" and I've no money to pay for their being
mended. Oh, my dear, read me the letter,
there's a good girl ! I don't suppose there are
any secrets, and if there are, you must keep
them faithfully."
" Oh, yes, I will," said Nessy.
So she took the letter, and read in a distinct,
deliberate voice, while Mrs. Early, leaning to-
wards her till their faces almost touched,
devoured every word, as a famishing person
devours food.
" My dear Mother,
" You will have fretted at my silence, and
I would have written to you long ago, if I had
had anything to tell which would give you
pleasure. When I first came out, I had a bad
fever, and while I was down with it, all my
fellow-passengers went up the country, and the
people I was with were . thieves, and when I
BELFOREST. 113
got about again I had hardly a thing left. I
looked about for work, but could get none, and
there was nobody to speak for my character.
When half-starved, I consented to keep sheep
in the bush. It was quite a lonely life, away
from everybody and everything; and some-
times I seemed going out of my mind. After
this I gave up shepherding, and took some
bullocks across the country to another run.
This was more cheerful, as I had change of
scene and companions ; but the scenery was, to
me, very melancholy, and my companions were
low, brutal fellows, and because I did not like
their talk, they made fun of me, and called me
the ' Young Lady.' I thought once or twice
I would make away with myself, but did not.
Then, at a public-house, we fell in with a lot
of fellows from the gold-diggings, and one of
them had found a nugget, he said, as big as
a beefsteak-pudding, and they told me I should
make a fortune in no time, so I determined to
go as soon as my engagement was ended. But
I had to do job-work first, to earn a little money
for the things I wanted ; and once or twice I
was minded to write to you, only I knew you
would not like the diggings. So I thought Fd
VOL. I. I
114 BELFOr.EST.
put in for a nugget as big as a pudding, and
when I'd got it Fd come home.
" However, IVe been all this while at it, and
have not found the nugget yet ; and I have
been ashamed to tell you of so many failures
at one thing after another. One thing is
certain — I don't like gold-digging at all. They
are a horrid set of low fellows that do best at
it, and I'm not even second-best. I've been
ill, and been robbed, and been ill again. Some
people were very kind to me last time, but
they're gone away now.
" You must not think of coming out here ;
there is no chance of my building the pretty
little cottage I promised you ; I can't even
send you a few pounds. My shirts and socks
are dreadful, and prices are awful at the dig-
gings. England is the best place for old
people, and perhaps for young ones ; but the
human mind desires change. I kept my pro-
mise of saying that hymn every night, and
reading my Bible on Sundays. Sometimes,
though, in the bush, I did not know when
Sunday came round. No churches nor church-
bells. Oh ! how gladly would I hear once
.more the ding-ding-dong of those three cracked
BELFOEEST. 115
Belforest bells that I used to pretend said ' Come
along, George ! ' I should think it the sweetest
music."
Here he seemed to break off abruptly : the
few lines in addition were dated some weeks
later, from a place called Eummidumdumm,
and merely contained these words —
" Off to the interior with an exploring-party,
in search of rivers. We may come to grief :
we may come to glory. Pray for me, mother
dear ! May God bless you in this world and
in the next.
" Your ever-affectionate son,
** George Early.''
Mrs. Early, having held her breath to the
end of the letter, now began to cry bitterly,
and rock herself to and fro in the nursing-chair,
saying —
" Oh, my son, my only boy ! Hell never
come back, I know ! He'll perish in that
howling wilderness ! "
" Oh, no, I hope not," said Nessy. " Perhaps
they'll make some grand discovery."
But Mrs. Early shook her head and refused
I 2
116 BELFOREST.
to be comforted, saying, " His bones will whiten
in tbe desert."
" It's a good tiling lie reads the Bible, at
any rate," said Nessy, at which Mrs. Early
stopped short. " What is the hymn he speaks
of?''
" Ah, it's a good hymn that has strengthened
many a sorrowful soul," said Mrs. Early. " I
wouldn't let him rest till he got it by heart,
and promised to say it on his pillow every
night. It begins — let me see. Oh, this is
it—
" Commit thou all thy ways
To His unerring hands,
To His sure truth and tender care.
Who earth and sea commands.
No profit canst thou gain
By self-consuming care.
To Him commend thy cause, His ear
Attends the softest prayer."
" I caU that a very pretty hymn indeed,"
said Nessy. " I don't wonder at your son's re-
peating it. It's full of comfoi-t, and I think
if you would repeat it to me once or twice,
I should know it too."
Mrs. Early repeated it once more, but would
BELFOREST. 117
not do so a third time; so, after Nessy had
said, " Now, would not you rather have had
this letter than that it should have gone to the
bottom of the sea ? " and extorted a reluctant,
"Well, yes," she left her folding her hands
and murmuring, " Praise the Lord that my boy
wrote before he started ! Pray God he may live
to come back ! " Her face looked peaceful as
Nessy left her, yet it was so worn, withered,
and shrivelled by age, watching, waiting, fasting,
enduring all the unseen sorrows of penury and
suspense, that the impression on Nessy was
painful.
" Why, how long you have been ! '* said her
mother, when she returned.
" I had to read the letter to Mrs. Early, as
well as carry it to her," said Nessy. " Ohj
mamma, she is so very, very poor ! That clean
little blind to the window makes people think
there must be comfort Avithin, but there was
no fire. Instead of dinner, she was going to
have tea; but only make-believe tea — toast-
and-water poured out of a teapot. She had
got the hot water of a neighbour."
" Dear me, that's very sad," said Mrs. Saffery.
" I always fancied she was above want. Our
118- BELFOREST.
used tea-leaves would be better for her than
toast-and- water."
"Only she might be above having them,"
said Nessy. " But if you give me leave to offer
them to her, I will."
" Her worthless son has a good deal to answer
for," said Mrs. Saffery.
" Mamma, I don t know that he is worth-
less," said Nessy. *' He says a hymn every night
and reads his Bible on Sundays."
'^ Come, that's better than Mr. Antony, at
any rate," said Mrs. Saffery.
Nessy did not like this remark, so she re-
turned to George Early, and said —
"The only reason he did not write was,
because he had no good news for his
mother."
" He'd better have written, though, for all
that," said Mrs. Saffery, "instead of wearing
her heart out with suspense."
Mr. Saffery here came in from serving a
customer, and said —
" Well, what has young Early been doing ? "
"He has been gold-digging," said Nessy,
" and now he has joined an exploring party, in
search of inland rivers.''
BELFOREST. 119
]\Ir. Saffeiy gave a sort of inward whistle,
and said — ■
" Exploring parties are ticklisli things."
After this, Nessy set about another picture,
intending it for a facsimile of the first. For
some reason or other it was not quite as good,
and it was far from being a facsimile. The
third attempt was better, and much smaller,
because she had only small pieces of millboard
left. These studies, and a succession of others,
all of the same subject, were exhibited in due
course, in the shop window,. and, in due course,
sold, at various prices ; sometimes to a chance
visitor at the inn, sometimes to a farmer or
farmer s wife, and one or two were actually
painted to order. Let no one think scorn of
our young lady of property for exhibiting her
works in the shop window, and receiving pay-
ment never reaching the dignity of gold.
Except in idea, she was not in any way above
her station, nor accustomed to think her parents
demeaned themselves by selling tapes and
stamping letters. She was natmmlly, or rather
had become, fond of money, through having
her " property " and " expectations " foolishly
talked of ; but she was beginning to have an
120 BELFOREST.
idea that it was not the best thing in the
world, nor even the most powerful. However,
Nessy did not deal in abstract ideas, except
after a fashion of her own. Mr. Antony had
left behind him a crumpled envelop, much
scribbled, which he had doubtless intended for
the kitchen fire, but Nessy hoarded it as a
treasure. It contained these scraps.
"Grey shades about the eyes give an air
of modesty.
" Sir Joshua told his pupils, when painting
flesh tints, to think of a pearl and a peach.
" Lord Palmerston said the other day, that
some men think the human mind is like a
bottle, and that when you have filled it with
anything, you can pour it out and leave it as
empty as before. That, however, quoth his
lordship, is not the nature of the human mind.
No, indeed, I wish it were, in some things.
" The Bishop of Troyes, in his funeral
etilogium on Prince Jerome Buonaparte, called
him ' assez religieux.' Ha, ha ! Good, that.
" * II y a des paroles qui valent les meil-
leures actions, parceque, en germe, elles les con-
tiennent toutes.' Regulus's * no,' for example ? "
Nessy, though she did not understand half
BELFOREST. 121
of any one of tliese aphorisms, nor know what
was original, what only quoted, had a glimmer-
ing notion that they were clever, and that
it was a good plan to secure one's fugitive
thoughts, if they had any good or beauty,
before they were lost. But when she tried
to write down some of her own, she could not,
for a time, find any.
I do not wdsh to tell tales of Michael Saffery,
but certainly he was fond of news fresh from
the press, and certainly he made no scruple of
daily reading the Times as it passed through
his hands to some subscriber. One day, when
thus engaged, he called to Nessy — •'
"Here's something that will interest Mrs.
Early, maybe. Come and read it, and then
you can tell her about it."
It was a short paragTaph extracted from an
Australian paper, mentioning the exploring
expedition, and the interest and sympathy it
had excited, and the dangers it would probably
have to face. The names of the explorers were
given, including that of George Early, though
as a subordinate.
It was better for Mrs. Early to hear Nessy's
version of the paragraph, than to read the
122 BELFOREST.
original, for Nessy would be too kind and
discreet to dwell on the probable dangers.
She undertook the mission with pleasure, and,
on tapping at the door, heard " come in "
uttered with more alacrity than the first time ;
for Mrs. Early now knew her tap. " Another
letter ? " cried she eagerly, as Nessy entered.
"No," said Nessy, "but—" The widow
dejectedly sat down in the nursing-chair.
" But," pursued Nessy, " there is mention of
your son in the Times newspaper."
" Has he found the river ? has he got glory ?"
cried Mrs. Early.
" Not yet, but very likely he will. You
can't think how interested the gentry and
townspeople were in the expedition. They
gave the explorers all manner of useful and
portable things to take with them — more, at
last, than they could carry ; preserved meats,
and fruits, and all sorts — and started them off,
and gave them three cheers at parting. Was
not that nice ? "
" What does it amount to," said Widow
Early, " if they leave their bones to bleach in
the desert?"
Having got this idea into her head, there
BELFOREST. 123
was no getting it out, except by reverting to a
subject nearer home.
"And here's IVIr. Broad, Miss Saffery," said
she disconsolately (Mr. Broad was her laud-
lord), " says he won t let me be here after
Saturday, for he's going to raise the rent. I
must go into the House."
" Oh, I hope not," cried Nessy.
" But I must" she reiterated, crying bitterly,
" for I can t hold up my head any longer, and
there's no other place to go to. Living on dry
bread and toast-and- water lowers one's strength,,
so that one can't struggle on and on for ever.
I must go into the house, though I never
thought I should, for I've known better days."
Now, it so happened, that ]\Irs. Prosser had
lately given up the AYhite Cottage, which, with
some of its least valuable furniture, had been
put up to auction ; and, as nobody "else hap-
pened to want it, it had been knocked down a
dead bargain to Mr. Saffery, who thought it
would be a very good investment for Nessy,
and sure to let in the sunmier. They had been
looking about for some one to put in it and
keep it open.
Nessy was delighted at being, in any sense.
124 . BELFOREST.
the proprietress of the White Cottage (the rent
of which was fifteen pounds), and she now
hastened home to beg her parents to let Mrs.
Early be the person put in to take care of it.
They had previously decided on the allowance
that was to be given, which, though slender,
would be something to Mrs. Early.
Mr. and Mrs. SafFery did not at first take
kindly to the proposal, but Nessy dwelt with
glowing cheeks and dilated eyes on the sore
strait of the poor widow, and the great advan-
tage it would be to her, till they saw it with
her eyes, and at length consented.
Joyfully did Nessy return to Mrs. Early to
tell her of her preferment, and very sweet
was it to her to see how glad and thankful
it made her. The removal from Providence
Cottages was now looked forward to, not with
dismay, but with pleasure ; true, her position
there might not be permanent, but while it
lasted it was a pure, unqualified good ; and,
for once in her life, ^Irs. Early would not look
forward to evil.
"If George could see me here," said she,
complacently, at her neat little tea-table, when
Nessy looked in on her on Saturday afternoon,
BELFOREST. 125
" he'd think me in no need of a squatter's hut.
I fancy there are not many cottages in Australia
as pretty as this."
She spoke quite at randoin ; for she knew
nothing of Australia but the name.
126 BELFOREST.
CHAPTER X.
DISAPPOINTMENT.
Nessy at length, produced a chef d^oeuvre, in
the opinion of the family; and Mrs. SafFery
exclaimed, " Mr. Antony ought to see this ! "
" Oh, mamma ! " said Nessy, in affright.
"Yes, I don't see why he shouldn't," said
Mr. Saffery. "Yet, on the other hand, why
should he ? He sees plenty of good pictures
every day."
"That dont signify," rejoined Mrs. Saffery.
" He started Nessy off at it, and hell be glad
to see the progress she has made."
" Yes, I should think he would be," said Mr.
Saffery, doubtfully. " But how shall you get it
to him ? "
" In a deal packing-case, to be sure," said his
practical wife, " such as he used to pack his own
pictures in. IVe an old one upstairs, that will
BELFOREST. 127
only want some wedges to make the painting
fit it. Go you, and fetch it down, Nessy."
Now that the first shock at the scheme was
over, Nessy's heart beat high with elation. She
felt quite sure, at that moment, that hers was a
wonderful performance, and that Mr. Antony
would be very much surprised and delighted.
*'You must write a line with it, Nessy,"
said her mother, as she proceeded to fit the
wedges.
" Oh, mother 1— what shall I say ? ''
" Only that we thought he would like to see
how well you paint now/'
Nessy could not say so thus broadly, though
it was the very thing she meant to express.
With a great deal of preparation and fore-
thought, and copying from the slate, she com-
pleted the following note i — •
"SlE,
"My mamma thinks you may like to see
what progress I have made since you left. I
am afraid it is done rather badly.
"With our best respects to Miss Antony,
I am. Sir,
" Your obedient servant,
"Nessy Safpery."
128 BELFOREST.
She was not quite sure this was as a lady
would have expressed it, and she wistfully read
it again and again, to see whether she could
improve it, but found she could not; and
really she had said all that was wanting, and
no more. Her father carried the case, duly
directed, to the station ; and Nessy followed
him with her eyes till he turned the corner,
full of silent exultation. This lasted till he
came back — till the train was off; all that
time she seemed walking on air.
Then the bubble broke; the balloon col-
lapsed ; she was no longer buoyed up by her
imaginings ; she felt perfectly vapid and flat.
She was quite certain Mr. Antony would
think the picture the greatest daub that ever
was painted, and the note presumptuous and
absurd. Nessy was ready to cry all the rest
of the evening, and she lay awake half the
night.
Mr. and Mrs. Saffery little knew what the
poor girl endured during the next two days.
Of course she was a gratuitous self-tormentor ;
but the torment was none the less real.
When the post came in on the evening of
the second day, Mr. Saffery, who was sorting
BELFOKEST. 129
the letters by candlelight, called out to Nessy
in a lively tone, " A letter for you, Nessy ! "
She darted from the parlour into the shop.
" Oh, where, papa ? " and joyously seized it.
She tore it open with nervous fingers. It only
contained two words —
" Capital ! capital ! ''
Nessy's heart gave a great bound. Her first
feelings were of relief and thankfulness. He
had seen, had approved, had encouraged. Then
came a great recoil. How short ! how unsatis-
fying ! how disappointing a letter ! Perhaps
he was only laughing at her ! This thought was
intolerable ; she chased it from her, and yet it
would recur.
When Mrs. Saff'ery came in, it was with
very subdued complacence that Nessy said,
" Mr. Antony has written, mamma."
" Well, what has he said ? " rejoined Mrs.
Saffery.
" He says, ' Capital, capital.' "
"Well, that is capital," said her mother.
"But only those two words? He need not
have been so sparing, I think."
*' Only those two words," said Nessy, sighing.
Next morning the picture reached her. Just
VOL. I. K
130 BELFOREST.
as she was taking it from its case, a lady came
in to buy something : the rector's wife, Mrs.
Fownes.
" Dear me, that's a pretty little thing," said
she. " Did you do it, Miss SafFery ? "
Nessy owned the soft impeachment.
"Why, you must be a self-taught genius.
I should think you might get a medal from
the Society of Arts. Would not you like to
do so?"
"Yes, I dare say I should, ma am," said
Nessy, contemplating public honours for the
first time.
" Well, you've nothing to do but to write to
the secretary, and send up your picture. I don't
exactly know the steps, but you could easily
learn them of any friend in London. It's about
the time, I think, for sending the pictures in."
Mr. SafFery was caught by this : a good deal
of talk ensued ; and Nessy felt the da^Aaiing of
a new ambition. Whether it were for her
good or not, I don't pretend to say. I rather
think the simple girl only dreamed of shining
in the eyes of her father, her mother, and Mr.
Antony. It was decided, in family conclave,
that she must write to him again. Nessy had
BELFOREST. 131
a great repugnance to doing so. She was not
sure how lie had taken her first note, nor
whether irony lurked in his " capital, capital."
She remembered the severe things he had said
of her writing, and she feared it was not much
better now. It y/as, however.
After almost as much thought as if it were
an Act of Parliament, she wrote as follows : —
« Belforest, March 7.
"Sir,
" I am afraid this second note may be in-
trusive ; but our rector's lady, Mrs. Fownes,
has recommended me to send my picture to the
Society of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce
Adelphi, Strand ; and my papa and mamma'
wish me to be guided by your advice. Perhaps
you do not think it good enough. There are
gold and silver prizes, of various sizes, given.
Of course I could only hope for the smallest
silver one. Apologizing for this liberty, I am,
sir, with our united respects,
" Your obedient servant,
"Nessy Saffery." '
In two days Nessy received the foUo^^dng
answer : —
K 2
132 BELFOREST.
" Newman Street, March 10.
" Dear Miss Saffery,
" Considering the circumstances of the case,
I think your picture quite as worthy of the
Isis medal as many that have obtained it ; at
any rate, you can but try. 'Aim highly, fall
nobly,' is the best motto. Your painting is a
very creditable little performance. As you are
a long way from town, and my time is rather
fully occupied, my sister will, if you wish it,
take the necessary steps, on your sending up
the picture. Honorary rewards, though not
very valuable in themselves, are spurs to us,
along what Sir E. Bulwer Lytton calls 'the
upward course of an opposed career ; ' and
there is no reason why you should not put
in for them if you like it. Kind regards to
Mr. and Mrs. Saffery.
"Yours, &c.
" Leonard Antony."
This letter made Nessy very happy. She
did not mind its qualified and rather super-
cilious tone; that was characteristic of Mr.
Antony. He had once, and only once, been
surprised into saying she had genius ; but it
had sent a thrill through her as the same thing
BELFOREST. 133
said by Sir Egerton Bryclges' father sent a
thrill throuo;!! the sensitive son. Then, aofain,
Mr. Antony had put her in connexion with his
sister, with whom Nessy felt much more at
ease, though she had only been in her company
a few hours : she was altogether a more eligible
correspondent for her. This affair caused a
good deal of pleasant family conversation ; all
were hopeful, though none of them immode-
rately so.
After Nessy had sent her picture a second
time on its travels, she received a very kind
note from Edith, inclosing a list of printed
rules, and telling her that she should have
afl&xed a card to her painting, with the sex,
age, name, and class of the artist written on
it. " I mean," she continued, " whether you
belong to the honorary or artist class. Of
course, the former, as you are not professional,
and have never sold your paintings.''
Here was a sudden check. Nessy lutd sold
paintings : she ivas professional. " Oh, what
a pity ! " she exclaimed, half aloud. But then
she thought, " what difference does it make ?
I don't mind their thinking me not quite a
lady, and that is all the difference."
134 BELFOREST.
No, it was not ; Ijut Nessy did not know it.
She wrote Edith a plain statement of the fact,
that she Jiad sold many little pictures as soon
as they were painted.
''Here's even-handed justice for you!" said
Mr. Antony, grimly, when his sister told him
of it. " Nessy Saflfery can sell her pictures, and
I can't sell mine."
Nessy now tasted a little of the cup of
suspense — not its dregs, but its edge. Other
people's conjectures and anticipations had made
of moment to her what would otherwise never
have occurred to her to wish for. She would
not like to fail, now that Mr. and Miss Antony
and Mrs. Fownes knew all about it, and her
father and mother spoke of it across the counter
to this and that country neighbour. " Our Nessy
has sent a picture to the exhibition, at least to
an exhibition. Our Nessy has a picture in a pic-
ture-gallery. Our Nessy is trying for a prize."
All this made harder the disappointment in
store for her, when her feverish little day-
dream was dispelled. Edith wrote a kinder
note than ever, saying she was very sorry to
tell Miss Saffery that her picture was (Edith
would not write the grating word rejected, but)
BELFOEEST. 135
not accepted. She could quite feel for lier
disappointment, for she had had disappoint-
ments herself; but she had always found the
best way to get over them was not to rate the
thing missed above its real worth, and to turn
the attention to something else as soon as pos-
sible. " Happily you are not, as many artists
are, dependent on your talents for support," she
T\Tote ; " and, even supposing you to be so,
why, your being able to sell your pictures as
you do, shows you can suit the popular taste ;
and the real test of a book or a picture is its
being bought, whatever the critics may say of
it. When people are T\a[ling to pay for a thing,
you may be pretty sure they really want to
have it, and value it. So you have more reason
to be glad your pictures sell, than you would
have had if one particular picture had procured
you a medal. At least, that' is one ^dew of the
subject. A member of the society told me you
would have had a fair chance if you had been
able to class yourself as an honorary candidate,
because an artist is supposed to have had pro-
fessional training (which you have not), and is
therefore more severely judged."
" How kind she is ! " Nessy thought ; but
136 BELFOREST.
her lip quivered and she twinkled away a tear.
She was in the little back parlour by' herself
when she opened the letter, and she felt very
much inclined to run up to her attic and have
a snug cry before she faced her father and
mother. However, like little Abner Brown,
she " took a 'poonful of resolution," and bravely
went to her mother, and said,
" Mamma, Fve had a disappointment. My
picture is not considered good enough for a
prize."
" Dear heart, what a pity 1 " said Mrs. Saflfery,
who was clear-starching. " What could be the
matter with it, I wonder ? "
" I don't know that an3rthing was the matter
with it," said Nessy ; " but it was put along
with others that were a great deal better, being
done by real artists."
" Then yours should not have been put along
with theirs, that's clear," said Mrs. Saflfery. " It
was not fair."
" Ah, but every society has its rules," said
Nessy, checking a sigh ; " and I dare say it was
all fair enough. Miss Antony seems to think
so : she writes very kindly."
*' Let me hear what she says," said her mother.
BELFOREST. 137
Nessy read the letter, and ]\Irs. Saffery re-
marked,
" That's a very good letter, and one that you
may take pride in her having written to you.
I must say, Nessy, you take the disappointment
very well ; and 1 am pleased with you."
This quite paid the simple girl, who went
cheerfully to tell her father. She said less, and
he said less than had passed between her and
Mrs. Saffery ; his sole remark being,
" Oh, it's rejected, is it ? Well, what can t
be ciired, must be endured. There is generally
a good deal of favouritism in those matters. I
told you, I thought you would not get it " (which
was quite a mistake of his), " and you 11 soon
forget all about it. As soon as the picture is
put in the shop window, it will be sure to sell."
Mrs. Saffery had been the best consoler, and
Nessy asked her leave to answer Miss Antony's
kind letter, which she felt would be a sootliing
employment. Leave obtained, she wrote to
this effect —
" Deae Miss Antony, "Beiforest.
" I think it very kind< of you to send me
such a nice letter. I have quite got over my
138 BELFOREST.
disappointment now, though it was one, of
course, and shall turn my attention to other
things, only remembering your kindness. Pray
forgive my having caused you so much trouble.
My papa and mamma desire their best respects
to be sent to you and Mr. Antony, and I remain
" Yours respectfully and truly ol^liged,
"Nessy Saffery."
" Poor little wretch ! it must have been a
disappointment to her," remarked Mr. Antony ;
" but she takes it very sensibly. Do you think
she would like to see the prizes given away ?
I could get her a ticket."
" How can you think of anything so tanta-
lizing?" said Edith. "Much better let her
forget all about it. She does not need hono-
rary rewards, and I am not at all sure that
emulation is, in any case, a good thing."
" Oh, indeed ! " (Ironically.)
Whether the attempt to compete with others
had done Nessy harm or no, I am persuaded
her failure, in so far as it humbled her, did her
real good ; for it did not amount to a crushing
mortification, but only made her take a more
moderate and just estimate of herself. She
BELFOREST. 139
found slie was a nobody among artists, tliough,
among those who were not, she was held to
paint pictm-es rather prettily.
About this time it happened that Mrs.
Saffery discovered Nessy's old bed-furniture
would hold together no longer, and she told
her she would give her new dimity if she
would make the furniture herself Nessy was
delighted, and obtained the additional grant of
a daisy-fringe, and, after that, a remnant of
pink glazed calico to cover a light table, with
a clear muslin toilette-cover over it, so that she
made her attic quite smart. All this pleasant
employment set painting quite aside, and a
variety of other wholesome domestic engage-
ments enabled Nessy's head to clear itself of
too dominant a subject, and her mind to re-
cover its healthy tone. Sometimes she looked
in on Mrs. Early, who did not now come
incessantly to inquire for letters, as she knew
that her son could not write to her during his
exploring journey ; but she was very greedy
of a little chat about him with Nessy, who, to
gratify her, had borrowed one or two books on
Australia, and picked up a few facts about it
to retail to her; but she never succeeded in
140 BELFOREST.
convincing Mrs. Early that it was not a howl-
ing wilderness peopled with howling savages,
with grass as brown as hay, and salt-marshes
instead of rivers.
All connexion with the Antonys now seemed
at an end, and Nessy was therefore surprised
as well as pleased when, about the beginning
of June, she received a note from Edith, saying
that, as the weather was now so pleasant, she
and her brother were thinking of spending a
day in the country, and would be glad, if con-
venient, to bring a friend with them to see the
Dulwich Gallery, and afterwards dine at Mr.
SafFery's.
As the lodgings were unlet, they were quite
at the Antonys' service, and Mrs. SafFery was
glad to requite Edith's kindness to Nessy by
her alacrity in engaging to have everything
comfortable, in a plain way, for the party. It
was delightful to Nessy to put up the clean
blinds, gather flowers for the chimneypiece,
and assist in the preparations.
" I wonder whether the friend is a lady or
gentleman," said Mrs. Saffery. " Ducks and
green peas and gooseberry-pie will do for
either ; but one would like to know. Perhaps
BELFOEEST. 141
it is some gentleman that is going to many
Miss Antony ; or it may be some young lady
who is going to marry Mr. Antony."
" It ought to be a very nice gentleman for
Miss Antony," said Nessy, " or a very nice lady
for Mr. Antony. I wonder what sort of lady
he would like."
"A lady with a good bit of money, most
likely," said her practical mother.
" I did not mean that," said Nessy. " I meant
whether tall or short, dark or fair, and so on."
" Ah ! looks are but skin deep," said ]\Irs.
Saffery. " If you had ten thousand pounds,
Nessy, people wouldn't mind how plain you
were."
This remark made Nessy thoughtful. She
habitually plumed herself on her thirty pounds
per annum; but yet, to be run after merely
because she had ten thousand pounds, would
be running after what she held, not what she
was, any more than you run after the dog who
has run away with your dinner ; you run after
your leg of mutton.
142 BELFOREST.
CHAPTER XL
ROSABEL.
The first glimpse of tlie expected visitors
showed that the stranger was a lady — a young
lady — a pretty young lady — a tall, pretty
young lady, prettily dressed. Nessy saw all
this at one eager glance, and next she saw that
Mr. Antony, much better dressed than usual,
though she could not say in wdiat respect,
looked almost — nay, more than handsome. His
cheek, his eye, his mouth, his wdiole air, the
tone of his voice, told that he was under some
spell or excitement. Edith, who hung a little
back, and w^as prettily, though inexpensively
dressed, looked languid and tired. Nessy s
face lighted up wdien their eyes met, and
Edith's face cleared directly she saw the
grateful girl : each instantly felt there was
sympathy between them.
" Ah, Nessy — Miss SafFery !" said Mr. Antony,
hastily correcting himself, " how do you do ?
BELFOREST. 143
Here we are, you see, a little after the time
appointed. The ladies would like to leave
some of their wraps here before we go to the
Gallery — they fancied it might rain."
Nessy's answer was a bright, silent smile.
She had shaken hands with Edith, who was
friendly, and treated her more like an equal
than her brother did. Nessy had thought he
would name the young lady to her, but he did
not. She had settled in an instant, that here
was Mr. Antony's future wife ; but she had not
settled that she liked her.
She showed them into the neat little parlour.
" Here are my old quarters, you see. Miss
Bell," said Mr. Antony, with an attempt at un-
concern that was not quite successful. " Capital
ones, too, for a bachelor. Don't you think
small rooms are snug ? "
Miss Bell didn't know : she preferred large
ones. She said this in a thin, rather high voice,
that had no melody in it. Edith untied her
bonnet and took it off, and began to smooth
her hair, which the wind had a little ruffled.
"Would you like to step upstairs. Miss
Antony, and have a comb ? " said Nessy,
lingering.
144 BELFOREST.
" Yes, I think I should," said Edith. " WiU
you come. Miss Bell ? "
" No ; I do very well, thank you," said Miss
Bell. " Nobody to see one, you know."
" Oh, then, I won't go," said Edith, resuming
her bonnet.
" Pray do, Edith, if you want to," said her
brother.
" Oh, no ; it does not signify."
Meanwhile Nessy had disappeared ; and
presently Mrs. SafFery entered, bearing a tray
with cake and some home-made wine, while
Nessy brought a china jug of water.
" Oh, we didn't mean to lunch, thank you,"
said Edith. " Will you take anything. Miss
Bell ? "
" I should like a biscuit."
" You will spoil those pretty gloves, if you
don't take them off," observed Mr. Antony.
However, she did not offer to remove them.
" Won't you have something, Edith ? "
" Only a glass of water. How deliciously
cold it is ! and so sparkling ! so different from
London water."
" Some wine. Miss Bell ? "
"No, thank you."
BELFOREST. 145
" Just a little— ''
" No, thank you ; I never drink home-made
wines. We never have them."
]\Ir. Antony looked a little annoyed. " We
are going to the Dulwich gallery, Miss Saffery,"
said he to Nessy, as she was leaving the room.
" Would you like to go with us ? "
Edith gave him a quick look, and so did
Miss Bell. Nessy blushed with pleasure and
embarrassment, and said, " I fear I should
intrude, sir."
" No, no, not at all," said he. " We shall be
glad to have you. Shall we not ? " appealino-
to his companions.
" Of course," said Edith. Miss BeU looked
as if she had no concern in the question.
" Do go, then," said he, cheerfully. " At least,
if you like it."
" Oh, yes, sir ! I should like it very much."
And away she hastened to obtain her
mother's consent, and put on her Sunday
things. Edith said, with a smile, when she
was gone, " You left me no choice but to say
' of course,' in her hearing."
"Why, there was nothing else to say, was
there ? Do you mind her going. Miss Bell ? "
VOL. I. L
146 BELFOREST.
" It makes no difference to me, either way/'
" No, I supposed it would not ; and we shall
give the poor child a little pleasure. Her life
is dull enough."
" She does not look as much a child as she
did," said Edith. " She is grown, and grown
prettier."
*' No — has she ? I did not notice. She may
have grown, but can hardly have grown pretty.
Miss Bell, that plain little girl is a genius. Do
you admire geniuses ? "
" Oh, yes ! very much," said Miss Bell ; " they
are so entertaining."
" Not always, Tm afraid. Some are very
grave and profound.''
" They are very disagreeable."
" Oh, no ! " said Edith ; and she took up the
defence of profound geniuses with animation,
to which Miss Bell answered in monosyllables
of assent or dissent ; while Mr. Antony, lapsing
into silence, attentively observed her profile.
It was Grecian, but the expression was very
insipid; and nothing less than the misleading
imagination of a young artist-lover could have
tricked this inane young lady with the attri-
butes of a semi-goddess, though her teeth were
BELFOREST. 147
like pearls, and her eyes limpid blue. Nessy,
fresh as a flower, entered before he was tired of
his long, unreproved gaze, which Miss Bell was
quite conscious of, though she appeared not
to be.
" Oh, now we had better be off, then," said
he, starting up, and gi^^g a quick look at
Nessy. The result was an inward concession
of " Yes, she's prettyish. Mind begins to give
expression."
As soon as they were all in the open air, a
spell seemed suddenly removed. At first, they
all walked in a line, four abreast, in the middle
of the country-road, in the following order : —
Nessy, Edith, Miss Bell, Mr. Antony. Edith,
whose glimpses of the country were not many,
but who was extremely fond of it, immediately
began to say droll and cheerful things, which
her brother answered with spirit, glancing at
Miss Bell every time for a smile, or laugh, or
assenting look. Nor were they denied, for
though she said little, she looked pleased, and
seemed to enjoy the harmless puns and witti-
cisms that are pretty sure to occur when a
party of lively young people take a country
walk together. If one or two of them happen
L 2
148 BELFOREST.
to Lave what passes current for wit among
those who are not too captious, there is no need
for all to be droll, so that they are but e7i
rapport with each other. Nessy had never
heard such a flow of repartee before ; she
thought it delightful ; and though Miss Bell
only smiled when she might have laughed, and
often let a point escape her altogether, she
seemed waking up so fast from her torpid fit,
that Nessy, catching a glimpse of her across
Edith now and then, began to think her
pretty.
Presently, they turned off the high-road, and
were treading the elastic turf of the undulating
upland which commanded the scene of Nessy's
sketch.
" Nessy ! — Miss Saffery ! —why, here is ' The
Escape of Pyrrhus ! ' " cried Mr. Antony, laugh-
ing ; and he began to tell Miss Bell, in a lively,
pleasant way, about Nessy's historical flight,
and her heroic sacrifice.
Miss Bell smiled, and looked at Nessy rather
curiously, remarking, " It was a pity to
burn it."
Nessy walked onwards in a happy reverie,
overpaid for the immolation by ]\Ir. Antony's
BELFOEEST. 149
glowing words. He had said, "She did not
know how w^ell she had done it."
" A great shame of yon not to have told her,
then/' said Edith. " What a pretty cottage
that is in the dell ! "
" That's mine," said Nessy.
" Yours ? " said they all,
" Yes ; my papa thought it a good invest-
ment."
They gave a quick look at one another, and
Miss Bell was ready to laugL
" Is she rich, then ? " said she aside to Mr.
Antony.
" She has property," returned he in the same
tone, delighted to have this shadow of a con-
fidence.
If Nessy could have read Miss BeU's thoughts,
she would have known that in her estimation
she had risen from a nobody to a somebody.
They went on, up and down the little
inequalities of the ground, for a short time in
silence, and then Edith inquired —
" Are you going to live there ? "
" Oh, no ! we hope to let it."
" Don't you hope to live in it some of these
days ? "
150 BELFOREST.
" Oh, no ! we could not afford it. The post-
office does well enough for us."
Nessy sank from her temporary elevation in
Miss Bell's opinion.
" Is it empty now ? " inquired Edith.
" Mrs. Early is in it, to keep it open."
" Mrs. Early ! I seem to remember that
name," said Mr. Antony.
" Yes, sir, the person who used to come so
frequently to ask for a letter from her son, and
who always said, ' Why don't he write ? ' "
" Oh, ay — and does she go on sapng so
still?"
" No, sir ; he licts written."
" Indeed ! "
" She was so glad," said Nessy, with feeling.
" I took her the letter, and she trembled so,
she could not open it, nor yet read it ; so I
read it to her, and it explained how he came
not to have written to her sooner ; and he said
he was going into the interior with an explor-
ing party, in search of rivers."
" Dear me ! that is very interesting," said
Edith. " He may make some great discovery."
" Or perish in the wilderness," said Mr.
Antony.
BELFOEEST. 151
" That's what Mrs. Early said/' olDserved
Nessy. " She said his bones would bleach in
the desert."
" I like that cottage, with its tall white lilies,
veiy much," said Edith ; '•' I should like to live
in it."
" I wish you did. Miss Antony," said Nessy.
" Should you like to live in a cottage ? " said
Mr. Antony in a low voice to Miss Bell. " Could
you be happy in one ? "
" Oh dear, yes, if it were covered all over
with honeysuckle and passion-flower I I should
delight in it."
He looked earnestly at her, and began to
hum sotto voce, at first without the words — ■
" 0 Nanny, wilt thou gang with me,
Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town ?
Can silent vales have charms for thee,
The lowlv cot, the russet gown ? "
" That's a sweet thing," said Miss Bell. " The
sentiment is so pretty. It goes so well to the
harp."
" The harp is a divine instrument."
" I don't like it nearly as much as the piano,
though," said Edith.
152 BELFOREST.
Her brother uttered an impatient groan of
dissent.
"No, no more do I/' said Miss Bell. " And
I should not like a russet gown. Brown is so
very ugly."
" The russet gown of the ballad only typifies
simple tastes," said Mr. Antony. "Even poor
people don't wear russet now."
" Russet-coloured alpacas are worn some-
times," said Edith ; but this prosaic observation
elicited no remark. Mr. Antony was ex-
patiating on simple tastes to Miss Bell ; and,
as their route now lay through a rutty lane,
Avith a very narrow footpath, they fell into
couples ; Mr. Antony and Miss Bell in advance,
and Edith and Nessy behind them, stopping
from time to time to gather wild flowers.
Edith was very desirous to know the name of
every herb and flower that grew in hedge and
field, and was soon learning of Nessy the names
of wood-sorrel, stit6h-w^ort, golden-rod, shep-
herd's-purse, and shepherd's-needle. They came
to a pause over their nosegays, but Edith, look-
ing up and seeing the others a good Avay in
advance, ran after them, and Nessy after her,
without stopping for some of the dropped
BELFOREST. 153
flowers. ^Ir. Antony and his companion seemed
to have made progress in the interim; they
were talking together with ease and apparent
interest, and the narrowness of the lane still
kept Edith and Nessy behind, till they took
their position as a matter of course, and did
not think of altering it as the path widened.
To Nessy this was delightful : she had never
had such a congenial, yet superior companion,
before ; one to whom she could admiringly
look up, yet who did not put her down.
Edith's disposition was excellent ; she was
frank, kind, and unselfish, with a keen appre-
ciation of what was good and beautiful in
nature and art. Even about wild flowers she
seemed to put Nessy's vague thoughts into
words — better words than would ever have
occurred to her. ^Yhen they came to an end
of the subject, Nessy said, after a little
pause —
" Are you not very fond of reading. Miss
Antony ? / am ; so very fond ! "
" I am not fond of reading for reading's
sake," said Edith; "there are other things which
I often like better ; but when I get a book that
suits me, I certainly enjoy it thoroughly."
154 BELFOREST.
" AVould you tell me some of the books you
like ? '' said Nessy timidly.
" There are so many," said Edith, laughing.
" I am very fond of travels, and lives of
painters, and essays and poems, and magazines,
and good, healthy, spirited novels."
" None of those books come in my way,"
said Nessy, "so I am obliged to content my-
self with what I can get."
" What have you ? "
" ' Sacred Dramas,' and ' The Death of Abel.'
Those were prize-books. And Butler s * Astro-
nomy,' and the * Grecian History,' and the
' History of England.' Those were lesson-
books. And Bingley's • ' Animal Biography,'
and ' Prince Lee Boo,' and the ' Gentleman's
Magazine.' Those are my father's."
" Poor child — and can you really be fond of
such books as those ? "
" There are some nice things in them," said
Nessy, " but I own I'm too fond of picking out
the plums."
" Are there any plums in the old Gentleman's
Magazine ? I thought it was only what school-
boys call stodge."
" Oh, no ! " said Nessy, laughing, " there are
BELFOREST. 155
some very good pickings liere and tliere ; espe-
cially in the obituary."
" Well, you have the oddest taste ! Let us
run ; they are getting on so fast."
Arrived at the gallery, they once more united
in a group, but soon scattered, as people do
when they are looking at pictures. Mr. Antony,
however, was continually going off to some-
thing else, and then saying, " Come and look at
this, Miss Bell," and then she would affect to
be more reluctant, Nessy thought, than she
really was, but yet went ; and when Edith and
Kessy joined them, they found they were not
talking of the pictures at all, nor even looking
at them, which Edith was the less surprised at,
because they were often the poorest in the
gallery. She grew tired of this, at last, and a
little cross, and gave up following them about ;
straying from one to another of her favourite
pictures, and looking at them absently. Nessy,
who at first enjoyed folloT^ing the bent of her
o^TL taste, was insensibly drawn to her admired
companion, whom she preferred even to the
pictures. Seeing Edith looking fixedly at
Da^dd with Goliath's head, she said —
" Is this a good picture. Miss Antony ? "
156 BELFOREST.
"Yes — no;" said Edith. "You know it is
by your favourite Poussin."
" Perhaps these pictures don't improve on
acquaintance ? ''
" They ought to do so. What makes you
suppose so ? "
" I don't think Mr. Antony seems to find
they do."
A look that crossed Edith's face made Nessy
feel she had better have spared the remark,
though she could not think what harm there
was in it. To make the matter better or
worse, she added —
" Nor do you."
" Oh, I like them very well," said Edith,
" only I'm tired, and thinking of other things.
Ah I they are looking at Kubens' Mother. Let
us admire it too."
Mr. Antony, however, was not looking at
Eubens' Mother, but at Miss Bell, and as they
approached him from behind, Nessy heard him
softly call her " Kosabel."
Miss Bell, who saw them coming, let a look
of extreme coldness take place of a downcast
softness, as she said rather drily —
" My name is not Eosabel, but Eosa, and I
BELFOREST. 157
don't like being called by my Christian name."
Saying ^Yllicll, she placed herself beside Edith,
and continued to attach herself to her all the
rest of their stay in the gallery, which was not
very long. Mr. Antony looked taken a little
aback, and the rest of the dialogue was dis-
jointed and pointless.
158 BELFOREST.
CHAPTEK XII.
THE COTTAGE.
It was now full time they should make the
best of their way homewards, unless they meant
the ducks and green peas to be spoilt ; but
Mr. Antony, with the wilfulness of his tribe,
saw fit to discover an excellent point for a
sketch, and nothing would prevent him from
taking it.
There are, or were, many pretty little rural
bits about Dulwich and Norwood, such as
Euysdael would have loved. The present one
would hardly figure much in description. The
turn of a rutty road, a broken, gravelly bank,
tufted with weeds, a broken paling, a little
ragged copse, with deep shadows between the
slender trunks, a gleam of water, that was in
fact only a pool, a cow standing under a tree,
and lowing for her calf, another cow audibly
cropping the grass, fleecy clouds overhead —
there was not much more.
BELFOEEST. 159
Mr. Antony, however, plopped down on the
grass, and out vrith his book, in spite of Edith s
" Dinner will certainly be spoilt."
"Do you take one of the cows, then, and
Miss Saflfery the other," said he ; " they may
move away, which the landscape will not. At
present, the pose is excellent.''
" IVe no pencil," observed Nessy.
"Help yourself," said he, holding out a
handful to her, and then to Edith. Edith
wanted paper and a penknife ; he supplied
both ; there was no getting off, so there were
they, thi'ee in a row, all sketching very earnestly,
while Miss Bell twined her hat with eglantine.
" Miss Bell, you come in very well," said Mr.
Antony. " I will put you in."
Miss Bell was quite agreeable, and put
herself a little in attitude, which he accused
her of, and she denied ; so that made a little
laughing. One way and another, they were
all very happy.
" Which cow will you have, Miss Antony ? "
said Nessy.
" The lowing one, please," said Edith. '.' I
hope she won t leave off yet."
"Am I to put in the brown spots?" said Nessy.
160 BELFOREST.
" Every one of them," said Mr. Antony, " and
plenty of tail."
" Oil, I do believe my cow is going to lie
down ! "
At the same moment, the other, ceasing to
low, wildly dashed along the hedge to another
gate, making all the ladies start to their feet
in fear of a collision. Mr. Antony did no good
after this ; finding Avhich, he put up his tools,
and away they went merrily. It was one of
those little episodes that one takes no note of,
and yet it marked with a white stone that day
in his life.
Arrived at the post-office, they found dinner
done to a turn, and Mrs. Saifery rather anxiously
awaiting them. Miss Bell thought it odd that
a young person of property should change their
plates, &c., but to every one else it appeared
quite simple. After dinner it became a question
what to do next. They were too tked to go
far, and Mr. Antony voted for going on with
his sketch while they talked to him, which they
pronounced very stupid.
"Miss Saffery, might not we go over your
cottage ? " said Edith.
" Oh, yes ; do, please ! "
BELFOREST. 161
" Nobody is in it. I think you said ? "
" No one but 'Mis. Early."
So off tbey went, and Mrs. Early, in her
neat, close cap and faded black gown, received
them with smiles ; but her cheeks were very
thin, poor woman ! for the fact was she had
too little to eat. The trifle she received for
keeping the cottage open was nearly all she
had to live upon ; but she was allowed plenty
of garden-stuff, and was not above being
thankful to Mrs. Saffery for dripping, broken
meat, and even used tea-leaves. Sometimes
people who came to look at the cottage gave
her sixpence or a shilling for sho^rag it, but
such windfalls did not occur very often.
" What a pretty parlour V cried Edith. " A
piano, too ! "
" The ceiling is very low," obsers'^ed Miss
Bell, "and the piano has not the additional
keys."
" How nice it would be if you would take
this cottage. Miss Antony ! " said Nessy.
Edith laughed, and said, " I believe it would.
Where's the money to come from ? "
" I would let it to you very cheap. I vrish
we could let you have it for nothing."
VOL. I. M
162 BELFOREST.
"Thank you very much; but we cannot
leave London, nor afford two sets of lodgings."
Mrs. Early, who had been waiting to speak,
now said, wistfully, " No more news of the
exploring party, I suppose, miss ? "
"None that I have heard of," said Nessy.
" I don t think another mail has come in yet."
"You have a son in Australia, have not
you?" said Edith. "I have a cousin there.
It is such a nice place ! He has a pretty farm-
house, with a verandah round it, and eleven
cows, and twenty pigs."
"Ah! he's a settler," said Mrs. Early, sor-
rowfully ; " but my George has gone into the
heart of the undiscovered country to find
water, and maybe his bones will bleach in the
desert."
" Oh, no ! let us hope not," said Edith.
"People are very hospitable out there, and
directly they hear the crack of a stockman s
whip (which may be heard a mile off), they
put the kettle on, with a handful or two of tea
in it, and cut off two or three dozen mutton-
chops and begin to dress them for the travellers
that are coming."
Two or three dozen mutton-chops and a
BELFOREST. 163
handful of tea did certainly seem very com-
fortable to Mrs. Early; but she said, after a
little pause, " My George mayn't have tlie luck
to come across people like those. My notion
of a desert is, that it's all sand and stones."
Miss Antony combatted this notion with the
laudable intention of soothing the poor mother s
anxieties, which she actuall}' succeeded in doing
by sketching and vividly colouring a fancy
picture of Australian life, in which, it must
be owned, she brought together particulars be-
longing to widely separate colonies.
At this moment an old man with a milk-can
appeared at the gate, and Edith exclaimed —
" Might we not have tea here ? How nice
it would be ! "
" Oh, yes ! " said Nessy ; " and Mrs. Early's
kettle is almost boiling, only she has not tea
and sugar or bread and butter enough for such
a party. Take in some more milk, please, Mrs.
Early, and I'll run home for what we want and
return directly."
She darted off as she spoke, and Mrs. Early,
catching something of the cheerful spirit of
the moment, which afforded a variety to her
usual sad and still life, bestirred herself to
M 2
164 BELFOREST.
make tlie kettle actually boil, which it did not
do yet; and Edith, with the desire of being-
useful, took out cups and saucers, and glanced
into the little pantry, where it grieved her to
see little more than Mother Hubbard found
in her cuj)board. AVhat were Miss Bell and
Mr. Antony about all this time ? Why, Miss
Bell had insisted on Mr. Antony's bringing her
a blue convolvulus without a little black insect
in it, and he was trying to find one, and bring-
ing her one after another that did not answer
the requirement, and there was a good deal of
banter going on between them that came under
the denomination of harmless flirting. At
least, it was harmless enough in its character,
however far from harmless it might be in them,.
under any circumstances, to flirt.
" This is how people lived in Arcadia," said
Mr. Antony, at tea-time. " Oh ! why is there
now no Arcadia ? "
" There is^' said Nessy ; " an inland countr}^
of Peloponnesus." At which the brother and
sister laughed, seemingly at her expense, though
she could not tell why.
" Perhaps I pronounced it wrong," said she,
softly.
BELFOREST. 165
" Quite rigbt, Miss Saffeiy. Yon are so
uncommonly strong in Pinnock's Catechism
and Butler s Globes."
" My brother was thinking of an ideal
Arcadia," said Edith, "where people had no-
thing to do but amuse themselves."
" Oh, then he meant the golden age," said
Nessy.
It was Nessy's golden age while the brief
hour lasted, and then there was a concluding
hurry for shawls and parasols, lest they should
lose the train. The sun was brightly setting,
but it seemed suddenly to cloud to Nessy as
she watched the three retreating figm^es, and
then turned indoors very gravely.
"That young lady was very generous to
me," said Mrs. Early, showing Nessy two half-
croAMis. " I dare say she is w^ell off."
" No, I don't know that she is," said Nessy ;
" but she is very good."
There had been some kind of settlement
between Edith and Mrs. Saffery which Nessy
had no concern in. But Mrs. Saffery's good
word was likewise hers ; and Nessy could not
but think how much more she liked her than
Miss Bell.
166 BELFOREST.
Were Mr. Antony and Miss Bell engaged
lovers ? That was a puzzler to Nessy ; but
Mrs. SafFery decided, without hesitation, that
it was so, and " hoped the young lady had a
good bit of money."
Nessy thought her pluming herself on con-
scious wealth might help to make her un-
agreeable. Disagreeable might be too strong
a word.
"A stuck-up young person," Mrs. Saffery
added. " She looked as if she couldn't say bo
to a goose."
And there the matter dropped.
" I say, mother," began Mr. SafFery, at supper,
suspending, for the moment, his consumption
of bread and cheese, " Fm afraid we're going
to have a bad season. Here's June nearly
gone and July coming on, and our lodgings
are unlet, and so is the cottage. I call it a
very bad season."
" Perhaps we had better lock up the cottage,
and pay off Mrs. Early," suggested Mrs. Saffery.
" Oh, I hope not," said Nessy, hastily.
" Why, she doesn't seem to do a bit of good.
She has snug quarters, and perhaps sets people
against the cottage."
BELFOREST. 167
" But people don't go."
" Then where's the use of her being there ? "
This difficult and disagreeable question was
solved the next day, or at any rate rendered
unnecessary to answer, by a visit from the new
curate, Mr. Weir, who, having gone over the
cottage, offered to take it for six months, with
liberty to continue in possession of it if he
wished. " And I know he can t do better for
himself," afterwards observed Mr. Saffery.
" Well, there's one load oflf our minds," said
Mrs. Saffery.
"I dont think you have any other, have
you, mamma ? " said Nessy.
" Our lodgings, child."
" Oh, to be sure. Only, it's very comfort-
able to be without people."
" Not if they re like Mr. Antony."
This was too true to be contested.
" It never rains but it pours." At least, such
is the saying, though, of course, it is not a true
one. It expresses the general feeling we have
of disappointment, when two eligible things are
offered us, and we cannot accept both. About
an hour after the arrangement was concluded
with Mr. Weir, a widow lady, of prepossessing
168 BELFOREST.
appearance, entered the post-office, and inquired
the terms of Miss SafFery's cottage, saying that
Miss Antony had mentioned it to her, and she
had come down by the train expressly to see
it. It was almost too tantalizing, for the
SafFerys took a liking to this lady at first sight ;
and, of course, her being sent by Miss Antony
was a voucher for her respectability. How
kind of her to think of them !
The lady seemed much disappointed when
she found the cottage was let, for she was
persuaded it would have suited her, in which
case she might have taken it for a permanence.
Did they think there was any chance of the
other party giving it up, if not very much set
upon it ? Why, no ; because, you see, he was
the curate — the new curate, Mr. Weir, who
couldn't do better for himself, there being no
choice, for there was not another furnished
cottage to let in the neighbourhood.
"Ah, yes — yes, indeed," the young mdow
lady said plaintively, as if it were a very afflict-
ing dispensation, but she must endeavour to
submit to it. It was always the way, she said,
with anything she set her mind upon : no
doubt, it would prove to be for the best.
BELFOEEST. 169
Would there be any objection, did tliey think,
to her just looking at the cottage ? She had
a picture of it in her mind's eye, and should
like to verify it.
They assured her there could be no ob-
jection : Mr. SaJBfery, chief spokesman, being
echoed in everything by his wife, who stood
beside him behind the counter ; while Nessy
stood at the glass-door of the back-parlour,
casting wistful glances at the pretty lady with
the soft voice and small feet and large dark
eyes, so beautifully dressed in the deepest
mournmg.
*' Which is the way ? Please give me a
very exact direction, for I am so dreadfully
stupid — "
" Nessy will show you the way, ma'am, with
the greatest of pleasure ; '' and Nessy started
forward with alacrity, repaid by a speaking
smile from those lovely black eyes, ^vithout a
word spoken.
So Nessy, very much captivated, took her to
the cottage ; the interesting stranger conversing
with her by the way with much affability, and
obtaining, by well-selected inquiries, much local
information, both important and unimportant.
1 70 BELFOPvEST.
which she received with many a gentle
sigh.
" This is just the place," she observed, after a
pause, " to live, —
" 'The world forgetting, by the world forgot.' "
" Dear, do you think so ? " said Nessy.
" You don t enter into such feelings, of
course," rejoined the lady, with one of her sweet
smiles. " Ah, my dear, at my time of life, and
with my bereavements — may you never know
what they are ! "
Nessy thought this very amiable and touch-
ing. " There's the cottage," said she presently.
" Is that it ? " said her companion, with a
little disappointment in her tone. " Well, it is
pretty, certainly. Yes, very retired and very
charming. In fact, just what I wanted. Let
me see whether its interior is equally nice."
The front door was a little ajar, so they
entered without knock or ring, and crossing
the little hall to the dining-room, found Mrs.
Early just within it, and — Mr. Weir, on his
knees, measuring the carpet with her yard-
measure.
His employment naturally made him rather
BELFOREST. 1 71
red in the face, and perhaps he became rather
redder when he looked up and saw two female
forms in the doorway. He instantly got up.
Nessy thought she had never seen anything
prettier or more becoming than her com-
panion's little surprise and the grave dignity
with which she bowed, recovered herself, and
retreated.
" Pray come in,'* said Mr. Weir, embarrassed,
" if you want to."
It was not a very elegant form of words, and
he still held the shabby yellow ribbon in his
hand, so that his abord altogether was not so
prepossessing as the widow lady's, though he
undeniably looked like a gentleman. She kept
her advantage ; would by no means intrude ;
had had no idea any one was in the house but
the housekeeper ; had merely intended a visit
of curiosity and interest ; and saying this, she
re-crossed the threshold.
He followed her with genuine civility, and
said, " Pray go over the cottage, if you like it.
I have but just taken it, and am measuring the
carpet, to see whether a better one of my own
will cover it."
But no, she would not — she could not for
1 72 BELFOREST.
the world. She had only heard of it that
morning, and being in want of just such a
pretty, peaceful retirement, had come down
directly to secure it, and found she was just
too late. She smiled a little, gave another little
inclination, and retraced another step or two.
Mr. Weir s face seemed to say " Well, Fm
very sorry for you, but I really cannot give
it up." However, what he actually said was,
" It was very disappointing."
" Oh," said she, with an expressive look, " Fm
used to disappointment. 'Tis nothing. Pray
think no more of it. Good morning."
And this time she really did go ; leaving the
young curate looking after her in a ruminating
manner. When they had quitted the garden,
she said absently to Nessy —
" An interesting-looking man. AVlio is he ? "
*' Our new curate, Mr. Weir," said Nessy.
Now, before they had started from the post-
office, Mrs. Saffery, as a last effort to retain so
eligible a party, had said to her, " You wouldn't
like these rooms, ma'am, I suppose ? " half
opening her front-parlour door as she spoke.
And the lady had answered by one of her
wonderfully expressive looks — " Quite out of
BELFOREST. 1 73
the question ! " — wliereby Mrs. Saffery had felt
it vxcs quite out of the question, and could only
be sorry for it. But now, the fair stranger,
after pausing to note one or two points of view
on the upland, and pronouncing it, with a
regretful sigh, " a pretty, jpi^etty place," declared
to Nessy she should like to see the lodgings,
and judge whether she could by any possibility
stuff herself and her belongings into them.
Nessy was agreeably surprised at this, and
so was Mrs. Saffery when she learnt it. She
did the honours in her most obliging, respectful
manner.
" Verij clean ; and very, very small,'' said
the lady. " As for the sofa, oh ! " thro win o-
herself for a moment on the hard little couch.
" No repose ! " Then she looked, considering,
around her. " No room for my harp."
" Excuse me, ma'am, I could move this little
round table, easy," said Mrs. Saffery, " and an
'arp would stand beautiful in the corner."
" The reverberation would be too powerful,"
replied the other ; and as Mrs. Saffery was not
quite sure what this meant, a pause ensued.
"But, however," cried the lady, suddenly,
"I'll try it. "And," with a sweet smile, "the
174 BELFOREST.
expense won't be ruinous. You're good crea-
tures, I can see ; don't put yourselves in the
least out of the way about me. I have no
whims, I take just what comes : IVe knowTi
too much sorrow to be exacting. You'll cook
for me, and — do for me, in short. My tastes
are quite simple ; I eat very little — a little
bread and fruit, now and then a chicken ; I
suppose the butcher has a sweetbread some-
times ? I shall bring my own linen and plate,
not a servant, nothing but my wardrobe, a few
books, and perhaps my harp."
" Is the wardrobe a very heavy one ? " said
Mrs. SafFery, doubtfully ; " there's an awkward
turn on the stairs."
The lady smiled sweetly, and explained that
the wardrobe simply meant, a box of clothes.
So preliminaries were finally settled.
" And your name, ma'am ? "
"Homer. Mrs. Homer."
As Nessy had only heard of Homer the
blind — Pope's Homer — the name struck her as
rather amusing.
BELTOEEST. 175
CHAPTER XIIL
MRS. HOMER.
Homer. If you pronoimce it slowly, in your
most mellifluous voice, you will perceive some-
thing soft in it. Ho-mer. It was not a common
name. Nessy thouglit nothing about ]\Irs.
Homer was common. And when ]\Irs. Saffery
had ventured to inquire what part of the world
she came from, she had said " Cromer," — ]\Irs.
Homer, of Cromer, recommended by Miss
Antony ; — they were all prepossessed in her
favour.
She was not to come down tiU the following
week, having afiairs to settle in London, where
she was staying at present ; in Cromer Street,
Nessy thought, but this was a ^VLld surmise,
for Mrs. Homer had not said so. And when
Mr. Saffery, who happened to know Cromer
Street, remarked that " it was nothing particular
of a street," Nessy felt sure she was mistaken.
176 BELFOREST.
Though Mrs. Homer was not coming imme-
diately, she was going to send down some of
" her things/' including the 'arp. And as Mrs.
SafFery was not in the general habit of leaving
her h's unhasp . . . pshaw ! unaspirated, it is
to be supposed that owing to some defect in
her early education, she happened not to know
how harp w^as spelt, or, at any rate, had for-
gotten, else why should she say 'arp ? — remind-
ing one of the very refined lady who said she
liked veal cut with an 'ammy knife !
Meanwhile, Mr. Weir seemed making the
most of his time, for he was seen passing from
house to house, and cottage to cottage, stooping
his tall figure under low doors, and blocking
up narrow passages in earnest converse with
reluctant housewives. This state of things was
particularly observable from the village post-
office, which commanded such a wide area ;
and the Safferys remarked to one another, with
some interest, that he seemed a very stirring
young gentleman.
In a little while he let them know what the
stir was about. He came briskly into the shop,
and said —
'^ Oh, Mrs. SafFer}^, good morning ; I hope
BELFOREST. 177
we shall be better friends. Can I speak a word
toMissSafFery?"
" Certainly, sir. Nessy ! come down stairs.
Mr. Weir wants to speak to you."
Nessy was touching up her cow — the cow
she had sketched, which Mr. Antony had pro-
nounced " quite a Potter ; " but she obeyed the
summons immediately, with a slight expression
of pleasing wonder on her face, which Mr.
Weir thought intelligent. He began at once
with —
" Oh, good morning. Miss Saffery ; you and
I shall, I hope, become better acquainted. I
want to enlist you on my side.''
Nessy looked much pleased, and said, " How,
sir ? "
" I am quite distressed," replied he, " to find
there is no Sunday-school in the place. During
Mr. Fownes's long illness it has absolutely
dwindled away to nothing. Since the former
mistress's death no fresh one has been appointed.
I have induced several mothers to promise their
children shall attend, if teachers can be found.
Will you be one of them ? "
"Very gladly, sir, if my mamma will let
me!"
VOL. I. N
178 BELFOREST.
Mrs. SafFery could not, at the instant, decide
to say yes or no.
" Mind, I don't say it will be pleasant
work to you," said he, quickly. "At first
it will be quite the reverse. The children
have got out of training ; some of them
have never had any ; at present they are
like sheep without a shepherd — sheep going
astray, every one his own way. Sheep ? Fm
afraid you'll find them a good deal more like
pigs."
"Your head, Nessy," said Mrs. Saffery, suc-
cinctly.
"Her head? what's the matter with her
head ? " said Mr. Weir. " It's a good, clever-
shaped head."
This made them both smile ; and Mr. AVeir
smiled too, thereby disclosing his good white
teeth, which gave his face a very pleasant
expression.
" Yes, sir, Nessy is clever," said Mrs. SafFery,
taking up the word. " She's rather what you
may call a genius, sir ; and was obliged to be
took from school, because her faculties were
too much for her."
" In what way have these faculties deve-
BELFOREST. 1 79
' loped themselves ? " inquired he, looking rather
amused. " How have they burst out ? "
" In the shape of headaches, sir,^' rejoined
Mrs. SafFery; while Nessy felt embarrassed?
and fidgetted from one position to another.
" Oh, headaches don't always proceed from
overpowering faculties," said the curate. " I
have them myself very badly sometimes, but my
genius won t set the world on fire. Headaches
proceed from various causes — bile, cold, and — '*
" Nerves, sir. Nessy 's headaches came from
•nerves."
" Very likely, Mrs. Saffery. Young persons'
headaches very often do. Do they unfit you
for your daily employments ? "
" Oh no, sir 1 I hardly ever have them
now. You know, mamma, I have grown out
of them."
" Well, I rather hope you have ; only — -^
"Of course," said Mr. Weir, "I shall not
want to bring on your nervous headaches
again. But, if you would not mind trying, I
would propose your leaving off" directly you
found your headache return."
" Thank you, sir. I shall not at all mind
trying. I shall like it very much."
x2
180 BELFOPtEST.
" If Mrs. SafFery will be kind enough to
let you try — "
" Certainly, sir, certainly," said Mrs. Saffery ;
*^ you have made everything so easy by saying
she shall leave off if it brings on her headache,
that I would not, on any account, make an
objection. We have always been steady people,
sir, regular church-goers, and Nessy has been
well trained, sir."
" Yes, yes, I have no doubt of it ; and now
I hope she will find pleasure in training others
to the same solid advantages she has herself
beeii privileged to obtain. Mrs. Fownes said
she was sure she would do so."
" That was very kind of Mrs. Fownes," said
mother and daughter, simultaneously.
" Do you know anything of the routine ? it
is very simple."
" Oh, yes, sir ! I've been in the old Sunday-
school, but it wasn't quite as nice as it should
have been. Mrs. Groat used to hit the children
too much."
"There should be no hitting in Sunday-
schools," said Mr. Weir. " Pupils should be
ruled by the law of kindness."
" Yes, sir ; I'm sure that would answer best."
BELFOREST. 181
• " I never once," joined in Mrs. SafFeiy,
emulous of the clergyman's approbation, " I
never once raised mj hand against Nessy, sir
— no, never, except in the way of washing and
brushing."
" And you have been repaid in the affection
of a good daughter," said he, looking kindly
from one to the other, and making their hearts
swell as they exchanged glances. " Well, Miss
Saffery, I shall start you off on Sunday morning,
and you will have the reins completely in your
own hands at first, at all events, for I have not
yet enlisted another teacher — every one seems
afraid, or idle, or uninterested."
" Please, sir, I should like it all the better in
my own hands. I could work out my own
plans."
"Have you any? Come, that's capital. I
see, you and 1 shall be great friends." And
he cordially shook hands with her, she and her
mother equally proud and pleased.
" I shall look in again on you before Sunday,"
said he; "but I must go now, for time fails
me. Halloa ! what is coming in here ? Not
a coffin, surely ? "
" Oh, it's the 'arp ! " cried ^Irs. Saffery, as
182 BELFOREST.
a railway-porter appeared at the door with a
cumbrous package on his back.
" The what ? " said Mr. Weir, in surprise.
" Mrs. Homer's harp, sir," explained Nessy.
" Mrs. Homer ? " he repeated. " I have not
that name down. Is she of this parish ? "
"No, sir; she has just taken our lodgings.
She comes from Cromer Street, or Cromer."
" Mrs. Homer, of Cromer," repeated he,
smiling. " I must look her up when Fve time.
Perhaps I shall make her useful, or get her to
subscribe. Is she old or young ? "
"The lady, sir, whom I brought to your
cottage."
" 0 — h ! " and his tone quite changed as he
made this very long Oh. " So that was Mrs.
Homer, of Cromer. Ah! Well, I hope she
will do some good among us. She was dis-
appointed at not getting the cottage. So she
plays the harp — King David played the harp.
Good morning I " and he briskly walked off.
In truth, they were rather glad to get rid of
him, for he blocked up the doorway, while the
railway-porter stood, the picture of patience,
with "the harp, his sole remaining joy," on
his back. Its exterior covering was a very
BELFOREST. 183
dirty old sacking, under wliicli was a dirty
old blanket; but under these peeped out a
very smart stamped leather case, which im-
pressed ]\Irs. Saflfery and Nessy with profound
respect for the stringed instrument it con-
tained. Moreover, that it did actually contain
aforesaid instrument was evidenced by a certain
twangie or groan of suffering emitted from its
innermost depths when the porter, ^dth more
concern for himself than the 'arp, bumped it
down in the corner. He* objected to depart
without being paid, so Mrs. Saffery produced
the money while Nessy signed the book. Then
mother and daughter contemplated the dirty
sacking a little, longing, but not presuming, to
remove it ; and Mrs. Saffery cmiously examined
the direction-card, superscribed in a very pretty,
lady-like hand, and having, on the off side,
"Mrs. Homer" engraved in old English cha-
racters, with no address annexed. Then they
began to say to one another what a very nice
gentleman ]\Ir. Weir was, how bent he seemed
on doing good, how conciliating his manners
were, how pleasant his voice was, and how
gratifying it would be to assist him in any
way. Nessy did not return to her cow, but
184 BELFOREST.
began to mend her fathers stockings with
great zeal. It was an employment she Avas
particularly fond of whenever she had any-
thing interesting to think about ; and that w^as
the case now. She had often had a vague wish
to do good, but saw no opening for it, and here
was one expressly presented to her. Eagged
children immediately acquired a value in her
eyes which they had never had before. She
resolved to make them clean and make them
good. Her primary notion was to teach them
as she would have liked to be taught herself.
With her head full of philanthropic schemes,
Nessy's dreamings were much more profitable
than usual ; and though they now and then
diverged to the Antonys and the new lodger,
they soon returned to the Sunday-school.
" I will teach them till they are tired,"
thought she, " and then tell them a story."
AVhat should she teach them ? What should
the story be ? Here were new ranges of
thought.
Mr. Weir brought a handful of letters for
the second post, and came in to buy some
stamps. It was a pleasure to Nessy to serve
him.
BELFOREST. 185
" I must go a^vay on Monday/' said lie, " but
I hope to give you a fair start on Sunday.
There will probably be two dozen or more
children. You must begin from the first, with
marks. One mark for early attendance in the
morning, one for the same in the afternoon,
one for lessons well said, and one for good
conduct dm-ing the day. I must try to find
time to supply you with little tickets, with the
number and date written on them, just as
vouchers to encourage the parents."
"That will trouble you, sir.- I will gladly
make them."
" Will you ? Do, then. You and I shaU
work well together, I see. You must enter the
marks in a class-book, which I will supply you
mth ; and at the end of the year they will be
counted up, and the children will have a penny
a dozen for them. This they will add to their
shoe-club, or have the value in little books^
hymn-books, and so forth. You look dissen-
tient ; what is your objection ? "
" I think they would like the money itself
so very much better, sir. It would be so much
more of an object to them to work for money
of their very own."
186 BELFOREST.
" Do you think so ? Why, they would spend
it in lollipops ! It would do them no good."
" The earning it would do them good, sir ;
and perhaps they would not spend it in lolli-
pops ; not all of them, at least."
It was he who looked dissentient this time.
"What makes you think they would like
the money best ? "
" I know the feeling, sir."
He laughed. "Oh, come, that's a cogent
reason."
" We all like- laying out money of our own
accord, sir, or having the privilege of saving
it."
"Of being free agents, in fact. Well, I
believe we do. But some of these little tots
are hardly fit to be free agents. I scarcely
know what to say to it. It will aU go in
gingerbread, youll see."
" I might influence them, sir."
"Well, we'll think about it, Miss Saffery.
Influence them as much as you can, by all
means. There will be little prizes, you know,
besides, and a Christmas tea-party to the
children whose names have not once been in
the black book. Powerful allurements I "
BELFOREST. 187
"Yes, sir/'
" It has been said tliat the teacher is the
school. As is the teacher, such is the school.
An intellio-ent teacher will have intelligrent
O O
scholars. A pious teacher will make pious
scholars. You see this ? you feel this ? ''
" Yes, sir."
"But a teacher who is not pious, is not
intelHgent, mind you, is no good. I am not
speaking of extensive book-learning, but of
plain, practical wisdom; the heart-knowledge
of the best of books. As far as you have this'
you will do good ; if you have it not, you can
do no real good. Do you see this ? do you
feel it?"
" Yes, sir " (very seriously).
" I am sure you do. To teach others, even
little children, you must constantly be teaching
yourself; renewing your knowlege, increasing
your knowledge. To teach yourself (lowering
his voice and speaking very earnestly), you
must be taught of God. You must be taught
by His Spirit. You know how to seek it, how
to obtain it — by prayer. You must be teach-
able as a little child. And then you will be
able to teach little children."
188 BELFOREST.
He shook hands with her across the counter,
and was gone. A third person was present,
whom he had not noticed. Mrs. SafFery, coming
in while they were talking, had fidgeted a little
at first, to attract his attention ; but, on second
thoughts, she preferred being without it, and
stood listening. When he turned to go, she
remained in the background. Then she said —
" Nessy, that is a good young man : " and
her mouth twitched.
As for Nessy, she ran up to her little bed-
room, and shut herself in. *
" By-the-bye," said Mr. SafFery, the next time
they assembled at meal-time, "what's going to
become of Mrs. Early ? "
" Ah, I thought of that," said Nessy, " and
would has^e asked Mr. Weir, only he was
talking of things so much more interesting,
that I did not like to interrupt him.*'
''Take my word for it, Nessy," said her
mother, " that Mr. Weir is one of those people
who, the seldomer you interrupt, the better.
He puts me somewhat in mind of the girl in
the fairy fable who never opened her mouth
but there fell out a pearl, a diamond, and a
flower.'^
BELFOREST. 189
" That's a pretty idea of yours, Betsy," said
Mr. Saffery. "I never saw any good in the
story before."
" Oh, as for pretty ideas," said she, pleased
at his praise and his calling her Betsy, " I leave
them to Nessy and Mr. "Weir."
" But, about Mrs. Early," said Nessy. " Shall
I look in on her ? "
" Yes, do ; and if Mr. Weir's servants are
coming in, she can step down here as soon as
she's discharged, and I'll settle with her."
So Nessy took the earliest opportunity of
paying her visit of inquiry. She found the
tall old man, whom JVIr. Antony had painted,
at work in the front garden. He looked very
happy, and said he had told Mr. Weir he wasn't
good for much, but was good for a little, and
Mr. Weir had told him to come and go, and do
a little when he was able, and leave off when
he wasn't, and he would pay him what was
reason.
" He's a kind gentleman to be under," said
he, " and this is a pretty bit of ground, as has
always hit my fancy; and now the weather's
not remarkable hot, I shall get it all into
condition by degrees, as you'll see. There's
190 BELFOREST.
a lot of rubbish in yonder comer as didn't
ought never to have been left there all this
time, and will burn finely and make first-rate
manure, that I shall dig well in. I can dig
with my left foot, though the other's past
service."
" Take care you don't burn down the laurel
hedge," said Nessy.
He gave her a knowing smile, and said —
" Trust me for that ; I wasn't bom yester-
day."
Mrs. Early, usually so pitiful, received her
with smiles.
"I'm not going away. Miss Saffery," said
she. "Mr. AVeir wants a second servant — his
London cook doesn't like the country, though
one would have supposed it an agreeable change
after Shoreditch, but there's no accounting for
tastes — and so he has requested me to be his
housekeeper ; at any rate, till Mrs. Weir comes
down and sees need to make any alteration."
" Is Mr. AVeir married, then ? " said Nessy, in
surprise.
" Oh, no, it's his mother ; an elderly lady.
He's the only son of his mother, and she is a
widow. Those were his very own words ; at
BELFOREST. 191
least, Scripture words that lie saw fit to make
use of. I told him it was exactly my own
case ; that George was my only son, and I was
a widow ; not an importunate wddow, I hoped,
but an indigent one, as everybody knew : and
though I had never expected to go out to
service in my old age, yet I had been getting
downwards by little and little, never getting
the remittances my poor boy had talked of
sending me ; so that it was an object to me, a
great object, to be provided for, and if he'd
only try me, he'd find I could save him many
a penny. The cleaning isn't heavy, and I can
cook a cutlet pretty well when I've a cutlet to
cook. So I hope I shall suit him, for I'm sure
hell suit me. But he goes to London o'
Monday."
Nessy's spare time after supper was spent in
making the tickets.
192 BELFOEEST.
CHAPTER XIV.
SUNDAY WELL SPENT.
Sunday witnessed a decided success. Nessy
was at her post at half-past nine, and was soon
followed by a rabble of youngsters, who clat-
tered boisterously in, as if the prime object
was to see how much noise they could make.
She knew every one of them by name, and,
with a sudden inspiration of genius, began
shaking hands with them all round, in this
way : —
" Mary, how do you do ? — why, how nice
you have made yourself look ! Stand here,
please. Joseph, how do you do ? I'm glad
you're come. Stand on this side, please. How
do you do, Patty ? — stand next Mary, please.
I shall soon have you all sorted. Philip, how
do you do ? — you shall stand next to Joseph.
Mr. Weir will be in presently. I want to get
you all in order before he comes. Janet, how
BELFOREST. 193
do you do ? — stand here, please," &c. &c. &c.
The cheerful, kind, but rather subdued tones of
her voice produced a general lull, till broken
by a giggle from the youngest ; on which Nessy
gave an exculpatory look at the rest, as much
as to say, " She's very little — we must forgive
her." The boys, meanwhile, stood kicking their
heels, awkwardly enough, and seemed medi-
tating a scrimmage.
" jVIr. Weir is going to open the school pre-
sently," resumed Nessy; "and meanwhile I ^vill
tell you something you will perhaps like to
know. Come a little nearer — no, not quite so
near. Yes, that will just do. You will begin,
from the first, with marks. Every one who
comes in good time on Sunday mornings will
get a good mark. You were all in good time —
You will all have a good mark."
" Tom Brown hasn't come," one of the little
little boys burst out. " He won't get a good
mark."
" All the worse for Tom Brown. Perhaps he
is not well. If you come in good time in the
afternoon, you will get another good mark.
If you say all your lessons weU, you will get
another good mark. That's three ! For general
VOL. I. 0
194 BELFOREST.
good conduct, you'll get another good mark.
That's four ! "
" Wliat's general good conduct ? '' said
Joseph.
Nessy paused, and then said, " Being orderly
and obedient. Not speaking too loud. Being
polite to one another " (" Oh, my ! " in a
whisper) " and kind to the little ones. Going
to church, and behaving well there ; and —
being good in general."
This was received in silence. "All the
marks will be set down in a book, and you
will have little tickets besides, to carry home.
That will please father and mother. And at
Christmas all the good marks will be counted
up, and you will get a penny a dozen ; and
prizes and a tea-party besides."
"Hurray!" said Philip.
"And now let us kneel down, and say the
Lord's Prayer."
Down knelt the girls ; and, with a little
shuffling, scuffling, and pushing, down knelt
the boys ; and their voices followed Nessy 's
with one accord. At this propitious moment,
Mr. Weir entered, and stood for an instant in
pleased surprise ; then knelt down too, and
BELFOREST. 195
added a strong " Amen ! " and tlie benediction.
The children rose, completely sobered, and then
he arranged a few preliminaries, gave Nessy
the class-book, took the boys under his own
teaching, while she took the girls ; and soon, as
orderly, well-organized a little school was in
full occupation as a benevolent teacher would
wish to see.
When the chmxh bells began to ring, Nessy
rose and said, " Now I must go home, to go to
church mth my father ; and I hope you will
go too, and behave very nicely, and get good-
conduct marks in the afternoon. I am so glad
we have made such a nice beginning. Mind
you come again in good time. Good-bye."
" Cannot you accompany them to church, Miss
Saffery ? " said Mr. Weir, coming up to her.
" No, sir. My father would miss me. I think
they will be very good. They look as if they
would. You will, won t you ? "
"Yes," cried some of them.
" Suppose we finish with a hymn ; with one
verse of a hymn," said J\Ir. Weir ; and he led
the doxology.
Nessy entertained and interested her father
on their way to church with an account of
0 2
196 BELFOREST.
their proceedings ; and he was pleased at her
taking so prominent a part, especially as it had
not hindered her being his companion. He and
Mrs. SafFery took it in turns to keep house, and
he would not have liked to go to church alone.
Mr. Weir preached on " The poor ye have
always with you ; " and he observed that there
were degrees of comparison between the poor,
so that even the very poor could find those yet
poorer, towards whom they could always exer-
cise compassion — if not with money, with sym-
pathy, assistance, and loving words. He spoke
of the London poor, and their want of many
things that even the poorest in country places
scarcely knew the want of — want of light, of
air, of drinkable water, of a drop of milk. He
spoke of those "whose pity gave ere charity
began '' — whose instinctive compassion, that is,
made them hasten to relieve, before charity,
strictly speaking, had had time to operate ; and
he enforced compassion by reminding his hearers
of what we all owed to a compassionate God.
It was preaching that none could sleep
under ; that the very poor listened to with as
deep attention as their richer neighbours.
"And how did you like Mr. Weir to-day,
BELFOREST. 197
Saffery ? " said Mrs. Saflfery, as tliey sat at
dinner.
" I wish more could have heard him/' said
Mr. SafFery. " It was what I may call an
anecdotical sermon."
" Hum ! — that sounds odd/' said his T\Tfe.
" Odd or even, so it was. He gave us in-
stances and cases . . . you might have heard a
pin drop."
" Cases like what ? "
" Well, he told us of a poor woman in
Shoreditch, talking to him about her soul, and
while they were talking, two little starving
children kept plucking her apron and clamour-
ing for food. She took part of a carrot out of
her pocket, cut them each a slice off it, and
put it in her pocket again. She had picked the
carrot out of the gutter. It was all the food
she had in the house."
" Tell mother about the old gentleman,
father," said Nessy.
" He spoke of an old gentleman, from per-
sonal knowledge, who had given away twenty
thousand pounds in acts of benevolence, and
lived himself on a hundred and seventy pounds
a year/'
198 BELFOREST.
" "Well, if Mr. Weir can tell things like that
in his sermons/' said Mrs. SafFery, " I expect
he'll have plenty of listeners."
" 111 be bound to say," added Mr. Saffery,
" that there was more substance in the sermon
we heard this morning, than in all the sermons
Dr. Fownes has preached in the whole course
of his life."
" That's a good deal to say, too, Saffery."
" I say it, though, and I mean it."
The afternoon school was almost as satis-
factory as the morning, though a few boys
absented themselves. All had good-conduct
marks. They began and ended with singing
hymns ; and they had Scripture questions, and
a little reading, and Nessy read them a short
story.
She felt at night that it had not been a day
of rest to her, but a very happy day. Mr.
Weir had lent her a very interesting book ;
it was " Mendip Annals ; " and as she read
it by snatches during the week, the doings of
the brave-hearted Patty More fii'ed her with
generous emulation.
Mr. Weir Avas gone, and Mrs. Homer was
coming; so no more reading, at present, for
BELFOEEST. 199
Nessy. Mrs. Homer came down on Satm-day
afternoon, looking as pensive and sweetly pretty
as before, and the railway porter brought her
luggage on his barroAv. ]\Irs. Saffery was rather
put out at her not having written to tell her
what to proA^de for her Sunday dinner, or
whether she would want to dine on her arrival.
^Irs. Homer smiled sweetly, and said it was
not of the least consequence, she was never
very himgxy, and had had some bread and
butter ; she could wait very- well for tea.
Would she like something with her tea ?
" A little fruit."
]\Irs. Saffery did not know of any fruit but
apples.
Apples were smiled at, silently. " Prawns ? "
Mrs. Saffery, dismayed, assured her there
were no prawns. Would she have a chop ?
Head shaken. " Oh, it did not at all signify.
She never minded."
Would she like an egg ?
Well, yes, she thought eggs would do — they
were very simple. Or a little preserve. Either.
She never cared.
What would she like for to-morrow ?
Oh, anything there was. A chicken, a rabbit.
200 BELFOREST.
a little bit of fish, a slice of their own hot joint.
She left it entirely to Mrs. SafFery.
" Fish on a Sunday ! " muttered Mrs. SafFery,
as she returned to her own quarters : " where
can this lady have lived ? Oh, at Cromer, to
be sure, where you might catch fish, perhaps,
from your parlour window. And we've nothing
but a beefsteak pie. I don't suppose she'll
touch that. Do ask her, Nessy, when you go
up, whether she will have pie or a chicken.
Get yes or no from her, if you can. I hate
yea-and-nay persons that don't care, and leave
it to you, and end by fixing on the most
unaccountable things. In an inland place like
this, one never gets fish, unless from London ;
though a man comes round, indeed, once in a
way, with herrings and mackerel."
Here the bell rang violently, and Nessy flew
up stairs to answer it. Mrs. Homer was in her
bedroom on her knees before a trunk.
" Did I make that abominable noise ? '*' said
she, sweetly. " I had no idea the bell would
ring so easily. Do forgive me.''
Nessy assured her there was nothing to
forgive.
" I cannot untie this cord. The knot is so
BELFOREST. 201
tight, it will break my nails. Is there a man
in the house ? "
" My papa is out/' said Nessy ; " but I dare-
say I can do it."
" Oh, I don t like to ask you. The porter
should have done it. So stupid not to ask
him." (All this while Nessy was at work,
tooth and nail.) " There ! you Ve broken your
nail now. Does it bleed ? will you have my
nail-scissors? Please, don't strain yourself.
The box may just as well remain where it is
till the morning."
" But to-morrow is Sunday," suggested Nessy,
"and you may stumble over it if it is left
here."
"Ah, then, to-morrow being Sunday, I must
unpack it for my books. One depends so on a
book on Sunday."
Nessy, learning the contents of the box,
tugged at the cord with the more zeal, and at
length got it off. Then there was a hunt for
the key. It could not be found ; but ]\Irs.
Homer said she did not mind.
" My mamma desired me to ask," said Nessy,
" whether you would like beefsteak pie for
dinner to-morrow, or — "
202 BELFOREST.
" Oh, I should like beefsteak pie, of all
things ! "
This was quite a relief; but when Mrs.
Homer added that she should prefer dining
after the second service, Nessy was in trouble,
for this would involve the whole family's dining
la,te too, which she knew her father would not
consent to. So she had to make an embar-
rassed explanation ; but Mrs. Homer set all to
rights by assuring her that it did not in the
least signify, she did not mind.
"When one visits Arcadia,'' said she, "one
must do as the Arcadians do."
Nessy thought this a lovely metaphor, and
went down stairs quite pleased.
" She is certainly very sweet-tempered,
mamma," said she, " for she accommodated
herself to our hours directly."
" All the better for both parties," said Mrs.
Saffery. "Take out a pot of black currant
jam, Nessy. I have boiled her two eggs, so
she can have her choice."
Mrs. Homer's choice was something like
Nelson's coxswain's, for she disposed of it all,
in such a sentimental, meditative way, that
she seemed eating in a fit of absence. "You
BELFOREST. 203
need not wait," said she sweetly to Nessy ; " I
can t bear to trouble you."
So, though Nessy could truly have said the
trouble was a pleasure, she did as she was bid,
shut the door after her, and never was chid.
And when she cleared the table, there remained
on it two empty egg-shells, an empty bread-
and-butter plate, and empty jelly-pot.
" Well, that young lady luas hungry," Mrs.
Safiery observed, smiling.
JVIrs. Homer found the key of her book-box,
and spent some hours in unpacking it and
arranging her clothes.
" Do go and ask her, Nessy, for the sheets
and spoons," said Mrs. Saffery. " It's no good
keeping up this nice airing-fire till midnight.
Yom^ father wants to be in bed."
Then want must be his master, or he must
go to bed some hours before the rest of his
family, for Mrs. Homer remained reading a
book she had opened, as she sat on the floor,
till it was too dark to see, and then she rang
for lights, and reclined on the couch that had "no
repose " till between eleven and twelve o'clock.
" That young lady must have got an exciting
book, seemingly," said Mrs. Saffery.
204 BELFOREST.
" I don^t think she has a book," said Nessy.
" She did not bring one down."
" Whatever is she doing, then ? "
'' Thinking, I believe," said Nessy.
" Thinking ! " exclaimed Mr. SafFery. " Really,
that's too bad. I shall go to Bedfordshire."
And he proceeded to shut the shutters with
much clangour.
"Do go and ask her, Nessy, if she'll take
anything," said Mrs. Saffery, losing patience.
" Bid her take my advice, and take herself
to bed," said Mr. SafFery, softly.
The answer, in a drowsy voice, to Nessy's
inquiry, was —
" Nothing, thank you, Thomas."
" Ma'am ? " said Nessy.
"Dear me, I believe I have been dozing,"
said Mrs. Homer. " What a tliief there is in
the candle ! Is it bed-time ? "
" It is rather past our usual bedtime, ma'am.
Nearly twelve o'clock."
" Ah, well," said she, rising and twinkling
her eyelids. "I must learn Arcadian hours.
All * beauty sleep,' you know, is before twelve
o'clock."
And smiling good-night at Nessy, she took
BELFOREST. 205
up a bedroom candle and went towards the
door.
" AVhat o'clock shall I call you, ma'am ? "
"Oh, to-morrow is Sunday. Say, nine
o'clock."
Nine o'clock ? and the Sunday school was
to open at half-past ! Arcadian hours, indeed !
AMien Nessy, with very lengthened face,
told her mother what orders she had received,
Mrs. Saflfery said, with great resolution, —
" It don't signify, Nessy. I'm not going to
have my household rules and regulations upset
for any stranger, however die-away and pretty
she may be. Duties is duties ; and you having
pledged yourself, as one may say, to stick by
the school tiU Mr. Weir came back, stick to it
you must. So you'll just breakfast on bread
and milk to-morrow, and be off to the children,
and rU wait on Mrs. Homer."
" Thank you, mother ! "
" I wonder," said Mr. Saffery, with a gleam
of mischief in his sleepy eyes, " whether the
lady win be disturbed by the mail-bag in the
middle of the night."
But no ! though the guard thumped and
thundered as usual, Mrs. Homer slept the sleep
206 BELFOREST.
of an Arcadian, and never turned on her pil-
low. Nor, till —
" Lapdoga give themselves the rousing shake
Did the sleepless lady just at twelve awake ; — "
and found it wanted only an hour to dinner.
She said " it would be a farce to get breakfast
for her — she would just have a draught of new
milk and a biscuit."
New milk, of couBse, was not within reach
at that hour, nor had Mrs. SafFery any biscuits
but twelve-a-penny, which Nessy had bought
for the tiniest of her pupils. However, Mrs.
Homer said it did not in the least signify ; and
she dressed very leisurely, and strolled round
the little garden with a parasol, and, one way
and another, killed time till people came out of
church.
It must here be mentioned, rather too late,
that on the previous evening, while unpacking
her books, Mrs. Homer, on coming to her
prayer-book, had said carelessly to Nessy —
"Does that young clergyman — Mr. Weir, I
think you call him — preach to-morrow morn-
ing?"
" No, ma'am," said Nessy, " he is away at
present ;" on hearing which, Mrs. Homer looked
BELFOREST. 20 7
rather blank. It may therefore be conjectured
that, if she had heard he would officiate, she
might so far have overcome her torpor as to
get up in time for church ; but this must be
one of those questions which are to remain for
ever unsolved.
When honest Mr. Saffery, with shining face
and erect head, marched churchwards ^^th
Nessy at his side, he said —
" Your mother has lost her turn this morn-
ing, owing to our curiosity of a lodger, in spite
of her providing a meat pie that I might have
no trouble about dinner. However, what's her
loss is my gain, though we shan t have ]\Ir.
Weir : I don t forget what he said last Sunday,
that church is not the parson's house, but the
house of God."
Nessy's character was now rapidly developing
under the force of circumstances, though they
were of the simplest kind ; and when she
waited on ]\Irs. Homer at dinner, there was
such animation in her happy face, that it
attracted that lady's notice, and she said —
" You look very bright. Miss Saffery."
" I feel very bright, ma'am," said Nessy. " I
have had such a happy morning."
208 BELFOREST.
" What has tended to make it so ? "
" Going to the Sunday-school, ma am, which
I had all to myself, in Mr. Weir's absence."
" Dear me, that must have been very
arduous."
" It was rather so, but the children were
very good."
"It must be stupid work, surely, to be a
teacher in a Sunday-school. You can scarcely
have a day of rest."
"It does interfere with absolute rest, cer-
tainly," said Nessy; "but I hope it is not,
therefore, breaking God's commandment, since
it is doing His work. You know our Saviour
Himself decided that we might do good on the
Sabbath day."
" Ah, yes — yes, indeed," said Mrs. Homer.
By way of doing good on the Sabbath day,
Mrs. Homer afterwards strayed to a warm,
sheltered bank, embowered in ivy, where she
enjoyed the dolce far niente, and occasionally
turned the leaves of a little gilt-edged volume,
bound in pink watered silk, called " Sighs for
Every Day in the Week," by Clementillo
Sospiroso.
BELFOREST. 20.9
CHAPTER XV.
SACRED MUSIC.
Towards dusk Mrs. Homer found a Sabbatli-
evening employment for herself The Safferys
were sitting meditatively together, expecting
her to ring for candles, and Mr. Saffery was
dozing a little, when all at once they heard a
subdued sound like this —
Twing ! Twing ! Twing !
" Why, goodness, if she hasn't gone and un-
packed her 'arp of a Sunday 1 '' cried Mrs.
Saffery. "What would Mr. Weir say to that,
I wonder ? ''
"Mr. Weir said King David played the
haxp," said Nessy.
" That doesn't sound to me," said Mr. Saffery,
waking up, " one of Mr. Weir's profoundest ob-
servations."
This solo was followed by its symphony —
Twing — twing — twing —
and then the music ceased.
VOL. I. p
210 BELFOREST.
" Come, she liasn't given us mucli of it,"
said Mrs. Saffeiy, after a pause, " and an 'arp
is a sacred species of music."
" I like the tone," said Nessy.
" Yes," said Mr. Saffery, " it makes a kind of
rumhustion in the atmosphere, that you can
feel as well as hear. I wonder if the lady is a
Eoman Car-tholic."
" If I found she was," said Mrs. Saffery,
" away she should go. I don't want any pro-
verts in my house. Have you seen any cruci-
fixes or images about the rooms, Nessy ? "
" No, mamma. Oh, I don't think there's any
danger. She seemed to wish to hear Mr. Weir."
" Mr. Weir, if he has a mind to, may do her
a mint of good," said Mrs. Saffery. Then, after
a little thought, " If this lady, now, would give
you a few lessons on the 'arp, as Mr. Antony
did in painting, you'd be a finished young
lady."
Nessy turned quite red at the thought.
" Oh, mamma, don't think of it ! " said she,
imploringly.
" Why not ? Mrs. Homer is not superior in
her line to Mr. Antony in his, I fancy ; so why
should she be above it ? "
BELFOREST. 211
" Mr. Antony was glad of a little ready-
money."
" And why shouldn't Mrs. Homer be ? "
" No, my dear, no ; you've no reason to sus-
pect that," said Mr. Saffery. " Time enough
for that when she doesn t pay her bills."
" Fm certain I could never bear to play the
harp," said Nessy. " Drawing is a nice, quiet
employment, and may be carried on out of
sight, but music can never be practised out of
hearing."
" Well, and if people do hear ? "
" Oh, I couldn't bear it ! I don't know that
I've any ear."
"You've a pretty little pipe of your own,"
said Mr. Saffery. " I thought so this morning
when you were warbling beside me."
" I don't know that I've any finger."
" There may be something in that," rejoined
he, reflectively. " A great deal is required of
the little finger in harp-playing, or else nothing
at all — I forget exactly which. Your fingers
may not be adaptuated to instrumentation.
I've heard tell of people whose fingers were
all thumbs."
" But if Mrs. Homer were to look at her
p2
212 BELFOREST.
fingers," insisted Mrs. SafFery, " she would know
directly whether they would do for fingering."
" Well, my dear, we hardly know how Mrs.
Homer herself plays yet."
This struck Mrs. Saffery with the force of
truth. At the same instant the bell rang, and
Nessy, taking the liberty of guessing what it
rang for, carried in candles. In doing so she
tripped over the old sacking and blanket that
lay in a heap just inside the parlour-door, and
the candles nearly alighted in Mrs. Homer's lap.
As soon as this was apologised for and forgiven,
Mrs. Homer expressed a wish to see Mr. SafFery.
Nessy, having carried off the wraps, told him.
Never was man more surprised.
" Want to see me ? " said he, turning red,
and settling his shirt-collar a little. " Are you
sure she didn't mean your mother ? "
" Quite sure," said Nessy.
" She must have something to complain of,"
said he, rather uneasily, adding to himself,
" I'm sure I hope she hasn't heard our little
remarks."
It required all the force of character he pos-
sessed to enter the lady's presence without
visible trepidation. She had placed the two
BELFOREST. 213
candles on tlie cliimne}^3iece before the little
looking-glass, so that he said afterwards they
were equal to the light of four, and it seemed
exactly like going into company.
"Don't shut the door, Nessy," said Mrs.
Saffery, in a loud whisper; "it's as much as
my \irtue is equal to, not to make use of the
keyhole."
" Do you ever drive, IMr. Saffery ? " said
Mrs. Homer, sweetly.
" Drive, ma am ? " repeated he, at his wit's
end.
" Yes — a little pony-carriage of any kind."
" jSTever, ma'am, never ! I'm not the least
of a whip. When I married Mrs. Saffery, I
drove her in a one-horse shay and spilt her."
" Dear me ! what a mercy she was pre-
served ! But is there anything of the kind
to let here by the day or hour ? "
" No doubt, ma'am, though hacks are not
much in request here, because, you see, the
real gentry keep their own carriages, and the
gentry that — in short, there's no great choice ;
but, certainly, there's a little basket-carriage
at the Swan, only its near-wheel is mostly off."
" That's dangerous, is not it ? "
214 BELFOREST.
" Well, ma'am, if it did come down, you
wouldn't fall far; and the pony'd be right
glad to stand still directly you said ' Woe ! ' ''
" Well, then, I think I might try that. I
want to see the environs."
" The what, ma'am ? "
"'The neighbourhood. I suppose you have
some pretty drives, green lanes, glimpses of
country-seats, and so forth ? "
" Yes, ma'am, yes, to be sure," answered he,
briskly. And, opening so unexpectedly on a
subject with which he w^as perfectly familiar,
he talked rapidly and with great pleasure to
himself, to the satisfaction of his lodger and
the amusement and curiosity of Mrs. SafFery,
who could only catch a word now and then.
He returned with a broad smile on his face.
" Well," said he, after cautiously shutting
the door, " she's a nice, pleasant-spoken lady,
when you come to know a little of her, that's
a fact."
" You're captivated, SafFery, that's the fact."
" Stuff 1 She's a very fine woman, though ;
and what with the instrument and the lights,
and all together, I hardly knew the parlour."
" Well, what was it all about ? "
BELFOREST. 215
" She T\'ants to liire a carriage and explore
the neighbourhood, and she asked about the
drives ; so I told her of a few — that was all.
Nessy, its getting late, and Im gTowing
sleepy/'
Presently Mrs. Homer's bell rang again.
After a little delay Nessy answered it.
" Were you reading aloud ? "
" Family prayers, ma'am."
"You seem to be very good people — veri/
good. Well, I shall not want anything more
to-night. It's getting late, isn't it ? — Only
half-past nine ? Well, I shall have the more
beauty-sleep."
At half-past ten next morning the little
basket-carriage stood at the door, and Mrs.
Homer presently stepped into it. Mrs. Saffery
had implored her either to expressly order her
dinners herself, or to give her authority to pro-
vide for her ; on which she said —
"Well, then, let me have a plain mutton-
cutlet, with tomato-sauce ; and a simple rice-
pudding, flavoured ^T.th vanille."
" But, dear me ! where shall I get the
tomatos and vaniUe ? " said Mrs. Saffery.
" 0, never mind. I don't in the least care.
216 BELFOREST.
I'm never very hungry. A slice of bread-and-
butter, whenever I come in. What are you
going to have yourselves ? "
" Nothing you could touch, ma'am, I'm
sure ! Just what is in house, and a few
sprats."
" Sprats ! how very amusing. I should like
to try them, by all means. I don't know the
taste of a sprat. Are they dear ? "
" Goodness me, no, ma'am ! You may get
them, sometimes, sixty a penny."
" Oh, how amusing. Do buy me a penny-
worth. I shall not want more than six. You
may have the rest yourselves."
" Oh, ma'am, you may have some of ours,
and welcome ; we shall never miss them. And
I'll provide the cutlet and pudding too, only
I'm afraid you can't have vanille."
The little boy jerked the pony's rein as
she spoke, and the rejoinder jerked out of
Mrs. Homer's roseate lips was, " Never
mind ! "
She was absent some hours, and came home
delighted with her drive, and with the pretty,
lyretty places she had seen — but with a fear-
ful headache ; a headache that prevented her
BELFOREST. 217
reckoning up the money she owed for the
carriage with anything like accuracy; and,
then, as she half whispered across the counter,
" How much was she to give — Lubin ? "
" What you please, ma'am," said Mr. Saffery,
when he understood what she meant.
" Will fourpence be enough ? Sixpence ? "
" Well, ma am, these boys get spoilt by the
gentry. I believe a shilKng vrill be nearer the
mark, considering you've been out all the
morning."
And Lubin did not seem at all overpowered
by the munificence of the benefaction. Indeed,
]\Irs. Homer had certainly had her shilling's-
worth for her shilling, for she had extracted a
surprising amount of information from him
concerning the people and afiairs of the neigh-
bourhood. Yet every inquiry was so plaintive,
that she never gave the least idea of a gossip.
During dinner she told Nessy a little of where
she had been, what she had seen, and what
she had learnt, so placidly and pleasantly, that
Nessy was more than ever impressed in her
favour. Placidity was the order of the evening;
Mrs. Homer was completely tired, and was just
in the condition to enjoy a book on the couch
218 BELFOREST.
wliicli yielded no repose. And the book was
a sensation novel.
" I believe she wants to settle among ns,"
said Nessy to her parents.
" Why, isn't she settled among us already ? "
" No ; she says this would never do for a
permanence ; she wants more accommodation,
more space. Not that she wants to receive her
friends, for her passion is solitude ; but she
would like a place where she could receive
them suitably, if she wished."
" Nessy, you talk like a printed book ! "
" I remember her exact words, because I
thought she expressed herself so nicely."
"She does express herself nicely," said Mr.
Saffery, with decision. " She's quite the gentle-
woman."
" I wonder how long she has been a widow,"
said Mrs. Saffery. " I wonder what her hus-
band was."
By the end of the week they all seemed to
understand each other, and they got on very
comfortably, though Mrs. Saffery's indirect
questions and feelers had not thrown any
light on ]\Irs. Homer's antecedents. When slie
sa
aid —
BELFOREST. 219
" So young a lady as you, ma'am, must have
suffered much, to be so early widowed."
She was checked at once with — •
"Excuse me; there are some subjects so
tender, that it is best not to enter on them."
And this was said so sweetly and plaintively,
that Mrs. Saffery felt herself a grievous sinner
for having wounded her, though there were no
tears in the soft eyes under the drooping eye-
lids.
As for the harp, it was not much heard. It
took so much tuning, that by the time it was
tuned, the tuner was tired ; and then the cover
was put on again. Nor was it a great beauty ;
it was a small, singie-actioned harp, very old-
fashioned and tarnished ; so that it was more
ornamental in its handsome cover than out of
it. Its tone, however, was very good ; it had
a good sounding-board, partly because it was
old and the varnish was covered with an in-
finity of small cracks, through which the sound
oozed. Again, Mrs. Homer kept it very loosely
strung, as the wandering harpers do who go
about the streets, both to save the strings from
breaking, and because it was much easier to
sing to a harp considerably under concert
220 BELFOREST.
pitch. Mrs. Homer, liowever, said slie "never
sang now."
Mrs. SafFery had less trouble now in the
commissariat department, because, as she said,
she had found that, though Mrs. Homer was
much given to ask for extraor'nary things, she
was quite content with what was or'nary ;
especially with a little garnish. She really
was, as she had declared herself, easy to please
when it came to the point; and though she
frequently had the air of having much to
complain of, she never complained ; was never
scorney.
Though she said she considered her lodging
"only a temporary little lodge in the wilder-
ness," yet this little lodge was now considerably
embellished by the hand of taste. Some very
pretty tablecovers, mats, penwipers, and little
ornaments were produced from her stores ; the
muslin curtain was better hung ; fresh flowers
were introduced in profusion ; an Affghan
blanket in process of knitting formed a gor-
geous bit of colour on the couch ; and a globe
with two gold fish gleamed in the sun. All
these little elegances took up much of Mrs.
Homer s time ; she was evidently fonder of
BELFOEEST. 221
arranging and re-arranging them, tlian of read-
ing, working, or writing. Her stock of books
was not very ample, after all ; it comprised
gaily-bound volumes of engravings, landscape
annuals, and poems, wbicli were laid out in due
form on tlie table, and a good many works of
fiction, French and English, too unornamental
to be brought down stairs till after dark.
One day she made preparations in great
state for colouring a sketch, but, after getting
her paints ready, and talking very artistically
to Nessy, she discovered that she should like a
walk, and the paint-box was closed. She now
dined at a little side-table, that her books and
knick-knacks might not be disturbed ; but the
word " dinner " was tabooed. " She didn't
dine, she never cared for dinner; she lunched
at one, and had tea and a little fruit at six."
Fruit was generally represented by a roasted
apple, and sometimes by a baked apple dump-
ling. " What's in a name ? " why, a good deal,
we all know.
One day, when, to give some order to Mrs.
Saffery, she stepped into the back-parlour, she
saw a little sketch on the table, and said in
surprise —
222 BELFOREST.
" That's very nicely done — who did it ? "
" Our Nessy, ma'am," said Mrs. Saffery, much
gratified ; " she's a great one for her pencil."
" What a nice touch she has ! Dear me, how
curious that she should have such a talent. So
quiet about it, too ! I never had the least idea.
—Self-taught?"
" No, ma'am ; she had the best of teaching —
from Mr. Antony."
" Mr. Antony ! Dear me ; did he condescend
to give her lessons ? I should never have sup-
posed it."
" Mr. Antony, ma'am, is above giving lessons
as a general rule ; he objected at first, but he
saw Nessy had talent — genius, indeed, he called
it —and so we came to an arrangement, and he
brought her very forward indeed, considering
the short time. She did this with him, ma'am,
and this" pointing to Nessy 's millboard studies
suspended against the wall.
" What, can she paint in oils ? Dear me,
how very singular ! " Then, after a little pause,
"Your daughter must be a superior person,
Mrs. Saffery ; perhaps older than she looks."
" Only fourteen, ma'am."
" Oh, then she looks older than she is ! "
BELFOEEST. 223
After this there was a marked difference in
her manner to Nessy, which Nessy felt very
gratifying, though she did not guess its origin.
Another Sunday came and went. There
were considerable additions to the number of
Sunday scholars ; and, to Nessy's great joy,
Mr. Weir made his appearance among them,
though his stay was only to be from Saturday to
Monday. His presence seemed to wind them
all up ; but there were really too many girls
for a single class, so a subdivision was made,
and a great girl of twelve years old, Susan
Potter, was installed its teacher, to her own
great elation. She performed her part exceed-
ingly well. All were orderly and obedient, not
a single black mark was yet entered in the
a^vful book, consisting of a quire of mourning
note-paper, with broad black borders, which, in
a black leather cover, was known as the black
book. Mr. Weir's teachings increased in spirit-
uality as they proceeded. He began with a
short extempore prayer, and then invited the
boys to find and read aloud sundry texts
relating to prayer and its answer ; and, by
reiterated efforts, in his earnest, winning way,
he got them to see, understand, and feel some-
224 BELFOREST.
thing of the wonderful compassion of God in
being actually more willing to hear than we to
pray. After exemplifying it in one way and
another, by illustrations suited to their capa-
cities, he looked about on them with a hearty,
" Now, is not it wonderful, boys ? '' And there
was genuine sincerity in the sober reply of
some of them. "Yes, it's very wonderful,
sir."
Afterwards he spoke some encouraging words
to Nessy and to Susan Potter, and, as they left
the schoolroom, he asked Nessy if she had been
confirmed.
" Not yet, sir ; I was too young at om- last
confirmation.''
"Well, you will not be too young for the
next. Let your preparation for it begin from
this hour. Be in a state of preparedness."
" I hardly know what to do, sir.''
" The Bible will assist you, if you seek it for
information. I do not want to bind you down
by slavish rules ; but I shall soon settle in my
new home, and will give you a little hint and
help from time to time."
BELFOREST. 225
CHAPTEE XYI.
CLASSES.
Mrs. Homer prevailed upon herself to get
ready for church in time to walk up the
aisle just as Dr. Fownes entered the reading-
desk. Poor Dr. Fownes was very feeble
now, and his reading was so indistinct, that
it was a penalty to hear him ; yet he thought
liimself bound in duty to persist in what
many people would have been pleased at
his giving up. The singing was of the most
primitive kind, led by a flageolet. It was a
relief when Mr. Weir's fine voice was heard at
the communion-table ; and Mrs. Homer, who
had furtively been scanning the gayer portion
of the congregation A\dth pensive glances, sud-
denly concentrated her attention. It was very
fortunate for her, she thought, that the pew-
opener had placed her in a seat immediately
opposite the pulpit, so that she would have
every advantage in hearing the sermon; and
VOL. I. Q
226 BELFOREST.
directly it began, she fixed those soft, dark
eyes of hers so attentively on Mr. Weir, that,
if he had happened to notice her, it might
have put him out ; but happily his eager looks
seemed to seek out his congTegation in every
direction but hers. He was very full of his
subject, which was on the text, "Hearken, ye
careless daughters ; " and as there were many
careless daughters in church, some of them felt
the address to be personal, and bridled up,
while others humbly took it home, and resolved,
for the moment at least, that it should do them
good; and others, careless heretofore, were
careless now, and never even heard the rebukes
addressed to careless womanhood in general,
but composedly carried on other trains of
thought. There could be no doubt that the
congregation had become very slothful ; and
the young clergyman, in his desire to carry
out sweeping reforms, was exerting almost too
much force at the first start. Yet he un-
doubtedly commanded attention ; many who
were accustomed regularly to ' lay up their feet
and think of nothing,' listened to him with
earnest and somewhat uneasy inquiry in their
faces, while the very tones which enchained
BELFOREST. 227
their lialf-uiiT\TJling ears acted at length as a
soporific on Mrs. Homer, whose white lids
gradually closed over her eyes in soft repose.
Kaising those fringed lashes after a time with
a little start, she met Nessy^s eyes, as ill-luck
w^ould have it, and instantly tried to look
innocent. Nessy was perhaps more ashamed
of catching her napping than she was of being
caught, and for some minutes neither could
think of anything else.
Nor would Mrs. Homer s conscience let the
matter rest. At dinner, she said to Nessy —
"Mr. Weir is a very powerful preacher, — a
very interesting man. I can't think how it
was that the latter part of his sermon made
me so lethargic. It is a mistake, I think, to
make sermons so long. Perhaps I should keep
up my attention better if I used tablets. Who
were those pretty girls in pink ? "
" The Miss Grevilles, ma am."
" Oh ! And w^ho was the lady with the
blue and white feather ? "
" Mrs. Poyntz, ma'am."
" There was rather an elegant woman in a
black lace shawd."
" Lady Olive, ma am."
Q2
228 BELFOREST.
" Lady Clive ? Oh, indeed ! AVliat, of Bel-
forest Park ? "
" Yes, ma'am/^
And in this way she went idly on, without
considering that she was detaining the family
from their dinner.
The evenings were drawing in now, and
after they were shut in for the night, she
sought solace in her harp, and felt her way
through Martin Luther's hynm, pausing be-
tween each chord —
" While one with moderate haste might count a hundred,"
but never playing a false note, and making the
air vibrate with melody.
" Very harmonious," said Mr. SafFery, at the
conclusion, after listening intently with his
hands on his knees, and his head a little on
one side.
" One would like to know a little more
about that young lady," observed Mrs. Saffery,
and to be sure that all's right."
" All's right ? " repeated her husband ; '' w^hy,
what should be wrong ? Don't go and take
away an innocent young person's good name
])j hoping that all's right. Many a fair fame
has been tarnished by innuendos like that."
BELFOREST. 229
"Dear me, Saffeiy! I really was thinking
no harm. You took me up too short."
"Well, I didnt mean to do that; but you
should be cautious what you say. Wasn't she
recommended to us by Miss Antony ? And
we know who she corresponds with — Miss
Crow, of Ips^dch, and Messrs. Eoot and
Branche, Lincoln's Inn. There can't be any-
thing to sound more respectable than that."
" I wonder if Miss Antony really did send
her, though," said Mrs. Saffery. " We've only
her own word for it."
" Betsy, I'm ashamed of you," said Mr.
Saffery, with asperity. " Is this fit for Sunday
evening talk ? I shall go and stamp the
letters."
And soon was heard the clip-clop, clip-clop,
clip-clop, with more energy and determination
than ever.
" I'm sure I wish Fd bit my tongue before
ever I spoke," said Mrs. Safiery. " This comes
of having music practising on Sundays, just
as if there were not six week-day evenings for
tweedle-deeing. Nessy, you've one of yom-
bad headaches, I can see. That comes of the
Sunday-schooling."
230 BELFOREST.
" My head does ache a little," said Nessy ;
" but it was not so bad till you and my papa
had words."
" Words ? " repeated Mrs. Saffery. " I really
wonder, sometimes, at the unfounded things
people go and say. What words did your
father and I have, pray ? He told me to be
cautious, and I said I was thinking no harm.
Sure, such remarks as those may pass between
a husband and wife without their being
accused of having words. Don't you ever go,
Nessy, and make mischief between husband
and wife, and, least of all, between your father
and mother."
Nessy brushed away a tear.
" Your head won't be better till you've had
a good night's sleep, depend upon it," said
Mrs. Saffery, in a softer tone. " I begin to
regret that I ever let you go to the Sunday-
school."
" Oh, mother ! "
" YeSj Nessy, because it is veiy hard work ;
and though its increasing so fast shows how
much it was needed, the burthen is too heavy
on you. Why should you be the only unpaid
fag ? I'm sure that every word Mr. Weir said
BELFOREST. 231
to-day applied to the Miss Grevilles and Miss
Sturt and Miss Badger and Miss Hornblower,
and not a bit of impression did it make — tliey
were laughing and giggling directly they got
outside the churchyard; and there was some-
body, who is not a hundred miles oflf, that had
a comfortable nap."
Nessy was sorry her mother had seen it, but
could not help smiling. Mrs. SafFery saw the
smile.
" Come," said she, " take your Bible and
read a chapter to me, for my eyes don't bear
much reading now ; and after that you may
bring out the cold meat for supper."
Mr. Saffery came in as Nessy was in the
middle of her chapter, and reverently sat down
and listened, with his head inclining a little
towards her. Those good words were very
solemnizing and edifying to them all. And
then they gathered round rather a better
supper than usual, and ate it cheerfully and
thankfully.
" Saffery, here's just such a little brown bit
as you prefer."
" You have it."
" No ; Fve enough on my plate. Come, you
232 BELFOREST.
can find room for this. Nessy, there's the
parlour-bell."
Nessy went and returned.
" What is the lady doing ? " (in an under-
tone.)
" Writing."
Mr. SafFery could not help saying, with a
little malice —
" If that had been a proper inquiry, you
needn't have dropped your voice."
" There was nothing improper in it."
" Suppose she were to ask what ive were
about."
" She did, last Sunday, and I heard Nessy's
answer — * Family prayers.' "
" Nothing to be ashamed of, at any rate."
" No ; I thought it set a good lesson."
"Why, how can she have family prayers
when she's all by herself?" cried Mr. SafFery.
" The unreasonableness of women ! I don't
think you've one bit of compassion for your
sex. If you were bereaved, or bereft, which-
ever is the right word, like that young creature,
would you like sitting evening after evening
by yourself, all the long evenings, by the light
of two mould sixes, without a creature to speak
BELFOREST. 233
a word of comfort or to think a kind tlionorlit
o
of you ? "
" No, Saffery, I shouldn't. I hope that will
never be my case, my good man."
" Pity her whose (5ase it is, then."
" I do, in a way, and I should do so more,
if I knew how much she pitied herself. Some-
how, she seems to have those soft looks and
little sighs at command. I never see her with
red eyes. This couldn't be the case (unless
she were a flint), if she had lost such a husband
as you, Saffery."
" Ah ! such as me don't grow on every
bush," said he, holding his hand to her and
gi\dng hers a good squeeze. "We've jogged
on many a year, old lady, and shall, I hope,
jog on a many more. But howsoever many,
there must come the last of them at last."
The tender fall in his voice, and Mrs.
Saffery's moistened eyes, were very touching
to Nessy.
Next morning, when Mr. Weir brought his
letters to post, he stepped into the shop, and
said —
" Good morning. Miss Saffer}^ You had
one of your bad headaches yesterday, I could
234 BELFOREST.
see. It shall not occur again if I can provide
against it. You shall have plenty of help next
Sunday."
" Oh, sir, I don't want any ! " cried Nessy,
in alarm. " Fd much rather go on by my-
self"
" Why, you're like the man in the ' Mid-
summer Night's Dream,' who wanted to play
all the parts himself How can you carry on
four classes ? And four classes there will be,
besides mine, counting the little tots, who
must form a separate class till we get an
infant-school."
Nessy looked much disturbed.
" Have you secured any other teachers, then,
sir?"
" The Miss Grevilles have sent in their
names. Is Mrs. Homer at home ? "
Nessy replied that she was.
" Take her this card, then, and say I shall
be obliged if she can grant me a few minutes
on business. Say that I would not intrude on
her so early, but that I return to London by
the 12-30 train."
Nessy obeyed ; and returned, saying very
gravely, that Mrs. Homer would be happy to
BELFOREST. 235
see Hm. She showed him in, and saw Mrs.
Homer s look of distant politeness as she rose
and gravely bowed. Then she closed the
door on them, and resumed her needlework,
thinking that an important interview was
about to take place. Her headache came on
again.
Whether the interview Avere important or
not, Mr. Weir appeared not to care about its
being public, for he spoke in such an animated
tone, that it seemed as if it would have been
easy to Nessy to hear every word he said,
though that was just what she either could not
do or was too honourable to do. Mrs. Homer s
soft voice was scarcely audible. Meanwhile,
the mid-day post came in, and there was the
usual bustle in the shop. Just as the London
mail-bag was sent off, and the Safferys were
in the midst of their sorting the letters that
had arrived, Mr. Weir opened the parlour-door,
saying, cheerfully —
" Well, then, I shall depend on you. I shall
expect great things. Don't be diffident. It
will all come easy, you will see. There is
nothing to discourage. You will take great
interest in it in a little time. You know
236 BELFOREST.
where to — " (lowering liis voice, and stepping
back to say a few earnest words).
" Ah, yes ! — yes, indeed ! "
Then they shook hands, and he passed
rapidly through the shop, saying to Nessy,
mth a smile —
" The train is almost due, and I have no
time to lose. But Fve secured another
ally."
And she could but call up a smile in return,
though she felt it no smiling matter.
"What did he mean by ally?" said Mrs.
SafFery, when he was gone.
" He meant that he has got Mrs. Homer to
try to teach in the Sunday-school," said Nessy,
" and the Miss Grevilles are going to take
classes."
" Then he has done a good morning's work,"
said Mrs. SafFery, with strong approval. " Think
of his getting the Miss Grevilles to condescend !
Your head will have a better chance now ; and
I'm glad in my heart that Mrs. Homer is going
to try her hand at something useful."
" But," said Nessy, in a very low voice, " I
don't believe she'll do a bit of good ; it is not
in her way. I don't think the children will
BELFOREST. 237
mind her when they find she cant teach
them."
" Why can t she teach them ? "
Nessy did not like to say ; but her mother
would have an answer.
" She is very sweet and gentle," said Nessy ;
" but I don't fancy her to care much for little
children, or for Scripture teaching."
"Well, time will show," said Mrs. Saffery,
who was not at all disposed to quarrel with
the arrangement. " It will get her up earlier
in the morning for one thing ; and if she finds
her deficiencies, she'll be less set up."
" As for my head, I believe it will be all the
worse instead of the better for it," said Nessy.
" There will be such a chatter, it will be all
confusion."
" Don't go and meet troubles half-way,
Nessy. Here comes ]\Ir. Greville's four-in-
hand."
The open carriage, vAth. two or three pretty,
lady-like girls in it, drew up for a moment,
while the footman descended from his perch
to inquire for their letters. Having received
them, he delivered them to the ladies, who
began reading them as they drove off.
238 BELFOREST.
Nessy, going into the parlour to lay the
cloth, found Mrs. Homer pensively leaning on
her hand near the window.
"That was a stylish turn-out," said she,
looking round. " The Grevilles ? "
" Yes, ma'am."
" They are elegant girls. Do you know their
Christian names ? "
" Emily and Sophia."
" How charming ! Do they visit any one
here?"
" Oh, no, ma'am ! They're quite in a class
above the village. They call on Mrs. Fownes
sometimes."
" Mr. Weir is awakening in them an interest
for the poor. He lunched with them yester-
day on purpose. And he met Lady Clive and
talked to her about mothers' meetings. She
did not know about them, and I can't say I
do. He got the Miss Grevilles to undertake
classes at the Sunday-school. How zealous he
is I"
" Very zealous ! " said Nessy.
" He has offered me a class, too," said Mrs.
Homer, " and as the Miss Grevilles have
joined, I don't see why I should not accept it.
BELFOREST. 239
I suppose I oiiglit to consider it a compliment.
I tried to escape — told him I knew nothing —
was quite an ignoramia — at which he only-
smiled."
" You will find it very interesting, ma'am/'
said Nessy, " when once you take it up
heartily."
" It all depends," said she, languidly. " I
don't know that I can take interest in any-
thing of that kind now," she added, rather
tardily.
During dinner, she asked Nessy to give her
some idea of the routine. Nessy did her best,
but did not make much of it ; and Mrs. Homer,
after a little meditation, observed that she
thought it might be much better in the hands
of a paid person.
" However," said she, " Mr. Weir has set his
mind on it, and what he sets his mind on, we
may be sure he will effect. Few could help
conceding what he asked, he has such an
interesting way with him. Do you think it
will rain ? "
" No, ma'am, I see no sign of it."
" Then let Eoberto bring round the little
carriage."
240 BELFOREST.
Finding the boy did not and would not
answer to the name of Lubin, Mrs. Homer had
been obhged to make his own name rather
more Arcadian by adding an o final, at first
sportively, and now habitually.
While she was out, a good-tempered looking
old farmer, who might have sat or stood for
the model of Keady-money Jack, called for a
money-order, and likewise to ask his friend
and gossip, Mr. SafFery, whether he had not a
lodger named Homer.
" That I have,'' said Mr. SafFery. " D'ye know
anything about her ? "
" No," said Farmer Benson ; " that's the very
question I meant to put to you."
At which they both laughed.
" Oh ! she's a nicish sort of lady," said Mr.
Saffery. " Not at home this afternoon."
" No ; I saw her go down street. Safe, I
suppose ? You had references ? "
" Well, we didn't even ask for any," said
, Mr. Safiery, " because she came recommended —
at least, she said she came recommended — by a
prior lodger of ours — at least, the lodger's sister."
" That doesn't sound like much of a voucher,"
said the farmer, doubtfully.
BELFOREST. 241
" But she's as safe as the Bank, I believe."
" Whicli bank ?" said Farmer Benson, quickly,
for a country bank had lately broken, whereby
he had sustained some loss.
They laughed again ; and Mr. Saffery said,
" The Bank of Enoiand was what I was think-
o
ing of She pays regular, by the week; has
done so ever since my good wife hinted to her
the rule of former lodgers. She said, quite
pleasantly, ' Oh ! such is the custom of Brank-
some Hall, is it ? It makes no difference to
me. Never mind.' "
" WeU, she has a pleasant way with her,
that's a fact," said the farmer ; " and bewidowed
so young and aU ! I should think all was safe
enough, only I thought Fd just inquire quietly;
for, you see, she's thinking of taking land."
" Oh ! is she ? " said Mr. Saffery, with in-
terest.
" Has been to me twice," said the farmer,
"about a piece I can't nohow make over to
her, because I get my very best wheat off it.
I've told her she may have the pick of Brush-
worth and Stubblecroft, but she off-and-ons
about them, because she says they're not
picturskew."
VOL. I. E
242 BELFOREST.
"Does she want many acres'?" said Mr.
SafFery.
"Well, I can hardly make out what she
does want," said Farmer Benson, " because she
changes her mind so. Is that her natur' ? "
" Why, I can scarcely tell," said Mr. Saffery ;
" for she has nothing to change her mind about
here except her dinner, and she mostly begins
by ordering what we can't in possibility get
for her, and ends by putting up with whatever
we have."
" Obliging, at any rate," said the farmer.
" Quite so. Oh ! I think you needn't be
afraid of her."
" Here comes our little painter," said Farmer
Benson, holding out his broad hand to Nessy.
He had bought the largest of her pictures.
" You had better come some afternoon," said
he, " and see how well it looks over the mantel-
piece."
BELFOREST. 243
CHAPTER XVIL
THE OLD LADY.
Nessy's forebodings were but too closely veri-
fied on Sunday morning. Punctually as she
kept her appointment, there was a Kttle cluster,
not only of teachers, but of supernumeraries, in
the middle of the schooboom, talking very fast
and all together, with their faces almost touch-
ing each other's bonnets. Around them, but
at a respectful distance, stood knots of silent
children, who seemed much surprised and dis-
comfited at the presence of strangers. Nessy
immediately formed a nucleus for these little
stragglers, who, at a signal from her, instantly
drew about her in, a well-ordered semicircle,
pressing closer to her than usual, that they
might hear her gentle voice amid the confusion
of tongues. The ladies stared at her, and then
exchanged expressive looks and shrugs, as much
as to say, " Is this the way our allotted charges
244 BELFOREST.
are to be taken from us ? We hieic it would
be no use coming ! " Then a party of boys, in
thick boots, clattered in with much noise and
little respect for fine ladies. Then Mrs. Homer
darkened the doorway, looking curiously about
her, and seeming in suspense whether to
advance or retreat; then bestowing an arch
look at Nessy, who greeted her with a smile of
welcome, and quietly crossing the room to her.
Every look, every step of her progress was
noticed by the ladies, who silently scrutinized
her from top to toe with open impertinence,
and then huddled yet closer together to
exchange remarks. Nessy had not supposed
real ladies could be so ill-bred, and thought
how much Mrs. Homer gained by comparison
with them. She spoke to her in a low tone,
and told her what there was to do, and how
to do it ; and while thus engaged, they started
at Mr. Weir's clear, authoritative, somewhat
aggrieved utterance of —
" Come, teachers ! "
Dead silence. Then he gravely took his place
and said, —
** Let us pray."
Down knelt boys and girls, Nessy and Mrs.
BELFOEEST. 245
Homer ; there Avas a prodigious rustling of
silks, taken up that they might by no means
come in contact with the floor, among the
select specimens of the upper ten thousand,
some of whom knelt in very uncomfortable
and unusual attitudes. Mr. Weir prayed that
a spirit of order, and unanimity, and humility,
and heavenly-mindedness might prevail among
them all, and that the blessed Spirit might not
disdain to visit such lowly temples as their
hearts, but might so fill them ^dth its sweet
and purifying influences, that there should be
no room for any e^il or trifling spirit to enter.
One might have thought such a prayer might
have sunk into all his intelligent assistants'
hearts ; and the Miss Gre\dlles did rise sobered ;
but their bevy of companions clustered round
Mr. Weir directly they were ofi" their knees,
and tittered as one of them said —
"Oh, Mr. Weir, we're supernumeraries,
please ; we are not going to interfere with
your work. We only came to keep the Miss
Grevilles in countenance, and start them off"."
He bent his head a little and said —
" We have no room for supernumeraries here,
nor any need or time for those who do not work."
246 BELFOREST.
Rather abashed, they fluttered out of the
school, whispering and giggling directly they
crossed its threshold. The Miss Grevilles
looked rather ashamed, and listened attentively
to Mr. Weir's brief directions, which they
immediately did their best to fulfil. He
turned with a pleased look to Nessy and
Mrs. Homer, each with her orderly little class
before her, and said —
" You need no monition, either of you. I
may look for unqualified, genuine help from
you."
Mrs. Homer repaid him by her sweetest
smile, and Nessy felt very happy. Now that
the supernumeraries were dismissed, everything
fell into order; there was a continuous hum,
but it was easy to hear one's self speak, which,
just before, had really not been the case.
" I am going to say a few words," began Mr.
Weir. You might have heard a pin drop.
He addressed them for a fe^^ minutes, explain-
ing anew to them all why they were there,
what they must keep in view, and in what
spirit they must try to attain it. Then they
all recommenced with fresh spirit, and Nessy
began to be glad some of the burthen was
BELFOREST. 247
taken from her. She glanced now and then at
Mrs. Homer, to see how she prospered, and
observed her occasionally at fault. The chil-
dren had read their little portion, and she did
not seem to have many questions to ask. Once
or twice they came to a dead stop. Then,
after much consideration, she asked the little
girl nearest to her —
" Who was Paul ? "
No answer. "Cant you tell me who Paul
was ? '' Not one of them could or would
tell.
" He Avas an apostle — a very good man.''
She yawned a Kttle beliind her glove. One
after another all the children yawned. Nessy
was in pain for her, and glad when Mr. Weir
gave out the concluding hymn.
The Miss Grevilles were shy of singing in a
Sunday-school. Nessy Avas shy of singing close
to the Miss Grevilles. Mrs. Homer's self-pos-
session stood her in good stead. She followed
the lead very nicely, and then Nessy took
courage, and then the Miss Grevilles took
courage ; and the blended voices sounded very
sweetly. Then, after the benediction, the Miss
Grevilles glanced at Mrs. Homer and Nessy,
248 BELFOREST.
and stood irresolute for a moment, but decided
not to fraternize with them, and, with a little
bow to Mr. Weir, flitted away. He looked
after them, rather disappointed, and said to
Mrs. Homer —
" I meant you to have made friends together,
but another time will do."
" Oh, don't give it a thought ; it doesn't in the
least signify," said she, with her charming smile.
At Mrs. Homer s dinner, Nessy could not
resist saying —
'* I was so glad, ma'am, you led the singing
so courageously ! We were all very cowardly."
" Oh," said Mrs. Homer, " it did not require
much confidence to sing to such an audience
as that. I have had my courage more severely
tried ! And I did not think it worth while to
throw my voice out — I just hummed a little,
for the sake of the children."
" I knew," said Nessy, " that I was not sing-
ing to the Miss Grevilles, but — to the Lord ;
therefore it was wrong to feel ashamed, and I
conquered it as soon as I could."
" Ah," said Mrs. Homer, carelessly, " I regret
to say I did not take so high a view of the
matter as you did."
BELFOREST. 249
" Are you not glad, ma'am, you Trent ? "
" Well — yes — no — there was not mucli satis-
faction in it. I knew I was pleasing Mr. Weir,
so that supported me ; but he did not laiow of
the insulting contempt of those supernumeraries.
I was glad to see them walk off."
"So was I, very glad indeed," said Nessy.
" I wonder at their assurance in coming."
" Oh, there was nothing in it ; and notliing
to keep them out. I don t desire to meet them
again. I should like to know the Miss Grevilles,
I own."
" They had a great mind to speak, I think,"
said Nessy.
"And a greater mind not to speak. But
Fm used to the ways of this curious world. I
don't mind it ; it does not in the least signify."
To refresh herself after her mornings toils,
she took a long nap in the afternoon ; and as
the Miss Gre^nlles had already told Mr. Weir
their mamma would not allow them to come to
the school a second time in the day, Nessy
rejoiced in having the afternoon classes entirely
under the conduct of herself and Susan Potter,
who had not been able to attend in the morning.
These two girls, one under fifteen, the other
250 BELFOREST.
turned twelve, had such zeal, sense, and good-
ness, that Mr. Weir might well entrust to them
the chief weight of the school. For it is not
always age that is needful to^ make a good
teacher or a good nurse.
Nessy made friends with Susan Potter, the
baker's daughter, for, thought she, though my
mamma says my education places me above
her, the Miss Grevilles are clearly much farther
above me ; and how pleased I should have been
if they had given me, or even had only given
Mrs. Homer, a kind word !
The following Sunday, the Miss Grevilles
seemed rather ashamed of their exclusiveness,
and made some advances. They came up to
Nessy, whom they knew well by sight, and
the eldest said rather gravely, but kindly —
" You are very constant at your work. Miss
Saffery. You undertake more than we can do,
in coming twice a day."
" I like coming," said Nessy, simply.
And after the classes were dismissed, the
elder sister, closely followed by the younger,
spoke to Mrs. Homer, and said —
" There has been good attendance to-day.
How much the school was wanted ! "
BELFOREST. 251
Mrs. Homer looked upwards and smiled ; as
much as to say —
" Oh, so wanted ! "
Miss Emily Greville then took courage to
say—
" It was rather embarrassing at first ; but I
get on better now, and like it."
" So embarrassing at first," said ^Irs. Homer.
This was all that passed ; and if there had
been more, it would only have increased sub-
secjuent mortification ; for Mrs. Greville, finding
that her daughters had been guilty of these
small amenities to a stranger and a nobody,
told them " it would not do ; " they must
beware of entangling themselves in acquaint-
anceships they could not keep up : she had
very reluctantly acceded to Mr. Weir's wish
that they should take classes, and they must
either keep their co-helpers at a proper distance,
or give up their attendance.
So, the foUo^Ting Sunday, the Miss Grevilles
made the stiffest, slightest inclination of the
head when Mrs. Homer and Nessy came in,
and abruptly engaged themselves with their
pupils, to prevent the possibiHty of exchanging
a word ; feeling very uncomfortable, poor girls
252 BELFOREST.
in this strict obedience to orders, for they were
young and thin-skinned. They left the school-
room almost precipitately as soon as the classes
broke up, to the keen mortification of Mrs.
Homer, who had intended the opening already
made to be improved. She said at dinner to
Nessy —
" Those Miss Grevilles are inconsistent girls,
I think ; one never knows where to have them.
Last Sunday they spoke civilly ; to-day they
would scarcely bow. It makes the attendance
very unpleasant, when one is subjected to such
slights. However, I don't mind it, that's one
comfort ! "
Nessy had put Mrs. Homer more cm courant
with respect to the routine, so that she now
got through her duty not discreditably ; but as
her heart was not really in it, it was rather
unimproving and irksome to her scholars and
herself Sometimes, on returning from a walk,
she would say, " I returned by way of Fairlee
Common, and stood looking at your cottage.
Miss SafFery. 'Tis a pretty, pretty place : I
only wish it were mine. I have seen nothing
that has taken my fancy so much ; and building
seems to be very expensive. Besides, what a
BELFOREST. 253
long time a house takes building. Sometimes
I think of taking: a common labourer s cottage,
and just adding to it ; it is a very anxious
matter to 'frame one's self a home."
" I wonder, ma'am," Mrs. SafFery would say,
" that an elegant lady like you should think of
burying yourself in a place like this."
Then said Mrs. Homer, " When the heart is
buried, Mrs. Saffery, one may as well be buried
altogether."
Meanwhile, Mr. Weir and his mother took
possession of the cottage. He had told Mrs.
Homer that he should bring his mother to call
on her, which was like cutting a Gordian knot,
because it seemed a difficult point to Mrs.
Homer which of them should call fii^st, if there
were to be any calling — she not being a resi-
dent, but yet the first comer. She was very
glad to have the matter settled by him, for she
certainly wanted to be on friendly terms T^dth
mother and son. But she had said, " I cannot
expect IVIrs. Weir to call on a mere lodger,
though I hope to have a pretty place of my
own by-ancl-by. I quite long to have a place
to lay my weary head ! "
" My mother and I do not estimate people
254 BELFOREST.
by their houses/' said Mr. Weir. "We are
going into a small one ourselves."
"Oh, your cottage is perfection. I envy you it.*'
" Ah, I know you were disappointed of it ;
but I could not give it up — there was no other
place for me. You may soon run yourself up
a pretty, ornamental cottage — prettier, in fact,
than mine."
She shook her head, and smiled.
Mrs. SafFery went to the cottage to put the
new comers in possession, and returned ver}'
full of what she had seen. " Mrs. Weir is a
stout old lady," said she, " short and red-faced.
I never knew a shorter mother of a tall son.
She's a sharp one, you may depend on it. She
scanned the place in a moment, peeped into
every hole and corner, tasted the water, held
the tumbler up to the light, inquired about the
drainage, the poor-rate and highway-rate — how
many butchers there were, and which was the
best — what was the price of bread and coals —
what firewood we chiefly used — what soil the
cottage was built on — where was the nearest
fire-engine — who was the constable — and ever
so many other things. She's a manager, and
so you'll find."
BELFOREST. 255
" To be of any use, she should have made
her inquiries before the cottage was taken,"
said Mr. Saffery.
" She couldn't, for he took it before he told
her ; and you know, Safifery, it was a good
thing he took it so quick, for if he hadn't, Mrs.
Homer would have had it."
Mrs. Homer awaited her visitors rather
anxiously, for, if Mrs. Weir called on her,
others might call, and she began to feel her
solitude rather monotonous, without
" Some friend in her retreat,
To whom to whisper, ' SoUtude is sweet.' "
At length, after much vacillating, she thought
Mrs. Weir might be waiting for her to take the
first step, and determined to leave a card. She
left a card, and told the neat maid-servant she
hoped Mrs. Weir was recovering from her
fatigue ; for Mrs. Weir had brought her own
maid-servant, not much approving of her son's
description of Mrs. Early, who remained in the
house, but out of sight.
The same afternoon, IMr. Weir, coming into
the post-office for stamps, met Mrs. Homer, and
said —
256 BELFOREST.
" My mother is much obliged to you for
your kind inquiries. She will return calls by-
and-by, but at present is hardly settled."
" Oh ! I can quite understand that," said
Mrs. Homer. " I can quite feel for her."
" Oh ! she is not exactly a subject for com-
passion," returned he, laughing. " In fact, she
is quite in her element. She is very fond of
domestic occupation, and will be a great help
to me in the parish some day."
As he quitted the shop, Mrs. Homer mur-
mured, half to herself, and half to Nessy, whom
she felt to be a sympathizer —
*' 'Julias a manager, she's born to rule ;' "
a line which Nessy never afterwards forgot.
And she knew quite well who was meant, and
could never help smiling when Mrs. Homer
now and then said, quietly —
" Here comes Julia."
Well, the visit was returned at last, but not
without a stout remonstrance on Mrs. Weir's
part. She said —
" Frank, how could you commit me so, by
telling Mrs. Homer I should call upon her ? "
" I thought you would call upon her," re-
BELFOREST. 257
plied he. " I thought you would call on every-
body."
" But she is only a lodger, a suramer- visitor ;
she is not known to anybody here."
" My dear mother, she is at any rate a fellow-
creature ; and my affau', and I hope yom^s, is
to do good to as many fellow-creatures as we
can reach, without considering whether they
live in lodgings or houses of their owti."
This was the way Mrs. Weir declared
Frank always shut her up. She was very
fond of telling those whom she admitted to
the privileges of intimacy, that she had been
a complete worldling till Frank converted her.
And the corollary she very plainly deduced
from it, was — "And since he has converted
me, why shouldn't you let him convert you f "
" What makes you like her so ? " she said,
as they started together for the visit, " She's
very pretty, I suppose."
" She is very interesting and sweet-tempered.
No one without a sweet temper could have
taken the Miss Balfours' contumely as she
did ; even her position, as a young widow, calls
for s}Tnpathy, and she wishes to be useful."
"Young widows are very ensnaring."
VOL. I. s
258 BELFOREST
" One would tliink you were not a widow,"
said he, cheerfully. " How can you be so hard
on a younger sister ? "
The old lady gave him one of her droll
looks, which told him he had not made a bit
of impression ; so they talked of other things.
Happily Mrs. Homer was at home, with
everything pretty about her, as far as the
little room could be made pretty ; and she
welcomed her visitors with the sweetest smiles.
" You have got over your fatigues, I hope,"
said she, almost tenderly.
"Oh, nothing fatigues me," said Mrs. Weir,
" except having nothing to do ; and that will
never be the case here, I can easily see. I
never saw a place more run to waste : yoiive
taken up the schools, I hear ; how do you
get on ? "
And Mrs. Homer had, from this point, to
stand a close cross-examination, not only on
school-rooms, school-teachers, school - children,
and school-books, but a variety of subjects
which she was unprepared to be catechized on.
Mrs. Weir did not exactly ask her how long
she had been widowed, what her husband
had been, and what he had died of; but she
BELFOREST. 259
approached it as nearly as she possibly could.
She did ask her if she had ever had the con-
duct of a town or country parish ; whether
she had lived mostly in one neighbourhood
or had gone about much ; whether she had
determined to settle here for a permanence ;
whether she had anything in view yet ;
whether she knew Mrs. Fownes, or the
Gre^dlles, &c. &c.
Mr. Weir endeavoured to soften his mother's
bluntness as much as he could, and ]\Irs.
Homer took refuge in soft looks and mono-
syllables, and tried to carry the war into the
enemy's country by asking questions in return :
whether Mrs. Weir found the house perfectly
dry, whether the garden was in good order,
whether there would be a good winter crop of
potatoes, &c. &c; When they were gone, and
Nessy came in to lay the cloth, she relieved
herself by drawing a deep breath, and saying,
" What a terrific old lady ! "
fi 2
260 BELFOREST.
CHAPTEE XVIII.
FRIENDSHIP CEMENTED.
Shall I be believed if I say that two days
from this visit, the terrific old lady and Mrs.
Homer were on the best of terms ? The way
it came to pass was this : —
A fine, mellow, autumnal afternoon had
tempted Mrs. Homer to walk to Daisylands,
and work once more on Farmer Benson's
feelings about the piece of ground he had no
mind to sell. The farmer was not expected
home before night, for he had gone to an
annual *' beast market ; " so Mrs. Homer had
only her walk for her pains, — at least it seemed
so, but events often turn out different from
what they seem.
She turned away a little disappointed, for
the old farmer's honest blue eyes told her
plainly he thought her worth looking at, and
he always spoke to her cheerily. The white
BELFOPwEST. 261
farmhouse, backed by magnificent elms, stood
smrounded by almost a Httle town of outhouses,
stables, granaries, and sheds, with enormous ricks
in the back-ground. Mrs. Homer had daintily
picked her way through the slushy yards to
see the cows and the horses, and the pigs, and
the dairy ; and had followed the farmer up the
neat gravel-walk of his garden to see the bee-
hives, and admire his fruit-trees ; so that she
knew the premises well, and sometimes she
had thouD-ht she should like to lods^e here
rather than at the post-office ; but Mrs. Benson
did not seem inclined to accede to it.
Passing through the little white gate and
along the country by-road, she came to a stile
which led to what was called " the hilly field."
Now, this hilly field adjoined Fairlee Common,
and was, in fact, a piece taken ofi* it. It was
a short cut to the village, and a very pretty
walk besides, boasting particularly fine grass,
and picturesquely bordered with hedgerow
timber.
Nobody being in sight, Mrs. Homer cleared
the stile in a way that none but the young and
very agile can do. She sprang over it, scarcely
touching the third bar with her right foot, and
262 BELFOREST.
the top bar with her left, and was on the other
side the next moment. Having accomplished
this feat, she took a little foot-track to the left,
amused at herself for what she had done, not
having, in fact, done anything so childish f(^r
some years, and being carried back by it to
memories of younger times.
Having ascended the little slope which gave
the field its name, she saw, hastening up its
opposite side, Mrs. Weir, at a pace very incon-
venient to a woman of her age and size ; and
secretly rejoiced that her clearing the stile
had not been seen by that lady. Mrs. Weir's
face, always inclining to red, was now rubicund
with heat and fear : and when Mrs. Homer
civilly accosted her with " Good morning,
ma'am," she said, in a troubled voice, —
" My dear, there's a mad bull ! "
Mrs. Homer changed colour, and looked
hastily round. There was a herd feeding on
the lower ground, and nearer at hand a pond.
" Are you sure the animal is mad ? " said
she. " Perhaps he is only going to drink."
" Hear the low mumbling he is making ; I'm
sure he's not all right."
"Suppose we keep round this side of the pond."
BELFOREST. 263
" We shall be farther from the gate."
"Yes, but he cannot be on both sides of the
pond at once."
"Now, he has his eye on us," cried Mrs.
Weir, excitedly — "now he is coming towards
us ! he'll cut us off ! Oh, my dear ! run, run
while you can — I can't, for I'm too heav}^"
" No, I won't forsake you," said Mrs. Homer,
who was very pale. " Give me your hand —
don't be frio^htened — let us look at him
steadily."
Gradually approaching the pond, and like-
wise approaching their enemy, they reached its
brink at last, and so did he ; and then, to their
immense relief, he began to cbink. Oh, what
a deep-drawn breath Mrs. Weir gave, and how
heartily she thanked Mrs. Homer, who begged
her not to think of it !
'■'I can't think enough of it," replied she.
" You showed real self-possession, and real un-
selfishness, .too, for our danger was in common,
and what hindered your running away except
your thoughtfulness for me ? I shall not forget
it, I assure you."
And all across the common she talked gar-
rulously to the gratified Mrs. Homer, who
264 BELFOREST.
accompanied her to her own gate; and then
she insisted on her going in, and pressed her to
stay to tea.
" No cap ? Oh, never mind being in your
hair for once. Or I'll lend you one ; or you can
keep on your bonnet ; or Mary shall run down
for your own."
This last offer was accepted, so Mary was
sent off with a message to Nessy ; and mean-
while Mrs. Weir took her visitor over the
cottage, and pointed out its merits and
deficiencies, took credit to herself for various
contrivances, and asked her opinion of others
in contemplation.
When Mr. Weir came in and found Mi-s.
Homer winding knitting-cotton for his mother,
he looked surprised enough, but very much
pleased ; and was more pleased when Mrs.
Weir told him graphically how Mrs. Homer
had been her preserver. It gave rise to a good
deal of laughing, too, for he could not be
persuaded that there had been any real danger ;
"But if you thought there was," said he, "it
amounted to the same thing. Did you feel
really frightened, Mrs. Homer ? "
"I should not have thought of being so," she
BELFOREST. 265
replied, "if it had not l^een for Mrs. Weir's
alarm, but fear is contagious."
"Ah, my mother, for a strong-minded
woman, has some singular fears ; of everv
little yap-yapping dog, for instance."
"Yes, I have a great objection to being
bitten," said Mrs. Weir, "and special fears of
hydrophobia."
" But barking dogs don't bite."
"Oh, don't they, though! I know to the
contrary."
" Yes, so do I," said Mrs. Homer.
" You partake of my mother s fears, then."
"I like large, generous dogs, with amiable
eyes. And they always like me."
" They see that you like them, and love your
caressing them. Ah, we generaUy like those
who like and caress us ! "
" Oh, yes, it is instinctive."
"Do you see much of Miss Saffery, Mrs.
Homer ? "
" In a sort of a way, of course. She waits on
me. I don't make her a companion, of course."
" Is that of course ? The poor girl has
aspirations and capacities above her position."
" Is it good for girls to have aspirations
266 BELFOREST.
above tlieir position ? " interposed Mrs. Weir.
" / think not."
" It depends, mother, on the nature of the
aspirations. Miss Saffery does not aspire to
dress like the Miss Grevilles, or to be noticed
by them."
" I should hope not, indeed ! "
"But for one so young, and with so few
intellectual advantages, she has a cultivated
mind."
" Does her cultivated mind permit her to
mend her father's stockings ? " said Mrs. Weir.
"Yes, it really does," said Mrs. Homer.
" She is a very good, submissive, domestic girl.
They are a well-conducted family."
" How do you define a well-conducted family,
Mrs. Homer ? " said Mr. Weir.
" They have family prayers."
" Family prayers ? I should hope so ! " said
Mrs. Weir.
" Oh, mother, the custom is not too common.
It is the exception, rather than the rule, I fear,
in that class. You show discrimination, Mrs.
Homer, in your example of a well-conducted
family. But with regard to making more of a
companion of Miss Saffery ? "
BELFOREST. 267
" Is it not growing late ? " said Mrs. Homer.
" I fear I must go."
" No ; quite early. And I will see you
home.''
She shook her head and smiled, " Quite out
of the question/'
" And as for Mrs. Homer s making Miss
Saffery her companion, Frank, my dear, it's
not to be expected ; it wouldn't be right," said
Mrs. Weir.
"Well, with two against one, I see I've no
chance ; but what I meant would have broken
down no social barriers. A few kind words now"
and then, a useful hint or encouraging remark."
" Oh, she gets those abeady, I assure you,"
said Mrs. Homer.
" That's right ; that's w^hat I wanted. I was
sure you would."
" Then why could not you let it alone,
Frank?" said his mother. "You are but
young, yet. Fancy," said she, ap]3ealing to
Mrs. Homer, "fancy his saddling me with a
hobbling old woman who cannot do a thing ! "
" Ah, yes ! — yes, indeed ! " said Mrs. Homer.
" And with an obstinate old man, quite past
work ! "
268 BELFOREST.
" Ah, indeed ! "
" If my mother is going to open on the
subject of my delinquencies, I shall be oflf,"
said Mr. Weir, laughing.
" I really must go," said Mrs. Homer.
"Mrs. Homer, do you know of any one in
want of such an old woman as Mrs. Early ?
We are really only keeping her out of charity."
" A useless old woman ? "
" I cannot make my mother see," said Mr.
AVeir, laughing, " that it is better to give the
old and infirm a day's wages for a day's work,
however poor that work may be, than to pay
poor-rates for them to do nothing."
" But, my dear, one's w^ork must be done,
and we can only afford one pair of hands ; and
if you had looked into the saucepans when we
came in, or into the boiler, or at the tin covers,
or into the dusthole — "
Mr. AVeir and Mrs. Homer joined in a hearty
laugh at the idea.
" Ah, you may laugh ; but it is what I had
to do, and a good deal besides. My son may
pretend to be very philanthropic, Mrs. Homer,
but he likes his dinner well cooked, like any
other man."
BELFOKEST. 269
" Oh, mother ! I really don't care what I
have."
" Like any other man," persisted Mrs. Weir ;
" and if it is to be cooked either by j\Irs. Early
or me, I know it must be by myself."
"Ah, well, I did not know the case was so
hopeless when I engaged her," said Mr. Weir,
"but we must give her a little time to look
about, at all events. She must have a roof
over her head."
" That Frenchman, whose name I forget,
would have said he didn't see the necessity.
And then old AYatto. Youll have him mud-
dling about the garden all the winter."
" And a very nice landscape figure he makes,
with his thin silver locks stirrinof in the wind."
" He'll draw on your silver shillings, though,
Frank, which are not much thicker than his
locks."
" So be it. Of my Httle, a Httle I'U give."
"Well, I really must go," said Mrs. Homer
plaintively.
" Do, my dear, or it will be getting dark ;
and you have refused Frank's escort. Quite
right, quite right. You'll excuse an old woman
for speaking her mind. Those are the only
270 BELFOREST.
terms on whicli an old woman can be friends
with a young woman."
" May I come again ? " said Mrs. Homer,
winningly.
" Of course, of course. Good night, good
night ! Frank will see you to the gate."
And Frank accompanied her, without his
hat, several yards beyond the gate. He told
her he was so glad she had made friends with
his mother ; he hoped she would drop in very
often. His mother was too old to like making
calls, or to care for company, but she liked
young people — when she did like them — and
he could see she liked Mrs. Homer.
Mrs. Homer, on her part, assured him she had
had a most delightful evening. She had taken
to Mrs. Weir from the first; there was some-
thing so motherly about her, so genuine I She
only hoped they might be friends — real friends ;
there should be no backwardness on her part.
She was naturally very fond of old people — old
ladies, especially — and Mrs. Weir was such a
model old lady ! But he really must not come
one step farther without his hat. Quite out
of the question. She would not, could not
permit it. She should be home directly, if
BELFOREST. 271
liers could be called home. Good night. Good
nio^ht.
" So, Frank, you Avent farther than the gate ? "
" My dear mother, when I came in and
found you and Mrs. Homer fraternizing, I was
surprised ! "
" Ah ! laugh and welcome. It was no
laughing matter to be nearly tossed by a mad
bull. She showed great self-possession and
kindness in sticking by me as she did, for she
icas frightened, whatever she may say of it —
her nice colour died completely away. And
there was I ' my dearing ' her, and taking tight
hold of her hand. Could I cast her off, Frank,
directly I reached my own gate ? "
" Most certainly not, mother. You did quite
right, as you generally do."
" No flattery, sirrah."
" You both did just the thing you ought.
You may be comforts to one another, if you
will. You are fond of young persons, and
like some one to drop in sometimes for a little
friendly gossip. Mrs. Homer feels the want of
a home and of a motherly friend."
" Did she tell you that, Mr. Frank, between
this and the gate ? "
272 BELFOREST.
" Ah ! " said he, mischievously, " a great deal
passed between this and the gate. There was
so much time for it, and so much inclina-
tion ! "
Mr. SafFery was putting up his shop-shutters
when Mrs. Homer returned. Nessy was light-
ing the lamp, and directly she saw Mrs. Homer's
bright face, she knew she had had a happy
evening, and rejoiced at it. How could it be
otherwise than delightful to drink tea with
Mr. Weir ?
Mrs. Homer threw herself on the couch of
no repose. She wanted some one to talk to,
though it were only Nessy SafFery. She began
with —
" I dare say you were surprised enough at
my not returning to tea. I had quite an
adventure. There was a mad bull in a field —
at least, I don't believe the poor creature w^as
mad, but Mrs. Weir was frightened, and I
rescued her — not that it was much of a rescue,
but I kept by her, instead of running away,
and she was so grateful and so pleased, I never
saw a woman warm up so. She would make
me go in and stay to tea — would take no
excuse — offered me one of her own caps, which
BELFOREST. 273
of course, I would not wear, and then offered
to send for mine."
" I am so very glad," said Nessy. " I dare
say you had delightful conversation."
" Yes, we had — at least, the old lady said
some foolish things, but they drew out Mr.
Weir's clever things, and we had a good deal
of laughing and chatting. Altogether, we had
a very pleasant evening ; but I icould come
away early."
" It seems like a reward for your having
rescued ]\Irs. Weir," said Nessy.
" It had not occurred to me in that liorht,
but now you suggest it, it really does seem so.
What a very superior young man Mr. Weir is !
There's something so excessively interesting
about him ! "
" Did he see you home, ma'am ? "
" No ; he offered to do so, but I would not
let him. I was obliged to be quite peremptory.
He walked with me to the very verge of the
common without his hat."
" I hope he won't have the toothache," said
Nessy.
"What! with his fine teeth? Besides, the
air was balm."
VOL. I. T
274 BELFOREST.
" Would you like a little cold beef for sup-
per, ma'am ? "
" Well— yes, I think I should."
" I dare say," observed Nessy, as she spread
the cloth, " you had a nice talk about the
classes/'
" On the contrary, they were never once
mentioned."
" There," thought Mrs. Homer, as Nessy
withdrew, " I have fulfilled Mr. Weir's wishes
respecting Miss SafFery. If she does not pre-
sume, I will do so again from time to time."
Next day she did not fail to call and inquire
how Mrs. Weir felt herself after her fright, and
to hope she had experienced no reaction. And
she took her Affghan blanket with her to show
her what nice candlelight-work it was — only
simple knitting — coarse knitting, with one pair
of ivory needles, and the arrangement of the
colours so excellent ! Everything depended
on the arrangement of the colours. She would
write out the directions if Mrs. Weir liked, and
get the wools and pins, and cast on the first
row. Then there could be no trouble, and it
would be such a warm, pleasant wrap for her
feet on the sofa, when frost and snow set in.
BELFOREST. 275
Mrs. Weir was one of those ladies much
given to complain that their eyes will not
enable them to do anything useful by candle-
light, and yet very averse from bestowing a
little time and pains on learning a new em-
ployment that promises to be a great resource
to them when it ceases to be new. She made
a good many objections and excuses, and at
last reluctantly yielded consent, and then they
got into chat about other things ; and as
Mrs. Homer had not the privilege of knowing
Dr. and Mrs. Fownes, Mrs. Weir had the gratifi-
cation of telling her how shaky the doctor was,
how little fit for duty, how probable it was he
would soon be obliged to relinquish it alto-
gether, how he disturbed Mrs. Fownes's rest
every night, and what a martyr she was. All
this to hear did ]\irs. Homer seriously incline,
or patiently incline, at any rate ; and thence-
forth the Affghan blanket became an excuse
for almost daily calls on Mrs. Weir, till no
excuse was any longer wanting. Sometimes
she had a glimpse of Mr. Weir, oftener not ;
but now and then they had delightful snatches
of dialogue, and she was beginning to find
quite a new charm in her daily life.
T 2
276 BELFOREST.
CHAPTER XIX.
MRS. EARLY's shortcomings.
Mrs. "Weir was now no longer a terrific old
lady, but a dear, nice old lady, and sometimes a
rather tiresome old lady — when Mr. Weir did
not make his appearance ; but even when Mrs.
Homer thus termed her in her secret heart,
she knew all the while that Mrs. Weir was not
really less nice than usual, but simply that her
appreciation of her niceness had been lessened
by the absence of some one far nicer.
" I really must get rid of Mrs. Early," said
Mrs. Weir to her one day. "What do you
think? her attic is just like an old marine-
store shop. I never climbed up to it till this
morning, because the steep stairs try my
breath ; and when I mounted up there, I held
up both my hands ! for there — will you believe
it? — she has stowed all her own wretched
old furniture, till there's hardly room to tm-n
BELFOREST. 277
round ; and when I said that musn t be, she
began to whimper, and say she had no place to
put her things. I am sorry for her, but really
cannot have my garret made her Pantechnicon ! "
Meanwhile, Mrs. Early was telling her woes
across Mr. Saffery's counter to Nessy, and dole-
fully saying what a hard lady Mrs. Weir was to
live with. She had given nothing but satisfac-
tion to Mr. Weir ; he was always contented,
and never complained, — never so much as rang
the bell oftener than he could help ; but as for
Mrs. Weir, she seemed to think a poor person
had no feelings, no legs, and yet expected her
always to be on them. As to enjoying a
refreshing cup of tea, she never allowed such
a thing — her word was " quick at work, quick
at meat." And she had no consideration for a
person not accustomed to go out to service,
and thought nothing of her being reduced. She
said a servant's wages covered a servant's work;
and them that didn't ought to work, didn't
ought to eat ! And j ust as ]\Irs. Early had
come to the conclusion that she must go, Mrs.
Weir had told her that go she must; and
where in the world should she put her things —
her dirty old things, Mrs. Weir had unkindly
278 BELFOREST.
called them ! But though old, they were not
dirty ; they were as clean as Mrs. Weir's — they
were relics of better days.
Nessy soothed her, and suggested her re-
turning to her old quarters in Providence
Cottages ; but they were engaged. " And if she
turns my things out, there they must stay in
front of the house," wdiimpered Mrs. Early ;
"and she won't like that — especially the old
coal-scuttle ! "
Nessy observed that no lady could be ex-
pected to like it, nor to give warehouse-room to
a servant's household effects. But what harm
had they done ? retorted Mrs. Early, up in the
garret, which Mrs. Weir had never set foot in
till that morning, and would very likely never
enter again ? If her son George only knew the
slights put upon his old mother ! But George's
bones, too likely, were bleaching in the desert
— she had dreamed they were so, and dreams
were often sent with a purpose. He was his
widowed mother's only son, and so was Mr.
Weir; and Mrs. Weir ought to take it into
consideration.
Nessy thought so too ; and, by a few kind
words, sent her away consoled; and then in
BELFOREST. 279
oame Mrs. Homer, taking the other view of
the question, and saying, with a smile, '' That
was the widow Early, was it not ? AYhat a for-
lorn looking old creature she is ! Mrs. AVeir
says she is quite a discredit to the house,
and she thinks her furniture has introduced
blackbeetles."
About this time, Mrs. Saffery received a sur-
prise. Mrs. Homer was settling her weekly
account, in her usual leisurely, lady-like way,
and Mrs. Saffery remarked that she was as
punctual and easy to please as Mr. Antony ;
and then asked Mrs. Homer whether she did
not consider him a very nice gentleman ?
Mrs. Homer quietly remarked that she had
never seen him.
Mrs. Saffery let fall her account in her sur-
prise. " Never seen him ? " ejaculated she.
" Why, ma'am, Saffery and I considered him
your reference."
" How could you do so ? " said Mrs. Homer,
calmly. " If you had told me you required a
reference, I should have referred you to Messrs.
Koot and Branche ; and I will do so now, if
you like.''
" No, ma'am, no ; there's not the least occa-
280 BELFOREST.
sion. We know you now, almost as well as
Mr. Antony, and you pay so regular, and are
so much the lady, that it would be insult to
talk of wanting a reference ; only when you
first came, being a perfect stranger — "
" You thought I might rob the mail-bags,"
said Mrs. Homer, laughing quietly.
" No, ma'am," and Mrs. SafFery laughed a
little too ; " only I thought you did say you
were recommended to us by Miss Antony."
"So I did, and such was the fact. I met
her at the house of a mutual friend during a
morning call. I have never seen her brother,
though I have seen his pictures at the exhi-
biticms."
Mrs. SafFery uttered a rather dolorous " Oh ! "
" Miss Antony and I," continued Mrs. Homer,
" were schoolfellows."
"Oh," cried Mrs. Saffery, immensely re-
lieved ; " that amounts to the same thing ! "
" What does it amount to ? We have seldom
met since we were schoolgirls."
" No, ma'am ; but being at school with Miss
Antony seems quite a voucher, for she is such
a very nice lady that, somehow, it seems as if
every one connected with her must be all right."
BELFOREST. 281
" Have you known Miss Antony long ? "
" No, ma'am ; I have only seen her t^vice/'
" Twice ? " repeated ]\Irs. Homer, " why, you
know a great deal more of me, then, than you
do of her/'
" Well, ma'am," said Mrs. SafFery, twisting
the account between her fingers and then
smoothing it out ; " I know almost nothing
of you, but that you are a very nice lady."
" And there is almost nothing to know," said
Mrs. Homer, opening her writing-case and
taking up her pen, which JVIrs. Safiery received
as a hint to withdraw.
Talk of a person and he appears. Most of
us have verified that proverb occasionally. A
day or two after the above dialogue, Nessy was
surprised and delighted to see Miss Antony
enter the post-o£&ce.
" Oh, Miss Antony ! " exclaimed she, hastily
putting out her hand, and then withdrawing it.
Edith saw the movement, and instantly shook
hands with her.
" Mrs. Homer is out," said Nessy. " I dare
say you have come down to see her."
"No, I did not know she was here," said
Edith : " is she in your lodgings, then ? "
282 BELFOREST.
" Yes, ma'am, slie has been here ever since."
" I thought she wanted the cottage ? "
" The cottage had just been taken by our
new curate, IVIr. Weir."
" Oh," said Edith, reflecting a little ; and at
the same time, Mrs. Saffery came in, delighted
to see her, and expressed her hope that Mr.
Antony was well.
" He is very far from well," said Edith ;
" and it is on his account that I have come down
to look for lodgings. He has been seriously ill,
and is still in a very anxious state. He had a
great fancy to come here, where he was so
comfortable before, and my only objection
was that there would be no room for me ; but
Mrs. Homer's being here settles the question.
She is going to continue, I suppose ? "
" She only knows herself, ma'am," said Mrs.
Saffery ; " she only stays from week to week,
but I've no notion she thinks of leaving."
" I fancied she would want a cottage."
" She is always on the look-out for one,
ma'am, and partly thinks of building."
" Dear ! I should think she w^ould never do
that."
" Oh yes, ma'am, she's been in treaty for
BELFOREST. 283
land, and at one time things were nearly
brought to a conclusion. She was much dis-
appointed, at not getting Nessy's cottage, and
we were much obliged to you, maam, for
thinking of us."
"I thought it might be a good thing for
both parties," said Edith.
" And your name," said Mrs. Saflfrey, " was
quite a voucher. Indeed, it was the only one
she gave, for we thought there was no need
to ask for another ; and we never knew till
yesterday how slight your intimacy was, and
that she had never seen Mr. Antony."
" Oh no," said Edith ; " there was no chance
of her doing so, for I only knew her when I
was with Mrs. Crowe."
" Meaning the lady who kept the school you
both went to, I suppose ? " said Mrs. Saffery.
"Went to?" repeated Edith; "Why, IVIrs.
Crowe was her own mother."
" Oh, indeed ! " said Mrs. SajQfery, looking all
curiosity ; and Nessy, too, was anxious to hear
more ; seeing which, Edith went on without
any reluctance : —
" Mrs. Homer's connexions are quite respect-
able, Mrs. Saffery. You need be under no
284 BELFOREST.
uneasiness about that. Her father was an
officer, who retired on half-pay soon after his
marriage. He had several children, of whom
only his eldest and youngest daughter sur-
vived. Mrs. Homer is the youngest. He was
a very good sort of man, I have been told, but
his health was quite mined by injuries received
in battle. As he could leave his family no
provision, Mrs. Crowe, on his death, opened a
school."
" At Cromer, ma'am ? "
" No, near Ipswich. But, Mrs. Saffery, can
you direct me to any lodgings ? "
" Well, ma'am, I wish I could, but really
none occur to me. Wouldn't you like to take
some refreshment. Miss Antony ? "
" Thank you ; I should like a slice of bread
and butter very much," said Edith. " I meant
to have brought some biscuits, but had not
time. Perhaps I may find some place in the
neighbourhood, where they will take us in."
" There's a nice, quiet inn. Miss Antony."
" Oh ! that would be too expensive."
" I doubt very much whether you might not
make some cheap arrangement."
" Well, I will look about the neighbourhood
BELFOREST. 285
first. My brother is not well enough to like
the bustle of an inn/^
" Step in here, Miss Antony, and Nessy shall
bring the bread and butter directly."
Mrs. Saffery opened the door of Mrs. Homer's
parlour, and Edith was about to enter, but she
drew back.
" No," she said ; " Mrs. Homer s letters and
papers are lying about, and I should not like
to intrude. I should not like such a liberty
taken with me."
" Come into our own little parlour, then,
Miss Antony, if you don't mind."
" Not at all ; I am very much obliged to
you. Ah, Nessy — Miss Safiery ! there are your
pictures on the wall."
" Please call me ' Nessy,' ma'am, if you've no
objection."
"Then you must not call me 'ma'am;' it
sounds so dreadfully formal. How are you
getting on with your painting ? "
" Oh ! not at all, at present. It has been
quite set aside for other things."
" Women must set aside the fine arts pretty
often for other things, if they are true women,"
said Edith ; " and my brother says that is one
286 BELFOREST.
of the reasons why they are seldom or never
good artists. Do you remember that sketch
he took the last time we went to Dulwich ? "
" Oh, yes ! " said Nessy, laughing ; " when
you drew the cow lowing for her calf."
" And you the cow with the crumpled horn.
A professional gentleman of some eminence
saw that sketch of my brother s the other
day, and commissioned a cabinet-picture of the
same subject, to which he is to give the nicest
finish. That is why he wants to come here
instead of going to the sea."
At this moment the shop-bell tinkled, and
Nessy went to attend the summons. Farmer
Benson came in, and said, in rather a dissatis-
fied voice —
" Oh I good morning, miss. Can you give
me a notion, now, whether that lady -lodger of
yours has made up her mind yet about that
piece of ground ? "
" Mrs. Homer isn't at home, Mr. Benson, but
ril tell her you want her answer."
" Because, you see, another party's about it,
and between two stools I may fall to the
ground. Is she going to keep on here ? "
" We don't know in the least," said Nessy.
BELFOEEST. 287
"Because she's been sounding my good
dame times oft about letting her come to our
fiarrriy and my mistress, you see, wouldn't say
yes ; but now she's thought it over a bit, and
our Betsy's gone to Yarmouth, and won't be
back for a month at least ; so that if that
would suit Mrs. Homer, you may tell her that,
if she will, she may."
"Yes, I will," said Nessy, quickly; "but
there's a lady in our parlour now, Mr. Benson,
who has come down from London to look for
country lodgings, so that if they do not suit
one, they may the other."
" Ho ! " said he, deliberatively. Then, lower-
ing his voice, " What sort of lady, now, may
she be?"
" I will ask her to speak to you," said Nessy.
" She is sister to Mr. Antony, who lodged here
in the spring, and painted so beautifully."
"Oh! I mind him well enough," said the
farmer. " He was continually hanging about
my premises at one time, and I thought he was
after mischief, till I came to warn him off, and
then I found he was an artist."
"Miss Antony, will you speak to Farmer
Benson, please ? " said Nessy. " He has some
288 BELFOREST.
nice lodgings, and Mr. Antony knows his fann-
house, and used to admire it."
Edith came out, and her fair, frank face won
the farmer's impressible heart directly.
" I know, miss, that if we please you, you'll
please us," said he, cheerfully. " I can see it
at a glance. We know your brother, my missis
and me, and will do the best we can for you."
" But about Mrs. Homer ? " said Edith, who
had heard the previous dialogue; "must not she
decide first ? "
" Yes, she must decide first, if she ivill
decide," said the farmer ; " but she is a very
undecideable person, and I don't see why I
should go and miss selling my land, and miss
letting my lodgings too, because she ivill keep
shilly-shaUy."
" Then, perhaps," said Edith, " I may as well
see your lodgings ; and then, if they suit, and
Mrs. Homer does not want them, we can
engage them. If Mrs. Homer takes them, my
brother can come here."
" Just it," said he. " You step down to my
fiarm — Daisylands Fiarm — and see Mrs. Ben-
son, and you and she will settle everything,
I'll answer for it, as far as can be settled."
BELFOREST. 289
" It would have been as well to know Mrs.
Homer's mind first," observed Edith, "because,
if she decides on your farm, it would save me
the trouble of going there."
" She doesn't know her own mind, mum, I'm
thinking."
" Mrs. Homer is at Mrs. "Weir's," said Nessy,
" but she will return to dinner ; and you will
have time, meanwhile, to see the rooms at
Daisylands. It is a pretty walk ; shall I show
you the way ? "
" Yes, do, for I always feel out of my element
in the country," said Edith.
" Yes, that's well planned. Miss Saffery," sai
Farmer Benson. " I'm going over to Kingston,
but you just tell my dame what we've been
saying, and she^ll take the matter up where I
leave it. I shall hear the upshot when I come
home, it so being you can get Mrs. Homer to
say one thing or the other. She's mighty
pretty ; but as for business — " And with a
shrug and a smile he took leave.
Nessy hastened to teU her mother she was
going to show Miss Antony the way to Daisy-
lands, and was soon ready for the vv^alk. They
chatted pleasantly all the way ; and Nessy
VOL. I. u
290 BELFOREST.
told her friend what an interesting occupation
she found her Sunday class. " It gives me
something to think of all the week," said she,
" and makes me brush up all the little know-
ledge I have, and wish for more."
" I dare say it does that," said Edith, " though
I never undertook anything of the kind myself
A good, zealous, stirring clergyman never hap-
pened to cross my path."
" We never had one till now," said Nessy,
" and it makes such a difference ! His sermons
give one something to think of all the week."
When they came to the hilly field, she told
Edith of Mrs. Weir's fright, and Mrs. Homer's
coming to her assistance. "They have been
very intimate ever since," said she.
"Well, I should never have thought of
Mrs. Homer s being at the trouble of rescuing
any old lady," said Edith. "It speaks well
for her. I suppose she saw there was no real
danger."
"I think Mrs. Homer very amiable," said
Nessy timidly.
" Do you ? " said Edith. Nessy wished and
yet dreaded to hear what she would add ; but
she added nothing.
BELFOKEST. 291
"Oh, what a pretty old farmhouse beneath
the slope ! AYhat splendid hollyhocks ! "
" That's Daisylands," said Nessy, gladly. " I
knew you would like it."
Edith liked it, and everything belonging to
it, very much ; and Mrs. Benson liked Aer, and
remembered Mr. Antony, and was glad to see
Nessy, and renewed her husband's invitation to
have a syllabub at the farm "some of these
days." A syllabub party, with Mr. and Miss
Antony for two of its members, would indeed
be very pleasant.
V 2
292 BELFOREST.
CHAPTER XX.
COUNTRY LODGINGS.
Mrs. Homer had undertaken to insert the
variegated pines in the white stripes of Mrs.
Weir s AfFghan blanket ; and, as this was a
task which Mrs. Weir had no mind for herself,
though she liked very well to knit the plain
stripes of yellow, green, and scarlet, she gladly
retained her till near dinner-time, and then
begged her to stay. Mrs. Homer consented,
on condition that she might run home and
fetch her cap.
Now, this cap was not a little muslin skull-
cap, with three heavy sausages of white muslin
round the front, and long, broad-hemmed strings,
like Mrs. Weir's, but an airy little fabric of
French blonde, light as the gossamer that floats
in summer air. Mrs. Homer had gone into a
slighter stage of mourning very soon after her
taking possession of the Saiferys' lodgings ; and
BELFOREST. 293
Mrs. Saffeiy liad made use of the circumstance
to express a hope that the lady was becoming
a little more reconciliated to her loss ; but had
been checked by, "There are some bereave-
ments, Mrs. SafFery, too sacred to approach.''
But now, though she wore deep and very
becoming mourning, to wit, rich black silk,
trimmed with crape, her cap, as above de-
scribed, was of the lightest, and concealed very
little of her beautiful, silky, dark hair, banded
a la Madonna.
Eeturning, then, for her cap, she heard, with
some surprise, and certainly without any mani-
festation of pleasure, from Mrs. Saffery, that
Miss Antony had called to inquire if the lodg-
ings were vacant.
" Of course yoa told her they were not^' said
Mrs. Homer, with emphasis.
"Do you mean to continue in occupation
then, ma'am ? "
" Most certainly. Do you wish me to
leave?"
" Oh no, ma'am, no ! Only as you only con-
tinue by the week, I thought I should like to
know whether there was any certainty of con-
tinuance. If you left, which I'm sure, ma'am,
294 BELFOREST.
we should regret, Mr. Antony would come in,
that's all."
" I do mean to continue."
" Thank you, ma'am. I'm sure our desire is
to make you comfortable to the utmost of our
means."
" I'm quite satisfied, Mrs. SafFery " (with
one of her sweet forgiving smiles) ; " you are
good creatures ! "
" Mr. Benson called while you was away,
ma'am," pursued Mrs. SafFery, after a pause,
"and wished to know if you wanted his
lodgings."
" Oh ! You should have told me that in
the first instance. Of course I cannot take
them, now that I have pledged myself to
you. I thought Mrs. Benson did not choose
to let lodgings."
" Her daughter being gone on a visit, ma'am,
she is willing to let her rooms for a month."
" A month ! Oh, that is no time at all ! It
would not be worth while to remove for only a
month."
" No, ma'am, that's what I was thinking, and
that's what made it slip my memory at first.
I thought, * Mrs. Homer wouldn't care to go for
BELFOREST. 295
a month.' And the end of it would bring you
into November, when the weather mostly breaks
up ; and them lanes is very dirty. And so
Nessy has took Miss Antony to see them."
**0h, the Antonys want the lodgings at
Daisylands, do they ? ''
" Not if you want them, ma'am. If you stay
here, they'll go there. If you go there, they'U
come here. Miss Antony's quite agreeable."
]\Irs. Homer seemed put out. " The Antonys
could not come here," said she, abruptly, "for
you could not accommodate them both." Then,
after a little thought, " I mean to stay here."
"Thank you, ma'am, I thought you would.
You are nearer the church, and the school, and
Mrs. Weir — and at the post-office. And you
can be here as long as you like, and you could
only be a month at Daisylands, which wiU be
long enough for ^Ir. and Miss Antony. Farmer
Benson left word particular, that he wanted
your answer, ma'am, no or yes, about the land,
because another party is about it."
" I dare say that is only an excuse. However,
I will write to him in the evening; I cannot
stay now, because I am going to dine with
]\Irs. Weir."
296 BELFOREST.
And, with her cap in a dainty little covered
basket, she was lightly threading her way back,
when she met Edith and Nessy, and greeted the
former in pretty surprise.
" Miss Antony ! Edith ! — what pleasure ! —
are you come to stay ? are you come to see
me?"
"No/' said Edith, "I did not know where
you were, and came down about Mrs. SafFery's
lodgings ; but I have just seen some which will
do equally well if you are not going to move."
" Do you wish me to move ? "
" Oh, no ; I prefer the Daisyland lodgings of
the two, if you do not want them ; they are so
much more countrified."
" They are much more countrified ; they are
much preferable in situation ; and I tried so for
them! — you hnoiv I did. Miss Saffery. But
Mrs. Benson would not hear of it ; I don't
think she liked my mournful face ; and now
she has come to terms just as I have pledged
myself to Mrs. Saffery ! "
" Oh, my mamma would not let that stand
in the way, I'm sure," interposed Nessy, "if
you really wished to go to Daisylands ; and we
could have Mr. Antony."
BELFOREST. 297
Mrs. Homer's smile of sweetness said plainly
as words, "Quite out of the question." "My
pledge is given," repeated she ; " I cannot think
of departing from it. But, Miss Antony, shall
I turn back with you ? — Most unfortunately I
am engaged to dine mth Mrs. Weir, but do
let me give it up."
" On no account," said Edith, smiling.
" What would Mrs. Weir think of you ? Your
pledge is given.''
" Oh, but I would explain — I would take it on
myself — I would say, a friend from London — "
" Oh no, no, thank you. Since you decide
on remaining at Mrs. Saffery's, I shall engage
the Daisylands lodgings, and return at once to
London."
" But do have a good rest first in my little
retreat — have a little bread and fruit — have a
glass of milk — have a glass of wine — lie down
on the couch, or on my bed — "
" Oh no, no, thank you 1 — "
" How sorry I am — so unfortunate. — Well,
we shall soon meet again, and then I hope we
shall see much of each other. A mere step will
divide us ; and if there should be anything I
can do — "
298 BELFOREST.
" Thank you. Good-bye/'
" Good-hje ! — So glad you're coming."
Each took her separate way, and, as Edith
went onward, she said almost inaudibly, " don't
believe it ; " which made Nessy start.
" That young lady who came down with you
last time," said she, after a little silence ; " is
she quite well ? "
" Miss Bell, do you mean ? She may be quite
well — most likely is. To tell the truth, I don't
much care whether she is well or not."
Again Nessy was astounded.
" In fact," resumed Edith, " I think a severe
illness might do her good. It would make her
feel ; and if she felt suffering herself, she might
come to feel for others."
" Is she rather unfeeling, then ? " said Nessy.
" Eather," said Edith, with bitter emphasis.
" I dare say you saw what attention my brother
paid her."
" Oh, yes ! I thought — my mamma thought
they were engaged to be married."
" Ah ! I thought so too, when we went home
that afternoon ; and so did my brother ; but it
was all illusion. She was a heartless girl. She
had drawn him on at first, accepted his atten-
BELFOREST. 299
tions, and so forth, and actually made a false
excuse that day, to be allowed to come with us
— which I did not know till we were in the
train. She had told them at home she was
going to spend the day with me. Not a word
about my brother, or the Dulmch Gallery, you
understand."
" That was very deceiving of her," said Nessy.
" Persons who will deceive in a small thing,
will deceive in a great one," said Edith. " You
never can depend on them. She deceived my
brother. She liked his admiration as long as
she had no one else to admire her ; she let him
think she would marry him, though against the
wishes of her friends. And directly she had
the offer of a richer match, she threw him
overboard."
"Oh, how base of her," exclaimed Nessy.
*' I hope Mr. Antony did not mind it much.
She did not deserve he should."
"Mind it? Why, he had a brain fever!"
said Edith. " He fancied her a very superior
creature to what she was ; dressed her up in
all sorts of imaginary virtues and attractions,
and was as bitterly disappointed as if she had
really possessed them. He was very ill indeed,
300 BELFOREST.
Nessy, and had no one to nurse liim except me
and an old servant. You cannot think how
unhappy I was. One night, he was delirious,
and I thought he would die. I told you this
morning, that I had never happened to know a
good clergyman. You cannot think how, during
my brother's illness, I wished for a visit from
some good clergyman."
" Such as Mr. Weir,'' said Nessy. " How he
would have comforted you ! "
" I was thinking chiefly of my brother," said
Edith. " He was, or seemed to me, on the very
brink of another world ; and, when there was
an opportunity of saying a nice word or two,
I did not in the least know what to say to him.
However, as soon as the fever began to pass
off, he made light of it — pretended nothing was
the matter with him — and there was no oppor-
tunity of speaking to him then. And then he
took cold, before he was well out of the fever,
and it settled on his lungs ; and he was sadly
wilful and wayward, and would do imprudent
things ... so you may imagine what a time
I have had. He is dreadfully altered."
" If Miss Bell could see him now — " said
Nessy.
BELFOREST. 301
"There is no Miss Bell, now," said Edith,
smiling sadly ; " she is Mrs. Major Spinks."
" Well, perhaps it is best so," said Nessy ;
" for now he knows she is completely out of his
reach. . . I am so sorry Mr. Antony is ill," she
added, with feeimg. " If he had come to our
lodgings, I am sure my mamma would have
nursed him as if he had been her son ; but
perhaps it is a good thing he Avill go to Daisy-
lands, for the air is certainly better, and they
say the breath of cows and the smell of freshly-
ploughed earth are wholesome ; and the men
are ploughing there now. And he can have
new milk, and curds and whey, and new-laid
eggs, and poultry ; and Mrs. Benson is very
kind, and has had great experience, so that
I don t believe you could go to a better place.
I saw that Mrs. Benson took to you at first
sight, and she must like Mr. Antony."
Edith smiled. "I fancy that Ave shall be
comfortable there," said she. " Do you know,
it will be a positive treat to me, to sleep in a
room with a lattice- window ! And that black-
bird in its wicker cage is a great attraction.
There are bee-hives too, and a sun-dial. Oh !
I think we have a pleasant month in store ;
302 BELFOREST.
and if my brother gets on well with his picture,
it will put the faithless Kosabel out of his head.
That fanciful name is just a sample of his way
of idealizing things. Just as he converted
Rosa Bell into Rosabel, so did he convert a
very silly, commonplace, trumpery girl, into a
personification of all that was good and worthy
to be loved.''
Here they reached the post-office, and Nessy
said, "I dont know where Mrs. Homer's fruit
was to come from, Miss Antony, for there is
not even an apple in the house ; but it is near
our dinner-time, and if you don't mind hashed
mutton, I am sure my papa and mamma will
be very much honoured by your dining
with us."
"Oh, I shall be home by our dinner-time,
thank you," said Edith ; *' and you know I
have lunched already. As to * bread and fruit,'
that is such an old, familiar sentimentalism of
Mrs. Homer s, that I could hardly help laughing
when I heard it again. I am not at all sur-
prised at her offering it when she knew very
well there was no fruit in the cupboard. She
was wonderfully fond, when a girl, of saying
she should delight in living on bread and fruit,
BELFOKEST. 303
or bread and honey ; but she bad ber fair share
of beef and mutton all the same."
Mrs. Homer, on returning to Llrs. Weir's,
found Mrs. Fownes calling on her ; and as
Mrs. Fownes had for some time had her eye on
the interesting young widow, and wondered
where she came from and what she was o:oinor
to do, she was very glad to hear all ]\Irs. Weir
had to tell about her. This was little enough,
as regarded her antecedents, but Mrs. Weir
made a capital story of her fright in the hilly
field, and Mrs. Homer s self-devotion in staying
by her when she might have run away ; and
warming with her subject, she praised her so
heartily, that Mrs. Fownes was prepossessed in
her favour. Therefore, when Mrs. Homer came
in, she condescended to be introduced to her,
and to speak to her kindly ; and after a few
remarks exchanged, she said,
" I hear you are looking out for a cottage in
this neighbourhood. Have you seen Tresellis ? "
Mrs. Homer had neither seen it nor heard of
it, but she was captivated by the name.
" Let me recommend you to go and look
at it, then," said Mrs. Fownes. " It is not on
any road, so that you would not be likely to
304 BELFOREST.
see it if you were not looking for it. I have
not been there myself ; but we came upon it
one day when the doctor and I were driving,
and took the wrong lane by mistake, and I
thought it a pity that such a pretty little place
should be getting out of repair for want of an
occupant. I remember the Doctor's quoting
the first verse of Edwin and Emma. I dare
say you know it —
" ' Far in the windings of a vale,
Fast by a sheltering wood,
The safe retreat of health and peace,
A rustic cottage stood.' "
" Oh, I should like such a place so much,"
said Mrs. Homer, pressing her hands closely
together. *^ I so long for a home."
" It is very secluded."
" Oh, seclusion is what I want ! "
" Is that quite a healthy feeling for so young
a person ? Heavy griefs are apt to make us
feel we can take no more interest in this world ;
but we have duties to fulfil in it till we are
taken out of it."
Mrs. Homer's expressive look replied that
that question had been considered in every
point of view already.
BELFOREST. 305
" Would Tresellis be an expensive place to
keep up ? " said she presently.
" I don't know what repairs it may need,"
said Mrs. Fownes. " Probably white washing
and papering, and a little carpentering ; but,
supposing it in tenantable repair, I should say
that any one with two hundred a-year might
live there in perfect comfort."
"Oh, then, it is quite within my reach," said
Mrs! Homer. After a little silence, she said,
" I have tv\"o hundred a year that came to me
in a singular manner, quite independent of
other resources. 'Tis a romantic little story.
I am sure I might confide it to such kind,
judicious friends — if they found any interest
in it."
They both assured her, with sincerity, they
should listen ^s^ith lively interest. She drooped
her eyelids, and never once looked up, while
she gave the following details with charming
simplicity.
"'Tis now some little time back, that a
worthy man, one of the excellent of the earth,
fixed his too-partial regards on me. AMiat he
could see in me to admire, I can't conceive :
you know, there's no accounting for these
VOL. I. X
306 BELFOREST.
things. He fancied he could be happy with
me — wished to many me. My. family, my
friends, wished so too ; but I did not — one
cannot always rule the heart. Yet there was
so much, in the ordinary point of view, to be
said in favour of it, that I was — oh ! so nearly
persuaded ! 'Tis sweet, you know, to sacrifice
one's self for those one loves. So, in fact, I
was on the very brink of this sacrifice — a mere
child at the time — without one bit of heart in
it, scarce knowing I had one, when he was
carried off by a sudden seizure, and the sacrifice
was spared."
" Dear me ! " exclaimed both the ladies ; " and
have you worn widow's mourning for him ? "
" Excuse me ; no," said Mrs. Homer, with
a mournful shake of the head. " 1 put on deejD
mourning for him, but not that of a widow.
Will you believe it ? this exemplary man, with
the providence — the prevision — which marked
his character, had settled two hundred per
annum on me, whether our union took place
or not."
" Dear me ! " again ejaculated the old ladies.
" That showed great attachment to you," said
Mrs. Fownes.
BELFOREST. 307
" Oh ! " And Mrs. Homer looked un-
utterable tiling's.
"It made a great noise at the time," she
softly added. " Everybody admired him :
pitied or envied me. They little understood
me!"
" And then, you married . . . ."
"The subject becomes too painful," said she,
covering her eyes with her white hand. " This
world is full of sorrows. My heart is still too
lacerated . . . Dear Mrs. Weir, shall I trouble
you for the yellow wool ? "
Meanwliile, Nessy, continuing to hover about
Miss Antony as long as she possibly could,
gathered her a nosegay, and as Edith was
abeady laden with some of Mrs. Benson's new-
laid eggs and a bottle of cream, Nessy begged
to be allowed to carry them to the station.
" Yes, do, Nessy," said her mother. " We
A\dll put you by some dinner."
"Oh, never mind my dinner," said Nessy,
supremely happy. On their way to the station,
they found plenty to talk about ; and among
other things, Nessy ventured to ask Miss An-
tony if she had done an5i>hing new lately in
the way of authorship.
x2
308 BELFOREST.
"Oh, that has been completely set aside,"
said Edith, smiling. " I forgot you knew I had
ever made any attempts of the kind. Author-
ship requires leisure and a quiet mind. Per-
haps, when I come down here, I may make a
new start."
" I'm sure I hope you will," said Nessy. " I
think a book of your writing would be one of
the nicest that ever was read."
They reached the station only a few minutes
before the train came up; and remained
chatting on the platform. Nessy expressed
her wonder whether Mrs. Homer would stay
with them through the winter. She hoped
she would.
" I must say I hope she will not," said Edith,
"though it is no matter of mine. She has
duties to fulfil somewhere else. It was a senti-
mental, mistaken thing, her coming here, where
she can be of no manner of use."
"She is rather useful in the school now,"
suggested Nessy, " though I don't think she
thoroughly likes it. In that case, there is the
more merit in her persevering as she does."
"Keeping up one's Scriptural knowledge
must always be good," said Edith, "and I
BELFOREST. 309
suppose Sunday classes must at least do that.
Here comes the train ! "Good-bye. Mind the
cream ! " —
" m give it you when you are in."
A little delay occurred after Edith had taken
her seat ; and they continued talking.
" This will be to Leonard a specimen of the
productions of the promised land," said Edith,
cheerfully. "I feel the better even for this
short treat. * Living on air' has a different
meaning here.' "
"I suppose we shall see you often, Mrs.
Homer being with us," said Nessy.
" Oh, I don't think I shall trouble her with
much of my company. But I shall come to
post our letters."
" Mrs. Homer s trial may have made her give
way a little too much," said Nessy, anxious to
raise her favourite in Miss Antony's good
graces, "but I suppose her husband was a
great loss — "
"'Wasf' repeated Edith. The whistle
shrieked, the train moved on, and there was
not time for another word.
END OF VOL. I.
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