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MORE THAN CORONETS.

"An exceedingly -.vell-written story." — Birmingham Daily Gazette,

THROUGH THE NIGHT.

TALES OF SHADES AND SHADOWS.

" Let him read these stories for himself, and he will be
rewarded." — Manchester Guardian.

"It is a fascinating book." — Glasgow Serald.

THE WATCHMAKER'S DAUGHTER,

AND OTHER STORIES.

" Incident abounds, and there are some quaint and curious
studies of manners and sketches of character. Altogether it is a
good last volume." — Academy.

MANCHESTER : Abel Heywood & Son.

LONDON : Simpkin, Marshall, & Co. ; and all
Booksellers.

ALSO,

RIPPLES AND BREAKERS.

Poems, by Mrs. Gr. Linn^us Banks. Illustrated.

Square 8vo, 5s.

" Mrs. Banks writes with fluency and animation ; her vein of
sentiment is pure and earnest.'^ — Athencetim.

" The poems are thoughtful, and their beauty will strike to the
heart and mind at once." — Lloyd's.

" A healthy volume of verse." — Academy.
LONDON : 0. Kegan Paul, Trench, & Co.

Wrr^ik^n

4^

.&r

'h\

yt

/

£J./^r''-^'

FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

BY

MRS. G. LINN^US BANKS,

AUTHORESS OF " GOD'S PROVIDENCE HOUSE ; " "THE MANCHESTER
MAN ; " " GLORY," &C., &C.

AY THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. 1.

LONDON :
F. \. WHITE k CO., 31, SOUTHAMPTON ST., STRAND.
^ 1883.

PRINTED UV

KKl.I.Y AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN"? INN FIELDS ;

AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.

^. /

:n

^^ CONTENTS.

; CHAPTER PAGE

I. — Preliminary 1

II. — Settled , . 19

III. — Travellers .32

IV. — At the Forest House .... 55

V. — Ked Riding-Hood and Her Friends . . 79

VI. — Left with the Misses Briscoe . . 102

"^ VII. — Muriel's New Life 118

VIII. — Mrs. Hopley's Postscript .... 140

': IX.— A Proposal .163

C; X. — Sam's First 185

V "XL — Muriel's Eeturn Home . . . 203

FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

CHAPTER I.

pkelt:mixary.

:HAT ! nursing again, Muriel ! What
is Betty doing, and where is thy
mother ? " cried Mrs. Bancroft, the furrier, as
she walked into the back parlour of her son-
in-law's house, the mere turn of a handle havimr
opened the front entrance for her, without the
ceremony of knocking. It was only when
rioters or other rough people were about that
doors were bolted during daylight in the last
century, or indeed in the early years of this.
A slim girl, not more than eleven years of age,
was pacing the floor with a baby-brother in
her slender arms. She answered cheerfully ;

VOL. I. B

2 FOB BID BEX TO MARBV.

" Betty is washing dishes iii the back
kitchen, and mother is upstairs putting the
clean clothes away. I have not had Georgey
very long, grandmother. And I don't mind
nursing him one bit when he doesn't cry.
He has given over now."

" Oh ! then he has been crvinof ? " and
there was some acerbity in the old lady's tone,
as if she had '-minded" very much.

'• A little. Poor fellow, his teeth plague
him, mother says ; " and Muriel D'Anyer
bent over the big boy in her arms with
such a look of pitiful affection in her large
dark-brown eyes, as clearly told she was in
earnest, though he did make her arms ache,
and her heart too when she could not still
his complaining.

'' I suppose Anna and Marion are both at
school?'"' again questioned Mrs. Bancroft.
" And where is Sara ? "

" Upstairs with mother. Hsh, hsh," — this to
the infant, whose lip was again curling to a cry.

The old lady's chintz gown of printed linen
was open in the front over a quilted petticoat,

PBELIMIXARY. 3

though tucked up behind to keep her train
out of the dust, and on each side, under this
open robe, a pannierdike pocket balanced its
fellow. By a bright steel chain depended from
her waist the sheathed scissors and plump
pincushion, without which no good housewife
was equipped. Her keys would have dangled
from another chain, but that out of doors they
were slipped into the right-hand pocket, and
were consequently invisible, even the chain
beinsr lost under the over-sown. It was
summer-time, and a scarf-like mantle of
black silk covered her shoulders, as mittens
covered her arms, leaving her fino'ers bare
and free to use ; the bonnet on her head
towered high above her lappet-like cap, and
assisted by her high-heeled shoes (buckled
across the instep) imparted height and im-
portance to a short figure.

Emptying from one pocket a store of
cherries, and cakes from the other, she kissed
the girl on the forehead, and said, " Divide
these amongst you," and witliout waiting for

thanks quitted the room and marched upstairs.

B 2

4 FOBBILDEX TO MABRY.

She found her daughter, Mrs. D'An3'er —
quite a young-looking woman to be the
mother of five children — on her knees in front
of a carved oaken coffer, her own gift to tlie
married couple. She was counting and
arranging her household sheets and napery
fresh from the airing, with little Sara, a
fair-haired beauty of three years, watching
her movements, and hindering under tlie
pretext of help.

Without a word of prelude Mrs. Bancroft
liegan, in a broader vernacular than I care to
inflict on my readers, common as it was then
to the manufacturing class ;

" I tell thee what, Ellen, I shall not leave
Muriel here any longer to be kept from school,
and sacrificed to that boy. She is not strong
enough."

Mrs. D'Anyer rose to salute her mother, but
her gentle " How do you do ? " changed to a
faltering apology, " Well, mother, I should
not have kept her at home to-day, but I was
very busy "

" And always will be " interrupted her

TBELIMINARY. 5

mother : " every clay brings its own duties,
and every houseliold its own work ; only con-
trivance and management can keep the hour's
work to the hour. But busy or not busy, I'm
not going to see Muriel grow lopsided with
lugging a great lad about, and grow up in
ignorance Avhilst her sisters are being properly
educated. Thah must have a nurse if Betty
has no time. I know thah't not so stronsf as
thah should be — all the fruits of marrying too
young — and thah needs help ; but I don't
think John will mind thee keeping a stout lass
to nurse that lad of ]us. If he does, /'// pay
her wages ; and as I mean to take Muriel off
your hands altogether, that will square ac-
counts."

Mrs. D'Anyer, a mild, timid little Avoman,
stood in no small awe of her prompt, ener-
getic mother, but she also stood in fear of her
husband, and ventured a sort of expostulatory
protest, to which the old lady paid no sort of
heed.

"I tell thee, Ellen," she maintained, " the
eldest girl in a large family is always made a

6 FOB BID DEN TO MABBY.

drudge to the rest ; it was so in my case, but
I'll take care it shall not be Muriel's lot. She
shall go home with me ; I'll see her educated.
John won't miss her. I don't think he has
cared for the lass since the illness that seamed
her face and spoiled her beauty ; " and she
wiped a handkerchief over her own face,
warm with the excitement and energy of her
speech.

"Oh, mother!" was all the younger woman
could interject in remonstrance, as she placed
tlie last pile of linen in the coffer and closed
the heavy Ud.

" Ah, thah may say, ' Oh, mother ! ' but
thah knows its true. I'll go and have a talk
to John in the warehouse. I suppose I shall
find him there;" and off she went, determined
not to let her project cool.

It has been said that Mrs. Bancroft was a
furrier. It may be added that she had for
many years carried on most successfully the
-extensive wholesale business of her dead
husband, in premises situated in the rear of
Jier handsome double- fronted red brick house

PBELIMIXABY. 7

on Eed Bank, Manchester, and was accounted
a wealthy woman in her sphere. Wealthy,
that is, as the world goes ; her possessions
could be reckoned in houses and land, bought
and sold as merchandise ; but she had scarcely
the true riches, though she went regularly to
church, stood in good repute, and had a pro-
found veneration for religious profession in
others.

Dingy enough now is the thoroughfare
known as Eed Bank ; even fifty years ago
the deterioration had begun, smoke doiug
more than the fins^er of Time to tone down
tints of brickwork and stone ; nay, a pubHcan
had set his sign over what had been Mr^?.
Bancroft's door, there were shops where had
been private houses, and inferior structures
were creeping up the steep hill-sides to ob-
literate every trace of grass or of the red
sand from which the road took its name.
Yet was the verdant country close at hand in
Mrs. Bancroft's time, grass and flowers and
bushes were plentiful atop of the rugged red-
banks left on either side by successive lower-

8 FORBIDDEX TO MARRY.

infrs of the liill, over which then ran the main
road to Eochdale and Bury from Scotland
Bridge and the valley of the Irk upwards, and
Mrs. Bancroft's house at the foot of the brow
was a residence of some pretensions.

Twelve years prior to this decided enuncia-
tion of opinion relative to her favourite
grandchild Muriel, her own daughter Ellen
was a dark-haired, dark-eyed, vivacious dam-
sel of sixteen, the youthful roundness of whose
cheeks softened the high cheek-bones, whicli
age or illness might define and sharpen as
they had done for the elder woman. They
were alike short in stature, alike active and
notable, but the resolute set of mouth and
the energy of the woman had no signs of
development in the girl.

At that period dancing was an accomplish-
ment more for the aristocracy than for traders,
but a certain Madam Bland had opened an
academy in a fashionable part of the town for
such as could afford to pay well for instruction,
and Mrs. Bancroft did not hesitate to enrol
Ellen amoniT the select circle of Madam

PBELUnXAEY. 9

Bland's pupils, as a finishing touch to an
education which had, to say the least, cost
much.

No retail trader could have gained admis-
sion for son or daughter into that circle ; the
line was drawn at merchants and manufac-
turers ; but of all those who did most honour
to Madam's professorship was John D'Anyer,
who, though but the son of a Manchester
manufacturer, yet boasted he had blue blood
in his veins as in his name.

He was barely twenty, yet he stood six
feet high, and had a figure as finely propor-
tioned as his handsome face. Dancing was
only one of his many accomplishments, but it
was the one in which his peculiar graces of
form and manner were most likely to move
impressionable hearts ; and Ellen Bancroft
was only one of the damsels who sighed for
him. But in her case the attraction w^as
mutual. And not alone in minuet or cotillion
had they seen and admired each other. The
Bancroft and the D'Anyer pews in the Colle-
giate Church adjoined, there was speaking

lo FOBBIDDEN TO MAREY.

acquaintance between the elders, and the two
3^oung people might be said to have grown up
under each other's eye.

In Madam Bland's academy the acquain-
tance ripened rapidly ; it furnished occasions
for mutual intercourse unsuspected at home,
and led to a step not in the Terpsichorean
programme.

One sunny morning when early May blos-
soms scented the air. Miss Bancroft, arrayed as
for a fashionable assembly in a dress of cherry
colour-and-white satin brocade, her hair
elaborately coiled by the peruquier, was
lianded by her admiring mother into a sedan
chair at the door of the house on Eed Bank,
as was customary on dancing days, and it
sUghtly struck the mother that "the lass was
in an unusual flurry."

Be this as it may, the chairmen bore the
sedan, not to Madam Bland's, but to the
Collegiate Church ; and when they again set
lier down at her unsuspecting mother's door
fshe was the wife of John D'Anyer.

No one's advice had been asked, no one's

PEELIMINARY. ii

counsel taken. The girl, captivated by
a handsome face and graceful figure, had
allowed his dominant will to control her.
Had any reason existed for secrecy beyond
their immature age, it was unknown.

Three months later a loud ran- tan, tan, tan,
tan, on the heavy knocker, startled the echoes
in the Eed Bank house. Mrs. Bancroft had
just come in from the warehouse for her
four o'clock tea, and a maid was carrying the
mahogany tea-board, with its freight of tiny
handleless cups and saucers, into the house-
hold room, and almost dropped it in her fright.

The clang on the knocker had not ceased
when she opened the door, and Mr. John
D'Anyer, in a fashionable suit of plum-
coloured kerseymere, with silver buckles at
his breeches' knees and on the instep of his
high-heeled shoes, crushed past her into the
lobby, and in thick but imperious tones
demanded to see his " wife."

Margery insisted that he had mistaken the
house, and failing to convince him, turned
hack to seek her mistress in the kitchen.

FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

To her amazement he followed her, not too
steadily, down the passage, to be confronted
by Mrs. Bancroft, wlio stood with her face
towards him, by the white deal table,
under the broad window, at which Ellen was
washing, in a large bowl, lace ruffles and
lawn kerchiefs, too dainty to be sent to a
common clear-st archer.

It was evident the young man had taken too
m.uch wine ; his three-cornered hat was awry,
the ruffles ac his wrists, the falling neckcloth
edged Avith lace, were sullied and disordered ;
and so Mrs. Bancroft thought were his wits,
as he repeated, " I have come for my wife ; I
want my wife.''

" Your wife ? " she echoed, and would
have added, " There is no Avife of yours here,"
but she chanced to glance towards her
daughter, and the words died upon her lips.

It needed not his iteration of " Yes, Ellen ;
— my wife ! " that white face, that shrinking,
trembling figure told all.

Whether in wrath, or to keep the girl from
fainting, she could never decide with herself,

PBELIMiyARV. 13

she took up tlie earthen bowl and dashed its
contents, water and lace together, upon the
daughter who had deceived her.

" Take your wife, take her ! and never let
her darken my doors again ! " she cried,
sternly, and passed out of the kitchen, not
to return until the door had closed upon
them both, as she had closed the door of
her heart.

Though an only daughter, Ellen was not an
only child. She had a brother three years
her senior, training to succeed his mother in
the business. His intercession for his sister
might have been expected.

Nothing of the kind occurred. Samuel
Bancroft had not a thought beyond self. He
sat down to the tea-table, after a rough pre-
liminary scrub in the scullery, rendered neces-
sary by his duties in the skin-yard — was
briefly told what had occurred, bidden never
to name his sister ag^ain, — and had no desire
to transsfress.

He could have told, had he been so minded,
that he had been deputed to break the secret

14 FORBIBBEN TO MABRY.

to his mother ; but he preferred to assume
ignorance, and wipe his clean hands of the
offending pair, as he hoped to wipe his sister
out of the mother's will by-and-bye.

Months went by — months which sharpened
and hardened the outlines of Sarah Bancroft's
face. An idol had been shattered, and nothing
had replaced it. Her seat in the Old Church
was vacant ; she resolutely passed its walls
and trudged forward to St. Ann's (there being
no church nearer home at that time) ; but
thouo^h she heard the words '-Harden not
your hearts, as in the provocation," Sabbath
by Sabbath, she refused to take their import
to herself. If there was any softening of her
heart, it was unknown ; the silence peremp-
torily enjoined at the outset became habitual ;
her business did not throw her in the way
of the D'Anyers, and she knew nothing even
of her daughter's whereabouts. Whether she
felt more keenly the barb of her child's
ungrateful secrecy, or the prolonged estrange-
ment, could not be told ; but unspoken feeling
of some kind brought out more sharply the

PBELIMIXABY. 15

prominence of her cheek-bone, and ploughed
fresh Knes on her brow.

She had several brothers and brothers-in-
law in different trades ; but their places of
business lying away across the town, they did
not often meet.

One sleety afternoon in the following Feb-
ruary, as she was shaking hands with a
Bolton hatter, to whom she had sold a larixe
parcel of rabbit-skins (to be felted into veri-
table beaver), her brother Ealph, a cotton
merchant, stepped into the warehouse,
amongst piles of skins, and barely waiting
until the hatter's back was turned be^an, —

"Sarah, dost thah know the tale that's
goin' about the town ? "

" What tale ? " said both eyes and Hps.

" Why, that thy daughter Ellen was turned
out of the house wringin' wet, with no clothes
but what she stood up in, and is now livin'
on the charity of the D'Anyers! "

Mrs. Bancroft changed countenance.
" Wringing wet ! " " No clothes ! " she
echoed, as if unaware how literally Ellen's

i6 FOBBIVDKN TO MABBY.

dismissal had been taken, but her pride caiiglil
lip the one word " charity," and her breast
lieaved as with a pent-up burden. " Charity !
charity!" she exclaimed. "My daughter
living upon cliaritij ! I'll see about that! " and
to her brother's surprise, before he was aware
of her intentions, she was across the yard,
in the liouse, and out again at the front, with
the hood of her scarlet cloth cloak over her
bonnet, and lier pattens on her feet, hurrying
throu^^h the wet to the smallware manufac-
turer's in Cannon Street, panting as she went
with suppressed and contending emotions.

" I liear tliat my daughter is said to be
living on your charity, Mr. D'Anyer," she
began abruptly, as the old smallware manu-
facturer presented himself before his unex-
pected visitor.

" Nay, nay, Mrs. Bancroft, Ellen is as wel-
come as th' flowers i' Ma}^ I put another
loom down when she came, that's all, and I
mean to put another down now th' little lass
hath come ! I always put a fresh loom down
when a fresh mouth comes to be filled ; and

PEELIMiyABY. 17

the more the merrier, say I. I only wish
JSTelly herself was stronger; but she has never
fairly got over the wetting you gave her. "

Mrs. Bancroft felt herself rebuked, though
she did not take in the full purport of his
speech. " Well, sir," said she, ignoring the
censure, " you can put the profit of your
looms to other uses. I do not intend my
daughter to live an any one's charitij. If
your son has neither business to maintain his
wife, nor home to take her to, it is time he
had. And I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll fur-
nish them a house, and I'll be five hundred
pounds towards setting him up in business, if
you'll be another five hundred ; and they can
come to my house until they have one of their
own. But no living on charity ! " and the
word came out with a gasp.

" There has been no charity, my good
friend," said Mr. D'Anyer, with a genial smile.
" No one regretted John's secret and precipi-
tate match more than myself and Mally " (his
wife), " but my son's wife is my daughter, and
as such we made her welcome. And I shall

VOL. I. c

i8 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

be glad to meet you half-way in giving them
a start in life, either in my trade, or yours, or
one of your brothers'. But they will have to
stay here until they have a house of then-
own. We are not so tliick on the spot as we
were, and the place is big enough to hold us
all. Besides — Ellen cannot be removed, and
I don't think it would be safe for you to see
her just yet ; she must not be agitated. But
there's naught to hinder you seeing the httle
lass."

"What little lass?" Mrs. Bancroft would
have asked, but he was out of the room, and
she who had gone tliere in higli-handed pride
and indignation, was left to institute com-
parisons and ponder his meaning. Presently
he returned wath a long-robed infant in his
patriarchal arms — and then she was en-
lightened.

Pride, indignation, resentment, dissolved in
tears over her first grandchild's face.

Little Muriel had come as a pacificator.

CHAPTEE II.

SETTLED.

f^^o THOUSAND pounds was a goodly capi-
y^M tal to commence business with in 177S,
when John D'Anyer elected to turn fustian
manufacturer, a term at that time of very
wide signification. A warehouse was found
and fitted for his trade in Sugar Lane, not
far from his own father's thread and small-
ware manufactory in Cannon Street. Then
Mrs. Bancroft, reconciled to the young people,
furnished for them, solidly and well, a house
in Broom Street close by, tlie exclusive res-
pectability of which was maintained by posts
and chains to bar the ingress of unprivileged
vehicles. Whatever the street may be now, it
was then genteel— and dull ; but Broom Street
and Sugar Lane met at a sharp angle, and
there was the advantage of communication at

c 2

20 FOBBIDDEN TO MAJRBY.

the back between house and warehouse.
Steam power had not been introduced into
manufactories, and very few were fitted up
with elaborate machinery. Outlay was
chiefly for raw material and work-people's
wages. In John D'i\nyer's, for instance,
warpers — generally women — carried home
great hanks of yarn in their canvas bags, or
" pokes," and brought it back on their heads
in huge flat balls, warped ; that is, threads of
sufficient number and length for the piece of
cloth, arranged and grouped together sys-
tematically by means of pegs in the warper's
cottage wall. The handloom weavers took
home the warp, with twist for the weft, and
brought it back in the piece ; again it went
out to be bleached or dyed, and, in the case
of fustians, to be cut. In these days so many
processes are carried on in one set of premises
that immense capitals are required. Then
John D'Anyer was considered to start under
very favourable auspices, and expected to
make a fortune, as others had done before
him.

SETTLED. 21

But they were plodders, he was not. He
was proud to be his own master, and the
master of others ; had taken to the business
kindly, and was not too proud to doff his coat
and lend a hand either to putter-out or
packer. Then, being vain of his penman-
ship, he conducted his own correspondence,
not a very onerous duty, and kept his own
books, with a clerk under him ; and was as
good a buyer and seller as any on 'Change.
But he was vain of liis person as well as of
his penmanship, and was apt to vary the
monotony of the Exchange Eoom with a stroll
under the trees of St. Ann's Square, the adja-
cent fashionable promenade, or arm in arm
with friend or cousin of his own age, who had
more money than wit, finish the day at the
cockpit, or it might be in a carouse.

And in this John D'Anyer must not be
judged by our standard. Temperance had not
become a creed : a man amongst men was he
who could carry most liquor with the steadiest
legs and the clearest head; and so long as a
man was up and about his business during the

22 FOB BID BEX TO MAR BY,

day, no one troubled himself how he spent
his nii^hts. That concerned no one but the
people at home.

And it must not be supposed that John
D'Anyer's proclivity for convivial society was
such as to interfere with his business, or make
him other than a c^entleman, although he had
demanded his girl-wife in most unseemly
fashion. He was wont to say he " would not
give a button for aay man wlio could not be
anything in any society," and certainl}^ the
polished gentleman occasionally descended.
He was, however, a strict disciplinarian in
business or out, and his devoted little wife,
who had not her mother's strength of will,
was too timid to oppose act or word of his,
too nervous to propose aught to which he
might object ; and neither years nor mother-
hood brought her self-reliance.

Mrs. Bancroft was loth to admit it even to
herself; but Ellen DAnyer had never quite
recovered from the effects of the Avetting she
had given her twelve years before. Her im-
prudent and impetuous young husband, too

SETTLED. 2

excited to reason, had liurried lier away at
Mrs. Bancroft's harsh bidding, drenched as
she was ; and thongh he hailed the first sedan
chair they met, there was nearly a mile to
traverse between Eed Bank and Cannon
Street, and explanations to follow, before dry
garments could be substituted. Eheumatic
fever was a natural sequence, and life -long
delicacy ; mental suffering having been super-
added to the physical. Her long illness had,
however, been borne with patient resignation,
and had served to draw her nearer to her
Creator. The seventeen -years-old wife had laid
down her self-will before Muriel was born.

It was therefore with no slight trepidation
she awaited, with her boy in her arms, the
return of her energetic parent from the ware-
house that summer afternoon ; having no
clear idea of the proposal to be made, or of
her husband's mood to receive it. Nor was
she much more assured by the triumphant
smile on Mrs. Bancroft's face as she walked
into the back sitting-room and bade Muriel
" take Sara and her doll into the kitchen."

24 FOliBIDDEN TO MARRY.

" Well, it is settled," she began ; "I am to
find you a respectable and capable nursemaid,
and Muriel is to be turned over to me."

" You are not cfoin^? to take Muriel from
me," put in Mrs. John D'Anyer faintly.

" Yes, I am ; so have her box packed by
this day week. I'll see you have a nurse
before then ; and, by-the-bye, put nothing in
that is half Avorn. I'll see she has a fresh rig
out before she goes."

" Goes where ? " asked the wonderimr youno-
mother.

" Why, to Chester, with me. Did I not tell
you I was going to send her to school ? "

Mrs. John D'Anyer's heart sank. She
dearly loved her first-born, if the father did
not ; and the announcement was like a sen-
tence of banishment to lier.

" Cliester I Oh, mother, surely there are
good schools in Manchester ; you would not
send the dear girl so far away. And such a
dangerous road — that terrible forest to cross.
How could she ever come home for her holi-
days ! "

SETTLED, 25

" She will have no holidays. — You need not
look so blank. I will see to the lass. And
I'll get thy father's kinsman, the- Eev. Thomas
Bancroft, to look after her, so she'll be well off,
for lie's a good man. She would only be
put upon at home ; be at every one's beck
and call ; be nursemaid and scapegoat for the
whole lot, and I've set my mind on making a
clever woman of her. Aye, and a happy one
into the bars^ain. She is o^oinf^ amoncfst ladies,
to be treated like a lady. I'll see to that."

Tears sprang to tlie mother's eyes.

" Now, don't be silly," cried the observant
grandmother ; " the child's not gone yet, and
won't go till Chester Fair ; so there's all the
time between this and Michaelmas to reconcile
yourself, if you are so foolish as to need
reconcilini]^ to a chancre which is for her
good."

''But what of Muriel? it will break her
tender heart ! "

" Leave her to me, there shall be no break-
ing of hearts. I'll see to that. There might
be some breaking of back if she stayed here

25 FOEBIBBEX TO MARRY.

much lonofer. And now call lier in, and let
us have tea. John will be in directly."

During this colloquy Marion and Anna, the
one nine and the other seven, had come skip-
ping home from school ; but, kept in check
by Muriel with grandmother's cherries and
cakes, had remained discreetly in the large
bright kitchen. And as children were seldom
permitted to take tea with their elders, there
was no hardship in sitting down at the round
oak table to their brown bread and cans
of milk, whilst father, mother, and grand-
mother drank tea and ate white bread and
butter in the parlour ; and unknown to them,
two strong minds strove to convince a weak
but warm-hearted mother that it was well the
daughter she loved should be taken from her.

The hardship came to the children a week
afterwards, when Sister Muriel went to stay
with Grandmother Bancroft, and a stout girl
of fifteen, rough and ready in her handling of
them, was the only substitute. They had no
forecast of the longer parting in store, 3'et
they cried themselves to sleep.

SETTLED. 27

]^s"or had Muriel when slie was sent every
morning up Eed Bank for a drauglit of new
milk at the farm-house by the stocks, " to
brinir a colour into her cheeks," as her fjrand-
mother said ; or even when she was measured
for new frocks, and shoes and bonnets and
caps, and was provided with a fur muff and
tippet of grey squirrel, and was told that slie
was oroinsf with Grandmother Bancroft to
Chester Fair.

Chester Fair ! Did not her father and
uncles talk of it, and the business down there,
for weeks before and after ; and had she not
seen the preparations made for her father's
departure, the packing of his saddle-bags, the
loading of his pistols ! Surely it was a great
event to her, a somethino- to look forward to
Avith glee. Muriel had no prescience and no
fears. But the tender mother had ; and
though she had been enjoined to say nothing,
and to let the child go away quietly ; and
thou^rh she knew that Muriel was dearer to
" Grandmother Bancroft " than all her posses-
sions, and that the resolute old lady was

28 FOB BIDDEN TO MARRY.

actuated by a sincere desire to promote the
child's welfare, she could not let her go under
a false impression, to waken to reality among
strangers, and that without a word of fare-
well warninij^ and counsel.

She took tlie opportunity when Muriel,
taller, stronger, and rosier for her four
months' residence and rambles in the fresh air
and green fields around lied Bank — the latter
shared with Milly Hargreaves, a favourite
cousin, whose father's dye-works lay between
Eed Bank and the Eiver Irk — was permitted
to spend a couple of days in Broom Street
prior to the eagerly anticipated journey to
Chester Fair.

Never to be forgotten by Muriel so long as
she lived, was that hour with her mother in
the privacy of her chamber, an hour dark as
was the mahogany furniture and heavy
moreen draperies, for there she first learned
that her journey to Chester was not a mere
pleasure-trip. It was sad for both ; not that
the Misses Briscoe's school had terrors for
Muriel, or to Mrs. John D'Anyer ; it had been

SETTLED. 29

painted in the brightest tints ; but the parting,
the separation for a long and uncertain period,
the distance which must lie between them,
had. And to understand this, it must be
known that m 1789 there was no direct con-
veyance for passengers between Manchester
and Chester. Goods were sent on pack-horses,
or by the Duke of Bridgewater's new canal ;
and horse-drawn packet-boats which met a
stage-coach three miles from Frodsham, were
also provided for tlie accommodation of pas-
sengers. Otherwise the ordinary stage-coach
went no farther than Northwich, and people
who did not travel on horse-back must hire
a post-chaise or a cart, and run the risk of
highwaymen and footpads on their route
through Delamere Forest, if they wished
to reach the Palatine city.

These dangers had been too often discussed
in Muriel's presence to leave her ignorant.
There could be no home-coming at stated
times, and her young heart sank ; but when
she saw how her dearly-loved mother was
overpowered, she put a brave face upon it.

30 FOliBlDDEN TO MARRY.

and said ^' perhaps fallier or grandmother
might bring her mother over to see her at
fair time." She knew that her grandmother
had a rehation in Chester, a clergyman, the
liead master of the Grammar School there,
and had been told that he would be sure to
come and see her ; still, he was not her
mother, and her mother was all the w^orld
to her.

But she grew grave and sober as her
mother exhorted her to " hold fast by the
hand of Christ at all times and in all seasons,
whether tried, or tempted, or troubled, and
never to let it go." And then her mother put
into her hands a thickly bound black volume
with massive silver clasps, on which were
engraved D.M., 1711, the same initials and
date being stamped in gold on either side.
" Take this, my child," she said ; " it is the
most precious token of my love that I can
bestow upon you — the Bible and Pra3^er-book
of our ancestress Deborah Massey ; it was
her constant companion, the law of her life.
Make it yours, Muriel, and I shall never re grct

SETTLED. 31

this day. The book has been handed down
as a precious treasure ; it has been such to
me, let it be such to you."

The tears of the mother and daughter
mingled on the black cover and on the silver
clasps, as the arms of Muriel went round that
mother's neck in a clasp as close, and a kiss
of assurance sealed the promise that she gave.

CHAPTEE III.

TRAVELT.ERS.

|g|ELAMEEE FOEEST and Cliester Fair !
tflif Tliere was a promise of romance and
mystery in the one, of pleasure in the otlier.
What o-irl of Muriel's acfc but would have
looked forward with excitement and antici-
pation ?

It was a sad damper to learn that the
romance of the hazardous journey, the show
and delights of the great fair, were to termi-
nate in the reality of a strange boarding-
scliool, and long absence from home and the
mother she loved so dearly.

Gratitude to Grandmother Bancroft, which
had been bubbling up from the deep fountain
in her breast, as one new garment after
another had come from the mantuamaker, and
her handsome furs from the warehouse, sank

TBAVELLFAiS. 33

to a low ebb when she learned the hidden
motive for so much preparation. It was not
in her nature to demur openly, but she said
to herself over and over again : " But for
mother, I might have gone away without
knowing ! It was not kind of Grandmother
Bancroft! It was not hind. Kow could she
do it ? " Her murmurings were, however,
stilled by the remembrance that her own
mother had said " it was for her good, and
that it was very kind of grandmother to take
the charge and expense of Muriel's ward-
robe and education on herself." " If mother
thinks it is good for me, I suppose I ought
to be satisfied ; and if grandmother really
means it for the best, it is ungrateful to
grumble. Only it is so far I Well, as mother
says, the Lord can hear me, and see me, and
care for me in Chester as well as here, and for
them too ! " but she had her fears, missfivino-s,
and regrets, nevertheless.

It was in such mood Muriel watched her
Grandmother Bancroft as she packed new
linen and new frocks in a small trunk, covered

VOL. I. D

34 FORBIDDEN TO MAUBY.

with mottled cow-hide, whereon her initials
" M. D." shone in the glory of brass nails.

" Who gave thee this ? " asked Mrs. Ban-
croft, as the girl tendered the silver-clasped
Bible to be packed.

" Mother," was the answer, " and see the
letters on the back are the same as 'those on
the box."

" I think Ellen might have set more store
by Deborah Massey's Bible than to give it
thee. But see thah take care of it, and use
it well."

She did not say, "Make good use of it,"
that did not occur to her.

" But how is my box to go, grandmother ? ''
asked Mnriel, as the key was turned in tlie
lock, and a canvas cover fitted ; " if I am to
ride on a pillion behind Uncle Sam, our horse
could not carry it, and yours will have the
saddle-bags. Will one of the pack-horses
take it?"

" Xo, lass ! I've done with pack-horses,
thank goodness ! Your box will go to-morrow
along with the bales of furs and peltry to the

TEA VELLERS. 35

wharfinger of the Duke's canal, and be sent
by boat to Frodsham, or nigh it, and on by
carrier's waggon to the Manchester Hall in
Chester ; the new hall that thy Grandfather
D'Anyer, and me, and your uncles, and other
Manchester folk have gone shares to build."

So saying, Mrs. Bancroft sent the packing-
needle on its last errand through the canvas,
drew the stitch tight with a business-like jerk,
cut it away with the scissors at her girdle, and
rose from her knees.

Muriel was curious.

" How did you manage, grandmother, be-
fore the hall was built ? "

" How ? Wh}^, as best we could. Showed
our goods in booths in the streets, as had
been done for years before, or kept them at
our inns, and looked out for customers. But
that didn't suit me. I said I'd see about it,
and now we've a fine hall to cover us."

''Hundreds of years!" Muriel had ejacu-
lated, but Mrs. Bancroft's task completed, she
had no mind to linger. She was wanted in
the warehouse, else she might have told

D 2

36 FOBLIDDEy TO MAURY.

Muriel that fairs were of very ancient date,
and had their origin in the wants and neces-
sities of the people ; and that of the early-
English fairs, established and chartered for the
sale or interchange of goods and produce,
or for the hiring of men and maidservants at
a period when towns and villages were scat-
tered and far apart, roads few and unsafe,
Chester Fair was one of the earliest, and in
best repute. Its charter dated back almost to
the days of Hugh Lupus, the first Earl of
Chester, who held his rich Palatinate by grant
from his near kinsman, William the Conqueror.
Chester was an important seaport then, and
needed a strong hand to fortify the castle the
Eomans had left, as well as to protect the
commerce of the Dee from the pirates swarm-
ing in the Irish Channel. She might have
told how the monks of St. Werburgh had
represented " mysteries " or " miracle plays,"
to edify and keep from mischief the idle mul-
titudes who thronged to the fair for sport, of
wliicli the more modern show was the outcome ;
and how none but freemen of the city were

TRAVELLERS. 37

permitted to trade within its walls except
when a white glove was hung out from the
tower of St. Peter's, as a symbol of peace, of
the native trade, and of the fair. And she
might have justified her own special business
at Chester Fair with an old chronicler's sum-
mary of its merchandise : —

"Hides and fish, salmon, hake, herringe,
Irish wool and linen cloth, faldinge,
And martens good, be her marchandie,
Hartes hides, and other of venerie,
Skins of otter, squirrel, and Irish hose,
Of sheep, lamb, and foxe, is her chafFare,
Fells of kids and conies great plenty,"

But she could not have told or foretold how
" kettles o' steeam " would go whizzing and
fizzing over the land with a besom of pro-
gression in their train to sweep such chartered
fairs clean away as nuisances, not con-
veniences.

She had told the girl at various times quite
sufficient about Chester, its fairs, and its
double rows of shops, where the covered
pathway to the upper row was riglit over the
roofs of the lower set, above which the
prominent house-fronts formed a sort of ar-

38 FOBBIDDEX TO MARRY.

cade ; quite enough to put the looming school
in the background, and after the first tears of
parting were dried, to cause Muriel to sit her
pillion lightly, and clasp her Uncle Sam's
waist in hopeful mood and with a smile on
her cheerful countenance.

But Muriel had never mounted a pillion
before ; the lournev was lonfjf and tedious ;
the roads were wofully uneven beneath the
horse's feet, and long ere they reached Xorth-
wich she was sick with the jolting, and her
face proclaimed it. Samuel grumbled hard
at the loss of time and money, when his
mother announced her intention to remain at
the Unicorn until the next morning on the
lass's account.

"It's not as if you were going right through
to Chester," he urged ; " it's only seven or
eight miles to Eddisbury, and you know the
Kingsleys expect you. When Muriel has had
a good dinner and a horn of home-brewed,
she'll be as right as ninepence, I'll warrant."

It was not customary in the last century to
discuss business before young people, or make

TliAVELLERS. 39

tliem privy to the plans of their elders, and
Muriel took the sharp " Sam ! " and the sig-
nificant frown of her grandmother, as a
reminder that she was present, and need not
be enlightened ; but Samuel, keen and sharp
where his own interest was concerned, took it
as a hint that there were strangers in the
room, and that it was not wise to prate of
their path so openly.

Irritated as much at his own thoughtless-
ness as at the rebuke, he rubbed his hands
smartly over his breeches' thiglis, indulged in
a brief whistle, and rising, said :

" Hang it, what a while they are with that
dinner I I'll go and have a look at the horses,
and see no tricks are played with them or
their feed. One need be sharp in this world ! "
and the cunning look in his greenish-grey
eyes said people had need to be very sharp
indeed to take Mm in. At the door he turned
round to say, " And if the lass be so desper-
ately tired let her lie down on yon settle by
tlie wall, if its cushion's soft enough," a hint
Muriel scarcely liked to take before strangers.

40 FOEBIDBEN TO MAEEY.

But lier grandmother's quick, "I'll see to
that," settled the business, and she lay down,
with a saddle-bag for a pillow, glad to rest,
and in the sense of repose soon forgot the
strangeness of all around, the farmers and
others by the hre. Then she began to
wonder if she also was expected at Eddisbury,
and what sort of people the Kingsleys were,
and what sort of a place the Forest House
was, and to think how funny it was she
should be <io\\\(X there after all her wonder
about it. She had heard it spoken of many
a time, but curiosity was a crime in that
generation (and the next). " Don't ask ques-
tions, children should be seen and not heard,"
being the general stopper on a thirst for
knowledge.

She had a hazy recollection of being told by
some one it was " only an old, rambling farm-
house," and very likely her informant had no
acquaintance with its history, and could have
told her no more. But that old, rambling,
picturesque, black-and-white, timber- and-
rubble Forest House, of which scarcely a ves-

TRAVELLERS. 41

tige remains for the antiquary, occupied tlie
jsite of an older edifice still, the stronghold of
the wise Ethelfleda, the daughter of King
Alfred, the wife and widow of Ethelred, king
of Mercia, the sister and counsellor of King
Edward. Here, on a lofty elevation, in the
very centre of the great forest, she, whom the
old chroniclers call " the wisest of women,"
founded what she held to be an impregnable
city, strengthening it with earthworks, traces
of which remain, and with palhsades, of which
only the name is left. The eleven thickly
wooded acres which had held Ethelfleda's
strong city of Eddisbury, still retain the title
of the Old Pale, and the "old farm-house"
Muriel was about to visit, dated back to times
when Delamere Forest w^as a chase for the
ancient Earls of Chester, and the chief custo-
dian of the red and fallow deer held the so-called
Chamber of the Forest, with a band of sub-
ordinates to assist in the maintenance of the
forest laws, and his own privileges. This was
even before James the First knighted the Chief
Forester, or confirmed the appointment to Sir

42 FOBBIDDEN TO MABRY.

John Dene and his heirs for ever, and so the
Forest House towards which Muriel was
wending, had, hke the forest itself, seen its
palmy days depart, and was not merely old,
but ancient. But paint and whitewash covered
up the wrinkles of time, and it still showed a
good front to the world from that coign of
'vantage, " the storied hill of Eddisbury."

Nothing of this had floated into Muriel's
dreams, when she was startled from a doze by
the return of her Uncle Sam and his exclama-
tion, " No sign of dinner yet, and two o'clock !
It seems there are some fine folk upstairs,
mother, who came in yon chaise before the
door, and there's been such a fuss made over
getting dinner for them all in a hurry, that
plain tradesfolk that travel on horseback
must e'en be content to wait. Oh ! you're
here at last," he cried, as the hostess herself
came in close at his heels to lay the cloth, and
apologise for keeping old customers waiting ;
but " the lady wdio came in the yellow chaise,"
she said, " was ill, and sick folk must be
minded first."

TRAVELLERS. 43

" So they must," assented Mrs. Bancroft,
" and I've been in no hurry. I wanted this
little lass to have a good spell of rest before
her dinner."

Muriel was too much shaken to eat a good
dinner, she felt as if all her bones had been
dislocated ; the hour's rest had not refreshed
her much more than the repast ; but she was
unwilling to cause unpleasantness or discon-
cert her grandmother's arrangements, so, when
the meal was over, she answered Samuel's
"Well, are you ready?" with a smile and a
prompt assent, and stifled a sigh of weariness
as she stepped up on the horse-block, to
resume her seat on the pillion, well repaid by
her grandmother's look of satisfaction ; though
if she had obeyed her own inclination, she
would have preferred to stay where she was.

She was aware that Mr. Kingsley was the
Chief Forester of Delamere, and that her
grandmother, who had large dealings with
him, carried a silver whistle in the sliape of
a horn, which had been given to her as a token,
but until Uncle Samuel had spoken she had

44 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

no idea they were going to the Forest House.
It was a reUef to learn they were not going on
to Chester that afternoon. And Sam was in
liaste to get to tlieir journey's end before
dusk, as the road was not too hvely, and not
in too good repute.

Mrs. Bancroft had a small freehold property
at Waverham, on the north-east border of
the forest, which required her supervision, and
for this, and other reasons, she had set out a
full fortnight before Michaelmas, and a week
prior to the fair. A few days later the road
would be alive with travellers of all sorts and
conditions wendincf towards the same goal.
As it was — though the post-chaise had left
the inn not ten minutes before themselves —
only a stray pedlar, a labouring man, children
nutting or blackberrying, or a farmer on
horseback, were to be passed upon the road ;
and when once they were fairly in the forest,
notwithstanding the clearness of the after-
noon and the mellow tints of the autumnal
foliage, there was a sharp breeze which swept
the deep waters of the meres into mimic

TBAVELLERS.

45

waves, rustled over the waving fro^ids of fern,
went singing and sighing through tlie trees,
driving the brown and yellow leaves in
showers around them, and somehow revived
the mysterious influence of the old tales she
had so often listened to at home.

Yet as they rode steadily and slowly along
the ascending road, past wide stretclies of
boggy moss, or yellow broom, undulating
pasture, billowy brake or low copse where
trees were sparse, her mind was disabused of
the idea that a forest was a dense impene-
trable mass of trees, such as she had read of
in an old book at home, Kinc^ Arthur and
his Knights of the Eound Table sought
adventures in. Still there were giant oaks,
and stately elms, and graceful birch, and
smooth-boled amber-tinted beeches massed
together here and there between, and in the
distance might wooded Eddisbury be seen
like a dark cloud of firs against the opaUne
sky. And as high overhead a pair of wild
ducks took their flight from mere to mere, or
a crested grebe on whirring wing obeyed the

40 FOBBIDDEX TO MAREY.

call of an e:^pectaut mate, or a frightened hare
or rabbit scuttled awav for safety amontrst the
herbage, or a solitary lapwing trying the speed
of its thin legs against their horses', broke the
stillness with the sharp " peewheet, peewheet "
of maternal care : all these siiihts and sounds
unwonted told the town girl they were
intruders on nature's domain ; and that where
was a covert for deer was a covert also for
men of evil deed, and evil fame.

She clung closer to her uncle in silence, not
because he was a favourite, but because she
was timid as well ai tired ; and as they passed
moss and mere, she scarcely heard her grand-
mother whilst pointing to places on their route
sav. *• That's Massev Lodcre," " This is Crab-
tree Green," '• Yon's the Plague Hole, where
the dead were buried," and so on, for very
weariness and apprehension, not allayed when
Samuel Bancroft — who could feel her tremb-
ling even through his thick riding coat — in a
spirit of mischief pointed with his whip ahead
to their right, with the remark : " And yon-
der's the Thieves' Moss. Muriel. It lies in the

TRA J'ELLEBS. 47

corner where th' roads meet." "Was not the
very name significant r

If in her unselfishness she had comphed
with lier uncle's wish, and ignored her own
fatigue rather than be a cause of expense and
delav to her grandmother, she becran to think
it might have been as well to have accepted
her kind ofier and remained at the inn, and to
fancy the afternoon was closing prematurely,
and that a robber was lurkinoj behind every
tree and bush.

All at once, as if it had been whispered in
her soul, came the recollection ; " Mother has
often said father was as safe in the forest as in
the town if God's angels had him in their
keeping ; '" and there was strength in the
inspiration , not of body, but of mind. The
road was too rugged and uneven to let the
body rest.

They skirted the moss with the evil name
until the Chester road was crossed by another
which led uphill to the dense woods of tlie
Old Pale, where was situated the Forest House
whither tliev were bound. Here they turned

48 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

at a sliarp angle, still keeping the Thieves'
Moss to their right, and had gone several
paces forward when something like a scream
broke the stillness.

Horses and riders pricked up their ears.
Muriel's heart stood still.

"It is only an owl," cried matter-of-fact
Samuel. " Let us get on."

" I tell thee it's a woman," insisted his
mother. " We'd best see into it," as a second
and more terrified scream, blent with a con-
fusion of sounds, came in confirmation on
the breeze.

Without ^vaste of words mother and son
turned their steeds back, and after a moment's
deliberation urged the tired beasts along the
winding road towards Chester. In less than
three minutes they sighted an overturned
chaise, to which the restive horses were
threatening destruction, obviously the one
which had been re-horsed in Northwich, from
its conspicuous yellow body and the luggage
strapped behind.

" Oh ! the poor lady ! " cried Muriel, her

TRAVELLERS. 49

dread of robbers vanishing before this real
disaster. " And I'm sure she was ilL I saw
her face as they drove off."

In another minute they were on the spot,
their bridles hitched to a bough, Samuel cut-
ting away at the traces with his clasped knife
and shouting to the postillion to keep his
plunging horses steady. Mrs. Bancroft's
ready hand unfastened the door of the up-
turned chaise, and a fine man in miUtary
undress, whose riHit arm was in a slinof,
struggled forth with her aid.

" I thank you, madam," said he with the
politeness of habit ; " but oh, my poor wife
and son ! I fear they are killed ! " and as he
spoke in tones of deepest emotion he bent to
look within the chaise, and called anxiously,
" Ceha ! Arthur ! "

" / am not killed, sir," answered a voice
from within ; and as the head of the speaker,
a handsome youth of sixteen, emerged from
the vehicle, Muriel clasped her hands in a
tremor of shuddering dismay, for a line of
blood ran from a wound down the side of his

VOL. I. E

50 FOBBIDDEN TO MARRY.

face. " I was only stunned, sir ; but I fear
my mother is more seriously hurt. She is
quite insensible. Will some one assist me
to raise her ? "

Samuel Bancroft stepped forward. The
horses were cut loose, and the postillion kept
them aloof, but the chaise was a wreck, the
officer disabled, the lady to all appearance
dead or dying, and the evening closing
in.

"What is to be done?" ejaculated the
gentleman in trouble and perplexity, without
any hope of a solution.

"I'll see to that," said Mrs. Bancroft
briskly, as she withdrew her head from the
cliaise. Up to her lips went the silver whistle
slung from her neck, and at once over moss
and mere, brake and thicket, went out a quick
succession of throbbing notes clear as the
ring of a bugle, and echo seemed to catch up
tlie tones and send them back from near and
far ; and presently, as if in answer to the call,
along the rutty road, over the dusky sward,
forth from copse and woodland, one figure

TBAVELLERS. 51

after another loomed dimly through the mist
and came towards them at a run.

At the first note of the whistle the officer
had started in apprehension. " Was this
break-down a plot to rob them, and tliis liard-
featured woman in league with highwaymen ? "
he thought ; but he cast his eyes on the piti-
ful face of Muriel, and was reassured.

Mrs. Bancroft had seen his startled look, and
answered it. " Eh ! we are peaceful travellers,
sir ; you need not be alarmed. I carry this
wliistle as a safeguard, for I have been hard
beset in this forest myself before now. It was
the gift of the head forester, and here come
tlie keepers to protect or assist their master's
friend."

One by one as the men came up, each,
armed with gun and hunting-knife, doffed his
cap to Mrs. Bancroft, as if in respectful
recognition.

The situation was apparent enough. Samuel
Bancroft and the youth between them had
with some difficulty managed to extricate the
hidy from the broken chaise, and on its

E 2

LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOIS

52 FORBIDDEN TO MABRJ.

cushions, placed by Muriel on the grass by
the roadside, she lay with her eyes closed,
still insensible, her husband bending over her
and Muriel chafing her small white hands as a
restorative, her own face pale as that under
the hood of the injured lady.

Mrs. Bancroft and her son held a brief
conference with the keepers. The officer was
spoken to.

The postillion rode back ruefully to North-
wich with orders, not merely concerning his
carriage, but to offer a heavy fee in the name
of Captain Wynne, of the Eoyal Welsh
Fusiliers, to a doctor to stimulate his speedy
attendance at Eddisbury.

The captain stripped off his crimson scarf
of netted silk with the remark that he " never
thought it would be put to such sad service,"
and it was spread to form a litter for his wife,
whose only sign of life was a quiver of the
nostrils, a momentary raising of the eyehds
when Samuel Bancroft poured a few drops
from his spirit flask between the white lips.

The captain's son, though he had made

TRAVELLERS. 53

light of his own injuries from broken glass,
was not sorry when Muriel offered to bind up
his bleeding head, and Mr. Bancroft passed
the flask to him, with the hint "you had
better mount Ball and take charge of my
niece. You don't seem in fettle for a long
walk."

The luggage was unstrapped, and mounted
on broad shoulders ; but as there were four or
five keepers, and Mr. Bancroft offered to lend
a hand at the litter, one of them set off by a
short cut to apprise Mrs. Kingsley of the
coming guests, expected and unexpected, and
the procession moved forward as quickly as
care would permit ; Captain Wynne by the
side of the litter with his wife's liand in his
own ; Mrs. Bancroft riding in advance and
keeping her eye not so much on steady-going
Ball as on his new rider, behind whom Muriel
had been mounted.

She was afraid lest he might faint and lose
his seat from loss of blood, and bring Muriel
down with him ; but of any connection be-
tween the handsome young stranger and her

54 FOB BID DEN TO MABBY.

grandchild beyond the courtesy and service of
the hour, she had not a scintilktion in her
brain.

As for Muriel, she was in the sight of
Arthur Wynne just a good-natured, tender-
hearted child who had done what she could
for himself and mother, the mother whose
jDeril absorbed all his thoughts and interest ;
and Muriel's too, for that matter. The un-
toward accident had put shyness and timidity
to flight, and called forth all the pitiful ten-
derness of her nature; personal fear and
fatigue were forgotten, whilst anxiety for the
strangers amongst wliom she had been thrown
blent with rejoicing that she had not yielded
to her own sense of weariness at Xorthwich,
and so detained her grandmother.

Mist rising from mere and moss had met
the descending twilight, blotting out the
brushwood and the road before them ; but
the veil on the forest path was not so deep
as that which hid the future path of life
from all.

CHAPTER IV.

AT THE FOREST HOUSE.

l^pHEX Sarah Bancroft said "I'll see to it,"
^<^!Mi discussion was at an end ; she had put
down her foot, and opposition was useless.
It had been so in her brief married life, and
in the long years of her widowhood. It was
so in her household, and in her business.
When she said a thing must be done or un-
done, it was so. When she named a price to
give or to take, there was no chaffering, no
argument. It must be or not be. When she
had said " I'll see to it," Ellen D'Anj^er knew
that her daughter was to all intents and pur-
poses taken from her. Mrs. Bancroft's "I'll
see to it," meant that she had taken Muriel's
future into lier hands, as if she had the power
and prescience of Deity.

56 FORBIDDEN TO MABBV.

It was true she had done this in the very
plentitude of her love for the girl, for, as her
son Samuel knew full well, Sarah Bancroft had
warm and susceptible pulses in her breast,
though her sharply outhned features bore
false witness against it, and she covered up
and hid her affections out of sight, as weak-
nesses to be ashamed of, and kept well under
control ; as her dominant will kept all around
her.

She had never reasoned the matter with
lierself, but that she was born to rule she had
never a doubt, any more than of her own in-
fallibility. She would have acknowledged a
Supreme Euler had the question been ])ut to
her, but no one put the question, and she felt
herself sufficient for all things. Her faith was
in herself — to herself she was a law. When
Captain Wynne's troubled exclamation Avas
answered by her decisive " I'll see to it," and
she raised the forester's silver whistle to her
lips, it was as though an imperial liat had
gone forth ; a guarantee of safety and protec-
tion, care for the sick lady, hospitable welcome

AT THE FOBEST HOUSE. 57

for all. She had so decided, and who should
demur ?

Certainly the keepers looked one at another,
but no one disputed her behests ; and if Cap-
tain Wynne took all for granted and was pro-
fuse in thanks, and Muriel never doubted her
grandmother's power and prerogative, Samuel
Bancroft did.

He knew that Mrs. Kingsley was an Arden,
and never forgot for how many successive
generations an ancestor of hers had been
" Chief Forester and bow-bearer of Delamere,"
and that she never allowed her husband to
forget that it was in her right he held the
office, even though the Kingsleys had held it
first of all. And he felt pretty well assured
that no silver whistle w^ould have been granted
to his mother without Mrs. Kingsley \s full con-
currence ; but he was equally sure she never
contemplated its use in the service of casual
wayfarers, and felt somewhat dubious of their
reception.

He was right. The furrier's party had been
expected, and for them hospitality had pro-

58 FORBlDDEy TO MABRY.

videcl its best. But for any additions to that
party in the shape of strangers pulled out of
a broken-down chaise the forester's wife was
not prepared — and not disposed to prepare.
For once Mrs. Kinsfslev's insulted diornitv over-
shadowed her humanity.

"AVhat I brinofiniT a liock of stransfers into

CO c

this house without invitation or perraission I "
she exclaimed, as the keeper deUvered his
message. "Does Mrs. Bancroft mistake the
Forest House for her own, or for an inn ? "

"I think, wife,'' said Mr. Kingsley astutely,
" Sarah Bancroft just took thee for what thou
art, a kind-hearted, hospitable woman, too
good a manager to be put about by two or
three extra visitors, and too fjood a Samaritan
to let a fellow-creature perish by the wayside."

" Indeed I " was all her response, though
she muttered to herself " Surely the inn at
Kelsall might have served their turn." Her
husband's two shots had failed to bring dignity
down from its perch, and she lost siglit of

humanitarian necessitv in her desire to teach.

%/

Sarah Bancroft a lesson.

AT THE FOB EST HOUSE. 59

A large ^vood lire was blazing and sputter-
ing on tlie stone hearth in the large square
entrance-hall, where stags' heads and antlers
were interspersed with other trophies of the
chase — bows and arrows, hunting-whips and
horns, fowling-pieces and shot-belts, as decoi a-
tions on its walls of pannelled oak, with a
primitive oil-lamp or two on brackets to show
then' glories off. A carved oak settle and its
table, vrith a few straight-backed oaken chairs,
ranged against the walls, were all the furni-
ture, but two sreat hounds lav baskins: before
the fire on a deerskin rug, and the atmosphere
was redolent of venison and hai'e and other
savouries.

The wide door stood open, the hght
streamed a welcome out to friends and to
strangers ; the Chief Forester pressed forward
to greet the former and to give hospitable
assurance to the latter : the very dogs rose
from the hearth to salute the new-comers ;
but Mrs. Kingsley, in her green silk quilted
petticoat and overgown, stood frigidly apart
with folded hands, to mark her sense of the

6o FOBBIDDEX TO MARRY.

intrusion ; and for once Mrs. Bancroft found
lier sagacity and sufficiency at fault.

Even Captain Wynne saw there was some
misunderstanding, and pressed forward to
apologise ; but Mrs. Kingsley chanced to catch
a glimpse of the pale face of the lady in the
litter as she was borne in and laid on the oaken
settle, and of the stained bandage above the
equally pale face of the youth by her side, and
all her womanly sympathy was aroused on the
instant.

As she approached the litter she answered
the apologist, to the utter exclusion of the
others, "I can understand, sir, you were mis-
led ; but be under no concern for this lady,
she shall have every attention, although this
is not an inn, and the influx of so many guests
was not anticipated." Then with the same
unwonted loftiness, turning her head, " Mrs.
]3ancroft, I trust you are willing to surrender
your room to the lady you have brought ? "
and she laid an emphasis on the closing-
words.

" Of course I am, or I should 7iot have

AT THE FOREST HOUSE. 6i

brou2flit her here. And I broiifrht them all
here on the strength of your hospitahty and
goodness to me on a like occasion when I
was a stranger. If I've made a mistake we
can settle it afterwards."

And there is no question that they did
settle it together afterwards ; but for that
night Mrs. Kingsley was on her mettle to
prove herself a good hostess and a kind
nurse.

Muriel mio^ht have been unnoticed amidst
it all had she not followed Mrs. Wynne's
bearers up the stairs and along the gallery
Avhich overlooked the hall, to the ready
chamber, her weariness forgotten in her
desire to be of service, and taking Mrs. Kings-
ley by surprise by her aptitude and readiness
in administerinof such restoratives as were at
liand, and her delicacy of touch whilst help-
ing to disrobe the lady, whose wrist was
injured, and hung helpless.

And what a briirht face was hers, when she
bore the intellio^ence to the anxious father
and son, " Mrs. Wvnne has come to herself,

62 FORBIDDEX TO MARRY.

and asked for you.'' Who then observed
that it was seamed and scarred ? Had not
her glad tidings irradiated and beautified her
countenance? Did she not seem to them one
of the o'ood anf^els that walk the earth in
disguise ?

Somethinn^ of the kind glanced throuirli the

o o o

mind of Mrs. Kingsley, when Muriel, perceiv-
ino' how she was distracted between her
duties as hostess and her cares for the invaUd,
volunteered to remain with the sick lady
until the doctor came, so that others might
go in to supper.

"I can attend to Mrs. Wynne by myself; I
am not afraid, and I am not hungry," she said,
adding, " and the doctor will surely be here
soon."

Mrs. Kingsley had certainly been troubled
about the long-delayed supper and the spoil-
ing viands, but as she Avent across the wide
gallery and down the broad oak staircase, she
thought to herself what a patient little maiden
she had left beliind in the big bedroom hung
with tapcstr}^, and full of flickering sliadows,

AT THE FOREST HOUSE, 63

as tlie firelight rose and fell without reaching
its remote corners.

And some remark of the kind slie made as
she took her place at the long table in the
dining-room on the right of the hall, which
had been set more than an hour with the
whitest of home-spun napery, the brightest of
silver tankards and Sheffield cutlery, and
where drinkins^-horns with silver rims flanked
the horn-hafted knives and two-pronged forks
instead of glasses.

" As composed and observant as a woman,"
she said, " and not at all afraid to be left
alone with Mrs. Wynne, in that strange room,
away from us all."

"' She was timid enough as we came througli
the forest," interjected Samuel Bancroft, witli
somethini^ like a mn ; " I've a notion she
fancied there was a robber hiding in every
bush."

" Then thou hadst frightened her ! " said
his mother across the table, " and there was
no need of that : she had lieard of Delamerc
before to-day."

64 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

'• Hidden dangers are apt to impress tlie
imagination, sir," put in the captain, resting
]iis fork ; '* I have known men who never
blenched before the fire of the enemy, shrink
from the shadows of a dark room ; the little
lady must be naturally brave."

" She removed a splinter of glass, and
bound up my head, without any show of
either fear or repugnance," added the cap-
tain's son.

" She seems a born nurse," then said Mrs.
Kingsley, as though in praise, as she helped
Samuel to a second slice of venison.

" A born nurse ! I hope she was born for
something better ! " quoth Mrs. Bancroft, brid-
ling. " I'll see that Muriel D'Anyer is no nurse."

'• I think you misunderstood, madam," the
captain began.

'• Oh, no I I did not," she answered. " I'm
taking her "

But the doctor — whose name was Holmes,
a little fat, pudgy, round-faced man — coming
at that instant, the rest of Mrs. Bancroft's
speech was lost.

A T THE FORES T HO USE. 65

Tlie captain was too anxious about liis wife
to continue at the board, and tliougli with an
ill-grace at the interruption, Mrs. Kingsley
held him excused.

Mrs. Wynne was discovered to be suiTerinor
from a broken wrist, and from severe shock
to her system, already enfeebled.

" She will not be in a fit state for removal
for many days, and will require the utmost
attention, if she is to be removed at all. But
she is in good hands."

So said tlie doctor ; but he knew nothing of
the irritation of Mrs. Kingsley at having the
patient thrown on her hands in such a matter-
of-course way, to say nothing of the additional
husband and son ; when she had calculated on
a long gossip with her old crony.

Good part of the forester's income was
derived from his perquisities in the matter of
skins, and Jiis wife's indignation at tlie use
Mrs. Bancroft had made of the silver whistle,
intended as a safeguard to herself, had
annoyed him greatly, Mrs. Bancroft had
bouofht so laro^elv from him. lie was a 2:ood-

VUL. I. F

65 FORBIDDEN TO MARBY.

natured fellow, and was pleased at supper-
time to find that matters had adjusted them-
selves comfortably.

Judge then his annoyance when Mrs.
Kingsley broke in on a business conference
in the malodorous skin-store tlie next morning,
with Mrs. Bancroft and her son. just as the
prices and quantity of deer, squirrel, marten,
and fox-skins had been settled, and tlie
question how many liundred hare and rabbit
skins should be supplied at a given rate was
under consideration.

The morning opinion of the Xorthwich
doctor had been promulgated, and Mrs.
Kingsley came, in anything but the best of
humours, to vent her indignation at being
" saddled with the care and cost of an invalid
and her relatives, for no one knows how
long."

" Would you have had the poor woman die
in the forest ? " asked Mrs. Bancroft.

" Certainly not ! " was the tart reply.

"Then be as thankful for the chance of
saving her life," answered the other, " as you

AT THE FOREST HOUSE. 67

were when you took charge of me, and as for
the cost "

" Why, make a bill out, and ask the captain
to settle it," thrust in Samuel, who had always
an eye to the money ; and thought that a very
plain solution of the difficulty.

Mrs. Kingsley drew herself up, and her nose
curled : " As if we were innkeepers," said
she.

" Here, Mr. Kingsley," said Mrs. Bancroft,
" take your whistle," and she released it from
her neck. " You'd best have it back, as I
don't know Avhen to use it. Sam, go and see
the horses saddled, we'll be off to Wavorham
at once. And we'll take Muriel with us. If
we're not expected till to-morrow it won't
matter much there. But before we go I'd
better seek out the captain, and let him know
that I've made a mistake for once in my life ;
and /'// see about hiring a nurse in Waverham,
if there's no objection to that,"

And off Mrs. Bancroft set towards the
house, greatly to the chagrin of both Mr.
Kingsley and his wife, who followed her with

F 2

68 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

entreaties to return. He was afraid to lose a
good customer, his discomfited spouse to have
the truth blurted out to Captain Wynne all
too bluntly. She was not an unkindly woman
in the main, and had grumbled more to
" put Sarah Bancroft down," than from any
lack of Christian kindness towards the sick
stranger.

Samuel slapped his thigh in satisfaction as
he looked after them from the door of the
outbuilding — a place fitted with louvre-board
windows to admit air. " Egad, Mistress
Kingsley is caught in her own trap now ! I'd
back my mother against her any day ! But I
must be off after the horses if she's made up
her mind to go." Then he stopped short, and
as if he had hurt his thigh in slapping it,
rubbed it slowly and ruefully. " Whew ! " he
half whistled to himself, " suppose Ave're in
th' wrong box in Waverham too ; an' it's like
enough if Lydia's none prepared. It's awk-
Avard anyhow," and he went on his errand
slowly enough.

Captain Wynne was found pacing the stone

AT THE FOB EST HOUSE. 69

floor of the entrance liall, liis left hand sup-
porting the arm in the sling, shaken when the
chaise overturned, his head down, his mind a
chaos of anxiety and perplexity. The pre-
carious state of his wife ; the wound in the
head of his son, which threatened to prove
troublesome ; his own helplessness, the result
of a duel with a fellow-ofFicer, were sufficient
causes, without the consciousness that they
were trespassing, still further to chafe the
proud man, who was accustomed to command
and to control ; and found himself cast like
a straw upon a stream, through the mere
loosening of a lincli-pin.

He had entrusted to Mr. Holmes, the
surgeon, who had undertaken the charge,
money and a letter, to be despatched post-
haste to Chester for his own servants. They
had been " sent on as couriers in advance to
have all things prepared at the Blossoms Inn,"
he said, " and would be themselves uneasy and
all at sea."

The announcement of Mrs. Bancroft's
sudden departure took him by surprise.

70 lORBIDDES TO MAURY.

Somehow, though she did not suggest it, he
fek answerable for the change in her plans.
He had, whilst pacing to and fro, observed
Mrs. Kingsley intercept Mrs. Bancroft in a
side passage, and hold her as if in argument,
where the former seemed to urge and the
other unwilhug to comply.

" I am convinced we are trespassing here,"
he said, as both women came into the hall
together, " vet with my poor wife's life
hanging on a thread I see not how it is to be
remedied. What compensation I can make
to our excellent host and hostess for this
intrusion on their privacy, and to your little
grandchild for her tender ministrations ''

" We seek no compensation," began Mrs.
Kingsley loftily.

" My grandchild's done her duty, Captain
Wynne, and that's her reward," interrupted
Mrs. Bancroft stifflv. " But Muriel's iroino'
and I came to ask if I had not better hire a
nurse in Waverham. one you can pay out of
your purse, and who can wait on Mrs. Wynne
night and day."

A T THE FORES T HO USE. 7 1

" Miss D'Anver Dfoinn^ ? I'm sorry for tliat.
My son. who is upstairs with her and his
mother now, tells me that she is the tenderest
of young nurses, one of the sweetest crea-
tures that ever entered a sick room. I am
sure my wife will miss her greatly. I should
say that I have already sent to Chester for
Mrs. Wynne's own maid, but if — of course
with Mrs. Kingsley's sanction — you do not
mind the trouble of fmdins^ a suitable atten-
dant, you will add greatly "

**If my servants and myself are insufficient,
you are at liberty to do as you please in
sending for your own, Captain," interrupted
Mrs. Kingsley; "but don't you, Mrs. Bancroft,
send Maggy Blackburn into mi/ house," and
she turned on her heel as if she considered
the proposition a fresh indignity.

Xow Maggy Blackburn was precisely the
nurse contemplated by the furrier, but though
a skilled attendant on the sick as times went,
and a village doctress of more than local
repute, she had two not over reputable sons,
n:ien suspected of a liking for game and other

72 FOB BIB DEN TO MARRY.

property not their own — tliey were in very ill
odour at the forester's.

There was a window with a wide seat at
each side of the entrance ; into one of these
the captain flung himself as the very sport of
fate, bitterly lamenting the mischance of the
broken chaise, nay even the humiliating
intervention of Mrs. Bancroft — and she was
on her way upstairs to summon Muriel to
depart, when in through the passage burst
Mr. Kingsley, his brown face lit up with
excitement.

" I say, Captain, you may thank God your
chaise broke down when it did, and that tlie
Bancrofts were at hand to bring you here ! "

" Indeed ! " interjected the captain in a tone
not altogether free from incredulity.

"Aye, that you may! A traveller was
plundered and welhiigh murdered by two
ruffians last night— not half a mile farther
up the road."

" Hah ! " cried the officer, with amazement
on his face.

" He was speechless," continued the for-

AT THE FOIiEST HOUSE. 73

ester, " when one of our keepers found liim
there battered and bleedmg, with his pockets
inside out. And it was all Whitely and
another man could do to get him to the
inn at Kelsall. He had come to himself before
they left him, but I hear he's in a bad way.
He must have had a horse, for he had a whip
in his hand, but the horse was gone. Helped
the foot-pads to make off, I reckon. You had
a narrow and most providential escape."

A providential escape ! and he had been
questioning the ways of the Most High, as ]ie
had chafed and fretted in his walk on that
stone floor. A providential escape indeed !
A mercy not to be forgotten !

" We may indeed be thankful," he said
seriously. "But cannot something be done
for the injured traveller? "

"Well, I'm just off to see what can be done
for him, and who he is. A man with
empty pockets is like to find cold comfort at
an inn. Though he might be worse off than
where he is."

" I shall be glad to bear you company, sir,"

74 FORBIDDEN TO MARBY.

then eaiJ the officer to the forester, " and to
hold the innkeeper indemnified in case the
poor fellow be unable to pay. And if you
will allow me — I should like to reward the
humanity of your keepers. I owe them
something on my own account."

'^Tut ! Tut ! " said the otlier as a put off,
but Captain Wynne was not a man to be put
off

The news spread quickly. Not one of the
travellers but felt there was an escape to be
thankful for.

" I expect that break-down was planned,"
said Samuel ; " I half fancied the rogue of a
postillion was playing tricks with his horses,
and now I am sure of it. My hat to a button
if that chap was not playing into the hands
of the robbers. Belike o'oin^ shares ! "

" Eobbers ! then there were robbers after
all ! " cried Muriel, clasping her hands wlien
she heard. " Oh, how glad I am that we
did not stay in Nortliwich ! and that grand-
mother had that whistle ! Oh, Mr. Arthur, if
robbers had attacked you it would have killed

AT THE FOREST HOUSE. 75

your mother with the fright, ill as she was I
God's angels must have been around her,"
and she looked reverently up.

" I think they were,'' said he ; but he knew
not she referred to her own mother's words,
and his had a double sio^nification.

Mrs. Kingsley summoned one of the keepers
and questioned him ; and in the general ex-
citement Sarah Bancroft's departure was
retarded. Indeed to travellers like herself,
a violent act of highway robbery such as that
was not to be disregarded. She was anxious
to learn more, and that prompt measures
should be taken to discover the criminals and
bring them to justice. And the exciting ques-
tion was still under discussion when Mr.
Kingsley and Captain Wynne returned. The
latter much agitated.

"My God! Arthur, what do you think?
The poor fellow lying there disfigured and
lamed is Norris ! "

"Norris?" ejaculated the son in a higher
key, " What brou.grht Norris there ? "

" Owen's over-anxiety and his own fidelity.

76 FORBIDDEN TO MARBY.

They became alarmed when we failed to
arrive in the afternoon. At last he mounted
and left Chester to meet us. Their idea was
that your mother was too ill to proceed ; and
that his services mio;ht be needed. Poor
fellow, lie has paid dearly for his zeal. The
miscreants struck him from his horse, and
then rifled his pockets. There was ver}^ little
worth taking, except his watch, and in their
rage they beat liim unmercifully. lie will
never be good for anything as a soldier
again!"

*' And his liorse. Captain," put in Sam, from
the oaken settle, " was that worth much ? "

" Worth something as a liorse, sir, worth
nothimj in the calculation of loss, where a faith-
ful servant's life is concerned," was the answer,
which somewhat took Mr. Samuel aback ; at
least he rubbed his knees, and said no more.

Then Captain Wynne expressed his hope
that Mrs. Wynne should not be disturbed with
the intelliixence.

" I think you may trust Miss D'Anyer for
that, sir," said his son.

A T THE FORES T HO USE. 7 7

" Miss D'Aiiyer \Yill not be here, sir,"
observed Mrs. Bancroft stiffly, once more
adjusting her cloak, and making a move.

" I say, you'd best take the whistle back,
Mrs. Bancroft," suizc^ested the forester.

" Aye, and make yourself comfortable
where you are," added his wife, more ashamed
of herself than she liked to own. " Miss
D'Anyer has seen nothing of the place yet,
and I'm sure she will not want to go whilst
Mrs. Wynne is in danger, besides I don't think
she could be spared, she is such a helpful
little body," she was going to add, " and such
a capital nurse,'' but she remembered the
grandmother's indignation at the word, and
stopped short in time.

The forester joined his wife in her argu-
ments, and after some little persuasion, to
which Sam added an interested word, Mrs.
Bancroft, for a marvel, yielded to persuasion,
took back the whistle, the horses were un-
saddled, she completed her purchases and
orders ; and when she and Samuel started for
Waverham the next day, Muriel was left

78 FOBBIDDEy TO MABBY.

behind, to lier own satisfaction and that of
others.

Mrs. Bancroft had seen a finger that was
not hers directing these events, and pondered
over it. But she did not take the lesson very
deeply to heart ; and went forth on her other
errand to control human lives and destinies,
as if she had a ricfht Divine.

CHAPTER Y.

RED EIDIXG HOOD AND HER FRIENDS.

^^pOPiE than a week had gone by, a week
W^&^ which Muriel devoted to the sick
hidy, with the sohcitude of genuine interest,
without asking herself how her services Avere
regarded, or to be requited. She was one of
those who could not Avitness suffering without
an active desire to alleviate it, one whose
simple aim seemed to be to make herself
useful to others.

It was nothing to her that Mrs. Wynne
accepted her ministrations as one accustomed
to homage and attention, one whose patrician
birth entitled her to such service as her in-
feriors were ready to render. And if Mrs.
Wynne considered the child honoured in
being allowed to wait upon her, had not
Muriel said the same, and meant it.

8o FORBIDDEN TO MARBY.

What knew the lady of the long passages
and flight of stairs Muriel trod up and down
so frequently on her behalf? or of the weari-
some watch in a darkened room, when the sun
was shining on the autumnal foliage without,
and the twitter of birds, as well as the voice
of Mr. Kingsley, tempted the town girl to
stroll with him and Arthur Wynne through
the enchanting^ woodland ? AVas it not
sufficient that she, the daughter of a baronet,
recognised the j^eculiar delicacy of Muriel's
touch, and preferred her attendance to that
of Mrs. Kingsley or her own maid, Owen, who
was now by her side F And when at length
able to recline on a couch by the wood fire,
was it not enough that she smiled on the
gratified young nurse and pressed into her
hand a locket rimmed with gold and pearls,
in which reposed a coil of her own auburn
hair ?

Proud indeed w^as Muriel of the delicate
lady's progress toward recovery, and said it ;
proud too of the souvenir so earnestly pressed
upon her ; but had she or Sarah Bancroft

BED BIDING HOOD AND HEB FBIE^DS. 8i

either had an inkling that the crystal locket
with the jewelled rim was tendered as pay-
ment to cancel an obligation, the one would
have laid it down in sorrow, the other flung
it back in scorn.

Captain Wynne had chafed under the obli-
gations pressed on him by circumstances, as
such, but he had the sense to see the spirit in
which services were rendered, and that in
their degree the Kingsleys and the Bancrofts
were every whit as proud as himself, and he
was careful not to wound a feeling^ he under-
stood.

He was liberal to the two keepers whose
humane attentions to l^orris had kept life in
the man, no less than to those others who had
rendered him and his personal service, but he
saw intuitively that the Kingsleys would be
insulted by offers of repayment, and his proud
spirit chafed at the dilemma in which he was
placed. His own sense of justice told him
that he had no right to trespass on the
hospitality of strangers ; yet here they were
quartered upon civilians for an indefinite

VOL. I. Cx

S2 FORBIDDEX TO MABBY.

time, and civilians who assumed the rank and
position of equals. It was a trial to the pride
and independence of the military man, and
he paced the long stone hall by the hour,
inwardly rebellious and annoyed, outwardly
reserved and silent. In his manner wlien
addressed he was courteous, gratefully ur-
bane— but there was an evident effort to
keep irritation down, and he was not
cordial.

The young man alone (after the feebleness
consequent on loss of blood had worn off, and
he was no longer compelled to louuge in an
easy chair by his mother's bedside, or on the
oak settle in the great hall) fraternised with
their hospitable entertainers, made friends first
with the hounds, then sought initiation into tlie
mysteries of woodcraft, and was equally ready
for a day's jaunt with Mr. Kingsley, taking the
inn at Kelsall by the way, to look in npon
Xorris, and see that he was not neglected, or
for a day's sport, and bore the forester com-
pany with such an easy acceptance of the
situation as put those around him at their

BED BIBIXG HOOD ASD HER FRIEyDS. 83

ease also. Certainly he was at the age of
adaptability.

He had insisted on ]\Iuriel, whom he had
dubbed '• Little Eed Pdding Hood " from the
scarlet cloak she wore, joining in a stroll
through the park of the Old Pale and over the
slopes around Eddisbury on the day before
her departure.

"You may safely leaye ]\Irs. AVynne to
Owen's care now," he said, '* and I am quite
of ]\Irs. Kingsley's opinion that you haye been
too long shut up with our inyalid. A ramble
through the woods will bring 3'our roses back ;
and I will take care no wolf runs away with

TOU."

*/

" Ah," she answered with a smile, ** the

wolf did not run off with Eed Eidimr Hood
from the wood. It was in her o-randmother's
cottage he ate her up ; there are no talk-
ing wolyes now," and clasping her cloak she
stepped out of the doorway with him, as he
replied,

"Don't be so sure of that, !Miss D'Anyer,
there are talking wolyes to be met eyerywhere,

84 FOBBIDDEN TO MABBY.

but they go on two legs, not on four. I've
heard it was a wolf of this description set his
teeth in my father's arm." And the young
man's face clouded as he spoke.

"A wolf!" she echoed incredulously, "I
heard your father tell Uncle Samuel that he
was wounded in a duel. But perhaps you are
right, for I think men who fight duels are
worse than wolves, and worse than Cain, since
they go on purpose to murder one another,
and I do not think Cain knew what he was
doinor. He had never seen death before he

o

struck his brother."

Arthur Wynne looked down at her in
amazement. " That is a new doctrine," he
observed gravely, after a pause, " I shall not
forcret it," and for some time he walked on in
silence, keeping the child's hand in his as an
elder brother might.

It did not strike her that she had reflected
on his father, and if it occurred to him, he
made no remark.

Presently she stopped and looked back at
the house, with its many angles and gables.

BED RIDING HOOD AXD HER FRIENDS. 85

its black beams intersecting in strange devices
the weather-stained rouorlicast, its windows of
all sizes, from the tiny dormer to the broad
mullion, and the one fine oriel over the en-
trance, from which the road swept downwards
in a steep but gradual descent. It had been a
noble edifice in its time, but its best days were
gone, and there was a portion lapsing into
utter decay.

" I wonder how old the Forest House is ? '*
soliloquised Muriel as she scanned it thought-
fully. " It looks older than grandmother's
houses in Toad Lane, and they have been
built hundreds and hundreds of years ! "

" We want my uncle. Sir Madoc Wynne, here
to settle that question," replied Arthur ; " I
am not much of an antiquary, I only know
that the place is very ancient. Mr. Kingsley
tells me that Eddisbury was a fortified city in
Saxon times ; his own and his wife's ancestors
have held the place as Chief Foresters since
the twelfth century."

" That is a long time," said Muriel, " it tires
one to count back."

86 FOR B ID D EX TO MARRY.

"Aye," responded her companion, "it is
almost as far back as Sir Madoc counts the
pedigree of the Wynnes."

"Pedigree! Oh! that's what my father
talks so much about. And it is so tiresome.
I don't think a long pedigree makes people
kinder or better. Do 3'ou ? "

"I have not considered the question, I will
tell 3'ou when I do," and lie laughed lightly,
showing a set of firm white teeth, and then
he stopped, and pointing westwards bade her
" look across to the far horizon. You see
those gray mountains standing up like clouds
ao^ainst the sky ? Amoncfst them lies the home
of Sir Madoc and his ancestors — and mine," he
added as an afterthought.

" And that shinino- like water with the sun
upon it, and those church towers ? " she
asked, as if not much interested in ancestry.

She was told she looked on the river Dee
and Chester's old cathedral and churches ;
but there was a wide and varied landscape
spread out before them, nearer Oakmere
glittered like a diamond amongst emeralds,

EED mDIXG HOOD AND HER FBIESDS. 87

and from another point in their ramble came
Halton Castle into view with the river which
gave its name to the ancient kingdom of.
Mercia ; the river which had scarcely begun
to swell with its own importance, for the mer-
chant-fleets of the Mersey were then unbuilt.

It Avas all new and glorious to Muriel, her
brown eyes expanded to take in the panorama
of moss and mere, village and woodland, city
or stream or mountain, and then as they
strayed through the woods tinged with the
gold and brown of autumn, or on the grassy
upland, the young man and the child, she
filled her hands with flowers, nor questioned
hoAV many might have kept possession of the
soil since Saxon spades upturned it, though
every blossom called an exclamation forth.
Tangled amongst bushes and brambles (with
the blackberries of which her mouth and
fingers soon were stained), she found the
white and rosy trumpets of the bindweed, in
shady nooks the hart'stongue fern, and others
of the tribe ; Scotland's emblem, the spear-,
thistle, held its head erect, and braved the

88 FOEBIDBEN TO MARBY.

gatherer, but slie did not despise the yellow
corymbs of the common ragwort, or the gol-
den disk of the dandelion ; she found too a
single raceme of the pure blue milkweed, and
another blossom of the eyebright, lingerers
from July ; and out in the open, a nodding
harebell and a tuft or so of flowering grass
were added to lier posy, of wliicli she was
not a little proud.

It was shown with delight to Mrs. Kingslcy,
Avho, thinking little of these wild natives of
the forest, smiled at the girl's simplicity, yet
supplied a queer-shaped vase of antique ware
to hold them. And then they were carried as
a precious gift to the invalid, on wliose lips
came a suspicion of a faint curl as she barely
glanced at them ; but Owen bade her place
her bouquet on a table in the oriel, and there
they were left, to be ignominiously cast out on
the morrow, when the giver was herself gone,
as " disgusting Aveeds."

But the harebell and the eyebright were
not thrown away with the rest. Someone had
taken them from the jar ; someone who had

BED BIDISG HOOD AND BEE FBIENDS. 89

pleasant associations with the '' vanished
hand " that had culled them ; someone who
could symbolize the graceful form, and the
bright eyes of the unsophisticated child with
these wildUngs of the wayside and the wood ;
someone who had learned a lesson from the
child of which manhood mioht need a

o

reminder.

" Well, have the murdering ruffians been
caught yet ? " were the first w^ords of Mrs.
Bancroft as Mr. Kiugsley helj)ed her to dis-
mount the following morning, when she and
her son came for MurieL " Has the captain's
good horse been recovered ? " was the ques-
tion of the latter.

"Neither," was the answer of the forester.
"But there are two men missing from the
forest, who were hanging about the day before ;
and the captain's gone to Chester to set the
hounds of justice on their track."

" Aye," chimed in Mrs. Kingsley, " and
we've a notion Maggy Blackburn knows
more of the business than an honest woman
should."

90 F0BJ3WDEX TO MARRY.

" What, Nurse Blackburn ? " and a curious
look crossed the face of Sam Bancroft as the
ejaculation escaped him.

" Aye, Nurse Blackburn ! " quickly res-
ponded the mistress of the Forest House, with
a look as curious and meaniiig into the calcu-
lating eyes of the querist, which shifted
beneath hers, " she's none too good, if all
were told ; and she knows many a thing more
than she tells."

" Hush, hush, wife, a still tongue makes a
wise head, and Maggy Blackburn's not to be
blamed for her lads' misdeeds."

"I'm not so sure of that, she should have
brought them up better."

" So she should," echoed Sarah, with a
proud glance at her own son, as much as to
say, " See how he has been trained." " As the
twig is bent the tree inclines."

" Is Muriel ready ? " interrupted Sam, who
had his own reasons for changing the subject.

" Yes, here she comes," cried Mrs. Kingsley,
as Muriel at that instant crossed the gallery
at the far end of the hall, in her scarlet cloak,

BED FIBIXG HOOD AND HEE FlilEMlS. 91

with the hood well drawn over her gipsy hat,
whether for riding, or to shadow eyes moist
from parting with languid and feeble Mrs.
Wynne it would be hard to say. " But you
won't go without a bite or a sup, and dinner
on the table ready for you."

Sam excused himself on account of the
horses standing out in the cold, but their host
set his mind at ease respecting them, and soon
he was busy with the game-pie and the home-
brewed, talking politics with the forester, whilst
his mother between the pauses of knife and
fork had a private gossip with Mrs. Kingsley.

Muriel liad been called to the board, cloaked
though she was, and young Mr. Wynne, who
had her flowers in his button-hole, saw that
she was not nes^lected.

After luncheon there was another run up-
stairs, for another good-bye of Mrs. Wynne,
Mrs. Bancroft following her grandchild, and
both wishing the lady a speedy restoration to
health, for which she thanked them condes-
cendingly, with the graceful langour of exces-
sive debility.

92 FOBBIDDEX TO MABBY.

But no sooner had the door closed behind
ihem, than the sensitive kdy cried to patient
Owen — " My salts, Owen, my salts ! How that
horrid old woman smelled of cheese ! And,
Owen, bathe my temples with the Hungary
water, her loud coarse voice has distracted
me. Thank Heaven I thev're cfone. That
child's exuberance had become quite oppres-
sive. And," after a pause, " my good Owen,
when you go downstairs, don't forget to throw
out those discfustinor weeds."

But when Muriel had taken leave of his
lady mother, Arthur Wynne accompanied her
to the front entrance, and with much real
friendhness lifted her to her seat on the pillion
behind her uncle, whilst Mr. Kingsley, as of
old, helped Mrs. Bancroft into her saddle. He
had a grateful heart, had the young man, and
saw that in his mother's set phrases of fare-
well for which he would have been glad to
make amends.

On the broad doorstep, beneath the oriel,
also stood Mrs. Kingsley, in a figured linen
morning gown, whose last words were, " You

BED BIBISG HOOD AXD HER FRIEXDS. 93

will let Miss D'Anyer come and spend her
holidays here, old friend ; my young folk will
be home then, and they will show her about.
She has seen nothing of Delamere yet, mewed
up in a sick room," apparently forgetful that
Arthur Wynne was present, still pale, and
with a plaistered forehead, but courteous and
gentlemanlike as his father, for whose tem-
porary absence he had thought fit to
apologise, not omitting thanks in that father's
name, and his own.

" ni think about it," was Mrs. Bancroft's
brief response to the invitation, as she stooped
to exchange a last business word with Mr.
Kingsley, whose hand was on her bridle.

But a smile of truthful earnestness broke
over Muriel's homely face and lit up her ex-
pressive face while she answered for herself :
" Xay, I had a delightful walk through the
woods yesterday, and I am sure I have
altogether had a very pleasant visit."

" You have done your best to make it so for
others. Red Fading Hood," observed Arthur
Wynne, as he shook liands with her a second

94 FOBBIDDEX TO MARIiY.

time; "I do not know wlietlier my mother
will miss you most or myself, and tliougli we
may neyer meet again, I assure yon, I shall
always remember the cheery little maid with
the gentle fingers and compassionate brown
eyes under her red riding-liood. I shall haye
a reminder liere," and he touclicd his wounded
brow; ''Good-bye!"

" Tlie war-path and the trade-path do not
often cross," murmured the young man to
liimself as the trayellers rode off, Muriel nod-
ding back. " There is not much chance of
our meetimx ai^'ain. D'Anyer ! I wonder liow
she came by her aristocratic name. By the
way, she said something of her father's pedi-
gree. I'll ask the forester. Anyway she is a
most obliging creature ! I wish I had a sister
like her, though she is not liandsome. There
is something in those brown eyes that is better
than beauty. I would my father had been
here to take leaye of them. I am afraid my
mother does not sufficiently estimate our
obligations to httle Eed Pdding Hood and her
friends, and he does."

BED BIDING HOOD AND HEB FBIENDS. 95

And now the travellers from Manchester
were again on their road, each carrying away
a new chain of associations and speculations.

If Sarah Bancroft's equanimity had been
disturbed at Eddisbury, it had been restored
at Waverham ; and as for her son, wliy, he
carried satisfaction under his three-cornered
hat and buttoned up under his dark long-tailed
riding coat if any one did. lie had persuaded
his mother that she was arrano^inf^ that
which he had arranged and settled quite two
years before, and he had done it to his own
satisfaction.

" Yes, Mrs. Kingsle}^ Sam is to marry
Lydia Bradley at Christmas ; it was that which
took me to Waverham this time," Mrs. Ban-
croft had said to the forester's wife before she
came away. "He has loved the lass many a
year, but he has stuck to his mother and the
business, and would not even ask the girl till
I had seen her and said I was willing. Not
like that daughter of mine, Muriel's mother,
Vvdio took the world on her shoulders at six-
teen, with never a word to kith or kin. Xo,

96 FOB BIDDEN TO MABBY.

I told Sam to see and keep single, and he has
done so to please me, and now I mean to take
him into the business, and find him a house to
live in, and the farmer will fit up the house
for them. I've settled it all."

" Ah, well, it's about time Mr. Samuel had.
a home of his own and a wife in it, and
Lydia's a notable bodv," observed Mrs. King-
sley dryly, asking after a pause, " Shall you
come for the wedding ? "

"JSTay, it's our busy season, they can wed
without me."

" So they can," assented Mrs. Kingsley with
a secret undercurrent of silent ejaculation.
" Bless my soul, how clever people can be
taken in ! Trust Sam Bancroft to get all he
wants ! "

And having a prospect of getting all he
wanted, even to a share of Farmer Bradley's
guineas, Samuel chuckled at his own clever-
ness as he rode along ; and cracked sly jokes
with the people on the road, for now there
were many journeying to the fair.

Muriel knew nothine^ of the business which

RED BIDIXG HO OB AXD HER FRIEXDS. 97

had taken them to Waverham, or of the com-
ing marriage of her bachelor uncle ; and as
they jogged along her thoughts went back to
the Forest House and those she had left there,
and lingered amongst the rustling bracken or
the many tinted bushes, followed the flight of
waterfowl from the meres, or of a hare or
rabbit as it scampered out of sight, or
travelled ahead to Chester Fair and the un-
known school where her journey was to end.

Daylight had not touched the veil of dusk
when Boughton Eoad Avas left behind, and
Foregate Street rose on either side, quaint and
curious. Midway, Sam made a feint of stop-
ping ; he pointed to an opening on the right,
"Here's Queen Street, mother; suppose we
leave Muriel now."

Muriel's heart gave a leap ; — surely she
would not be left among strangers so abruptly !

" Pdde on, lad, and no nonsense," said her
grandmother, and speedily, to Muriel's relief,
the horses were entering the city under the
wide arch of the East Gate, and picking their
way amongst a throng of people and horses and

VOL. I. H

98 FOBBIDBEX TO MABBY.

veliicles, and stalls of all kinds and deirrees,
from that of the itmerant quacksalver to that
of the respectable tradesman.

For although there was a ground set apart
for the purposes of the fair, it was pretty
much abandoned to dealers in horses and
cattle, the booths of travellino- sliowmen and
mountebanks ; and the absolute bujdng, sell-
ing, and barter of merchandise was carried on
in the liighways and inns of the quaint old
city. The church of St. Peter had already
hung out the symbolic white glove, and the
fair was declared open.

It was not altof^ether a novel si^ht to
Muriel. Manchester had its fairs, if they
differed somewhat in character and impor-
tance, and also had its narrow streets of over-
hanging timber houses, picturesque and
diverse of gable and tint ; it was only wlicn
she saw the people walking in the Eows in an
arcade above the lower shops, or leaning on
the parapets, and amongst them Welsh-women
with men's beavers above their linen caps,
1 hat a feeling of strangeness was aroused.

BED EIDIXG HOOD AND HER FRIENDS. qg

So slow was tlieir progress amongst the
crowd that she had ample time for observa-
tion, and she was scanning curiously the
Yacht Inn at the corner of Nicholas Street,
where the ground floor modestly retreated
into the shade, and the upper stories advanced
successively overhead — quite unconscious that
they had halted at the old commercial house,
or that the red-faced landlord was waiting to
lift her from her seat — until she had a hint
from her uncle.

" Come, Muriel, lass, bestir thyself. What
art' dreaming about ? "

They were shown into a low-ceiled apart-
ment where candles were already lighted, and
tables were spread with comestibles for the
influx of customers peculiar to fair time.
Huge loaves and joints of meat which had
lost their fair proportions, remnants of pies,
the separate halves of a cheese in japanned
biggins, and these flanked with mugs of brown
stone-ware with a foam atop, or brightly
polished tankards of ale. But Mrs. Bancroft
was disposed for something warm after her

H 2

lOO FOEBIDDEX TO MAPiEY.

journey, and soon a tea-board was before her,
and as she poured out tlie fragrant beverage
for herself and Muriel, Samuel carved a
roasted capon, and dispensed it witli the
savoury adjunct of broiled ham. But he pre-
ferred a puUat a tankard to sips at a tea-cup.

Muriel's appetite, as before, had been jolted
out of her.

''You'd best make a good supper, lass,"
said her uncle, as he laid down his knife and
fork, and smoothed his hands along his
thighs. " Tliere's no knowing when you'll
have another. Tliey'll not feed you witli
fowl and ham at school," and he chuckled
until he choked.

Muriel looked alarmed.

" Be quiet, Sam ; don't you scare tlie lass ! "
put in his mother sharply. "She will have
plenty of good wliolesome food. I'll take
care of that. Do you think Miss Briscoes
would have such a name if they starved their
scholars ? You mio-ht delight in tormentinsj
her!"

Whether or not, he had put to flight what

RED BIDIXG HOOD AXD HER ERIENDS. loi

little appetite Muriel had sat down with ; and
sent her to bed in very unusual depression.

She was, however, fresh for breakfast the
next morning ; and when that meal was dis-
posed of, was in hopes that her grandmother
would take her to the fair. But no, Mrs.
Bancroft was too keen a business woman to
waste a morning so unprofitably. She did
not mean to be unkind, but hers were trading
instincts, and Muriel there was an en-
cumbrance.

I'll see about it before the fair's over. You
may look about you as we go along. I've
already given a week to the king, it won't
pay to throw another day away into the
bargain," was all she said as she took Muriel
by the hand and stepped on briskly towards
Queen Street.

Samuel had been off some time to look
after their furs and peltry at the new Hall and
to see it unpacked.

CHAPTEE YI.

LEFT WITH THE MISSES BRISCOE.

[IE liiglily genteel residence of the Misses
Briscoe, was a solid if somewhat grim
brick building with stone dressings, and a
flight of steps the iron handrails of which
swept outwards with a curl right and left.

There they were shown into a fireless
reception room painted brown, where a pair of
globes stood sentry in arched recesses on
either side the hearth, and spindly fire-irons
in tall rests within a perforated steel fender
had an air of never being used, any more than
the square footstools on eitlier side, where a
worsted cat and dog preserved unbroken peace.
High backed chairs, with contorted limbs and
painted velvet covers, were ranged like a
regiment against the sombre walls, whereon
Jiung the pictorial embroidery and poonah-

LEFT WITH THE MISSES BBISCOE. 103

painting which was the school's diploma ; and
on the centre table were bDoks and other nick-
nacks presented by grateful pupils or their
friends.

After waiting a few moments the two Misses
Briscoe entered together, the thin mittened
arm of the one sister resting on the thinner
mittened arm of the other. Their high heeled
shoes fell on the faded carpet in precise step,
and their tall caps and prim long stomachers
seemed to bend in unison as they courtesied
with gracious if formal politeness and smiled
urbanely. They were supposed to confer a
favour in accepting the pupil.

Brusque Mrs. Bancroft was not easily
overawed. She had no time to spare for
ceremony, and after introducing Muriel as the
Miss D'Anyer about whom she had written,
plunged into business at once.

The two maiden ladies, nowise disconcerted,
shook Muriel by the hand, spoke to her with
reassuring gentleness, told her she need not
tremble, she was certain to be happy under
their auspicious guardianship ; rang the bell

I04 FOR B ID D EX TO MAIiUY.

for a '' ^liss Williams," and desired that young
lady, with the most benignant of smiles, to
introduce their charming new pupil to her
schoolmates.

As a rule, ^Muriel was not demonstrative ;
but then, notwithstanding the winning aspect
of the teacher and the honeyed words of the
Misses Briscoe, she flung her arms around the
neck of her grandmother, and as if struck with
a quick foreboding, cried piteously, " Oh,
o-randmother, dear c^randmother, do not leave
me here ; take me back to my mother ; take
me back to my mother!"

"My dear, you are disturbing your kind
relative ; pray control your emotions," said
Miss Briscoe calndy, releasing the clinging
arms with prim decision, and leading the
young girl to the door and to Miss Wilhams,
as if the latter had been a sort of warder and
she a captive ; her grandmother's "Don't fret,
Muriel, I'll see you again before I go back,"
following her with just a gleam of comfort.

There was a shght twitching of Sarah Ban-
croft's hard mouth and a suspicious moisture

LEFT WITH THE MISSES BBISCQE. 105

in her eyes as Muriel was led away, but Miss
Briscoe's unruffled demeanour recalled the
business woman to herself, and she soon found
that the Misses Briscoe, altliouoii smooth and
velvety as peaches, and she as rough as a
russet apple, were traders as keen and astute
as her own self.

There were so many small matters to be
paid for, not mentioned beforehand as extras,
so many little items in the way of plate and
linen to be provided for the pupil — and left
for the school, so much to be settled and
arranged respecting course of stud}' and
needlework, the use of harpsichord and library,
each meaning a fresh dip into the pocket.
She, however, was prepared to be liberal, and
only stipulated that Muriel should " have a
sound education, plenty of good food, and a
comfortable home."

Alas for fair promises and testimonials !
The Misses Briscoe traded on their power to
mould their pupils to pattern, their own frigid
gentility the model. They made too much of
their Christian principles, and were strict

io6 FORBIDDEN TO MABRY.

observers of fast-days and forms. But what
hearts they might have had m their youth, had
slirivelled up hke their lean bodies ; and the
human hearts and souls in their charge were
all but ignored in their system of training and
discipline.

They had a single parlour-boarder, and for
the first fortnight Miss D'Anyer was permitted
to take her meals along with this privileged
young lady, at the table of the Misses Briscoe,
which was set forth with due regard to the
|)roprieties — and economy. But no sooner
was the fair over, and the Bancrofts and
.D'Anyers " gone beyond come again," than
she took her place with the rest of the pupils.

True to her promise Sarah Bancroft had not
only obtained the Eev. Thomas Bancroft's
promise to watch over Muriel, as she told her
for her comfort before she went away ; but she
had also called to see her grandchild and take
her round the city, and although Miss Briscoe
and her echo had done their polite best to con-
vince her that " Miss D'Anyer was perfectly
happy, and that, it would be a thousand pities

LEFT WITH THE MISSES BBISCOE. 107

to unsettle the dear young lady again," she
said she "would rather risk that than break
her word."

She tempered her abruptness with an invi-
tation for Miss Briscoe to join them, and then
there was no longer any demur.

With a face all smiles, her scarlet cloak
around her shoulders, her gipsy hat tied down
under her chin, Muriel would have rushed to
her grandmother's embrace, but there was a
restraining hand to intimate propriety. And
there was the chilling presence of Miss Briscoe,
with eyes and ears open, whether under Mrs.
Bancroft's guidance they traversed the Eows,
or the walls, that enclosed the city within a
quadrangle of defensive rampart which peace-
fid citizens had converted into a pleasant
promenade. And whether proud of her native
city, or of her historical lore, the precise and
stately preceptress descanted learnedly and
loftily as they went — if somewhat parrot-like
— on its glories and antiquities, ignoring,
if not ignorant of the fact that Sarah Bancroft
knew pretty well as much of Chester as she

io8 FOBBIDDEN TO MARBY.

did herself, and most likely would have told
her so, if Muriel had not been there to see
and be instructed.

She, poor child, Avould much rather have
cuddled up close to her grandmother, on this
last day, and have talked of her mother, and
George, her father, and her sisters, and her
cousin Milly Ilargreaves, but politeness con-
demned her to listen, and ere long she found
herself interested. For though she did not
care to hear that the citizens owed " to the
noble house of Grosvenor the magnificent
new arch " of the Eastgate (by the steps of
which they had mounted to the walls), and
could only see in the Cathedral an enormously
big church rather out of repair, w^hen they
reached the angle of thew^all where stood the
PhcEuix Tower with the canal flowing tran-
quilly beneath, and was told that "during the
memorable siege of Chester King Charles the
First looked out from the top and saw his
troops defeated b}^ the Parliamentarians on
Eowton Moor," she seemed to feel for the
sorrow of the poor king ; and would fain have

LEFT WITH THE MISSES BRISCOE. 109

gone herself to the top of the tower and have
looked out like him, but her companions
scanned the formidable ascent to the doorway
and the promise of further steps inside, with
wholesome regard to their own years, and
breath, so Muriel scampered up the steps
alone, to be recalled midway, with a quick
" Miss D'Anyer ! " in which w^as compressed the
essence of the censure and rebuke she would
have in full the next day.

She had scarcely forgotten her own disap-
pointment, or that of King Charles, when
they reached the old North Gate, where their
path lay under a narrow arch in a superin-
cumbent pile of buildings, dark and ancient,
the roadway of course running under the
larger arch below. Here Miss Briscoe made a
pause to be the more impressive.

" This," said she, " is not only our Xortli
Gate, but the City Gaol, and is of most
renowned antiquity ; indeed its foundations
were laid by the Eomans. Of course / was
never inside," and she drew herself up vir-
tuously, " but I understand it contains some

no FOFBIDDEN TO MARRY.

curious cells, and instruments of torture such
as were used in tlie old days of religious
persecution."

" They don't use them now, I hope,"' put in
Muriel earnestly.

" Oil, no, my child, those dark ages are
past, no one is tortured now-a-days. There
was a meddlesome fellow, called John Howard,
who has a mania for visiting prisons, came
here five years ago and he reported that in
this City Gaol, the convicts and prisoners for
trial, were severely ironed by the neck, hands,
waist and feet, and chained to the floor, and
at night to their beds in the horrid dungeon ;
and he also said that the ' allowance of a
pennyworth of bread for felons, and a pound
for debtors, was inferior in quality to that
sold in the city.' And many other things he
said, even that ' men and women were not
properly separated ; ' all reflecting on the
humanity of the gaoler. But no doubt he
exaggerated grossly; or if not, does he expect
that we are to pamper criminals ? If men
will commit offences, or will not pay their.

LEFT WITH THE MISSES BRISCOE. iii

debts, tliey deserve to go to gaol. They have
no one to blame but themselves if they are
punished."

" I don't think they have a right to ])ut
fetters on a man before he is tried," was the
commentary of Mrs. Bancroft who had a
habit of forming her own opinions, though
not more inclined to deal leniently with
offenders than others of her age and
time.

But Muriel, who had listened with dilating
eyes, broke in breathlessly :

" I don't think the}^ have a right to put
anyone in irons, and chain him to the floor ;
I think that must be torture."

" Little girls of your age have no right to
think," was the severely grave rebuke of Miss
Briscoe, and Muriel was silenced.

Then, as if to efface any impression of
harshness she might have left on Mrs. Ban-
croft's mind, this inimitable trainer of youth
waved a thin arm and a yellow mitten with
a courtly air, towards an old building in
an angle of the wall, with the gracious

112 FOB BIDDEN TO MABRY.

intimation, " And now we approach the
' ancient hallowed Dee,' as the poet Drayton
desiixnates our classic river, and here stands
the Goblin Tower ; the Watertower you may
observs lies down below, though the water
no lonsfer washes its base as of old."

Her hearers followed the wave of her arm,
and looked out over the flowing river and the
wide expanse of country on the other side
which Mrs. Bancroft told Muriel was Wales ;
but she was impatient to get back to her
business, and Muriel had not overcome the
impression made upon her by the shadows of
the dark Northgate, and John Howard's report
thereon. Her heart ached for the poor
prisoners confined within those hard stone
walls, and she saw and heard all else vacantly.
The word Wales somehow brought up other
associations, and she wondered if the men who
had robbed and beaten Captain Wynne's ser-
vant would be put in that '* horrid dungeon,"
and chained to the floor if they were caught,
and with a child's logic began to hope they
would not be caught, if that was how they

LEFT WITH THE MISSES BRISCOE. 113

would be used — thoiigli tliey did certainly
deserve punishing.

Her ^grandmother observed that her mind
was astray, and asked " What art' a dreaming
about, Muriel ? " and being told, answered,
but not harshly, " Don't thee bother thy young
brains o'er such thing;s, lass ! Eof]^ues like
those deserve hanc^ino;, and nothins: less.
How else are honest folk to travel in peace ? "

This was another problem for Muriel, who
walked dreamily on over the Watergate and
past the Eoodee, and only roused when the
Castle was pointed out.

" What ! a real castle where knights in
armour used to live and fiofht ! "

The exclamation was addressed to her
grandmother, but Miss Briscoe replied :

"Yes, Miss D'Anyer, and the ground at the
end of Queen Street, where you saw the shows
and mountebanks, was formerly the ' Justing
Field,' where the armed knights were wont to
' tilt.' "

"Oh, like Prince Arthur and Sir Lancelot
du Lake, and Sir Tristam," and Muriel, who

VOL. I. I

114 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

had met with a few old romances, glowed with
a new enthusiasm.

"I'm afraid, Miss D'Ayner, yours has not
been an improving kind of study. We must
amend that," and the enthusiasm was damped.

Indeed, whenever the natural girl l)roke
forth, or addressed herself to her grand-
mother, or crept to her side lovingly, there
Miss Briscoe interposed to keep the ])alpi-
tating young heart within bounds, and re-
press any undue confidences. And wdien,
havinj? left the Brid^^e-c^ate far behind, and
the Wishing-steps which promise so much that
can never be, and having made tlie circuit of
the walls, descended once more into Eastgate
street. Miss Briscoe retained Muriel's hand
within her own ; ''for her safety in the throng
of the fair." Nay, even wlien Mrs. Bancroft
led the way to the New Manchester Ilall, and
generously pressed upon the admiring school-
mistress a mink muff and tippet each for her-
self and sister, with a view to bespeak favour
for her grandchild, her vigilance scarcely
relaxed.

LEFT WITH THE MISSES BBISCOE. 115

It was during tlie selection of these that
Muriel saw her father for a moment, but he
was busy with a Welsh customer bartering
fustian, tufts, and moleskin for flannel, and had
not even a kiss for the child, who sighed and
Avatched him wistfully, but beyond a brief
"Good-bye, be a good lass," she had no further
word or speech from him.

" Do not disturb your good parent, you see
lie is engaged,'' had been Miss Briscoe's frigid
reminder, unheard by the grandmother, or
she would have set that matter right.

With half-closed eyes Samuel Bancroft had
'' taken stock " of the stately old lady as she
entered the hall in the wake of his mother, and
courtesied to him as formally on introduction
as if in a drawing-room, and he certainly
must have sent a random shot home to her,
when he saluted the girl in his idea of jocu-
larily with, " Well, Muriel, you're a prisoner
now, I hope you like your gaolers,"

He had the jocularity taken out of him,
however, before the day was two liours older
wlien someone came to talk to him about

1 2

ii6 FORBIDDEX TO MABBY.

prisoners and gaolers, a tall tliin woman in a
grey cloak, whom he called " Maggy," and
who came with a request, which took the
form of a demand, a demand that liad to be
complied with before he got rid of her.

It must have been no joking matter to him,
for long after she was gone, he looked right
and left and rubbed his knees, ejaculatino-
under his breath, "Egad, its well that anti-
quated piece of frozen honey and vinegar
took our old dame out of sigfht and hearincf,
or there'd have been the very devil to pay."

It miofht be well for Sam, but thoui^h her
grandmother went back to Queen Street, and
she was politely invited to take tea at the
same table, Muriel had not one moment's
private speech with her.

The wary spinsters might have spared their
pains. Muriel was not given to feel oppressed,
or to complain ; they checked some loving
messages home, but no undue revelations. In
fact she had hardly bent her shoidders to the
yoke of discipline when her grandmother
went; but with the closing of the door

LEFT WITH THE MISSES BRISCOE. 117

began her school- life in earnest : school-life
as it Avas in the last century, when even in
the home the birch was the symbol of rule.

She had her first shock on the night of her
entrance, when the bedfellow to whom she
liad been assigned, a Miss Alice Ford, from
^orthwich, led her upstairs to the dormitory
which she was to share with several others.

It was not only that there were five or six
pallet-beds in the room, or that pillows and
coverings were scant, or that slie objected to
a bedfellow, or to wasli in a basin of water
common to others, or that the dim rays of the
dip-candle, placed on the landing to serve
four rooms, had a struggle to reach her
corner, or that she was told she must have
her clothes folded and be in bed in less than
ten minutes ; it was the culmination of all
these in a babel and a scramble in which there
was no j^ause for j)i'ayer, in which she knelt
dowm amidst confusion, to rise from her knees
in the dark, which seemed to overturn all her
own mother's reverent teaching, and over-
whelm her with dismay.

CHAPTER YII.
Muriel's new life.

IfiROM a confused dream of home, and of
^^ nursing her infant brother, wliose cry-
ing was not to be stilled, Muriel was aroused
at six the next morning by the loud clangour
of a bell. There was a general leap to the
floor, and a repetition of the overnight
scramble, not unmixed with contention wJio
should be first to use water or towels, whose
turn it was to fasten the backs of bodices, or
to make the vacated beds, the prompt willing-
ness of Muriel to give place or to assist
others resulting in disaster.

When tlie bell rang its second summons
her frock was not on her shoulders, and of
those she had been ready to help not one
would stay to fasten it for her. They could
cry, " Make haste, you'll be late ! " but only

M URIELS SEW LIFE. 1 1 9

Miss Ford, the daughter of a Northwich
yeoman, had the grace to turn back and
bestow three mmutes on the new pupil.

Those three minutes represented a repri-
mand, and a fine which went into a money-box
'•for the poor." ]S'o excuse was admitted.
Miss Ford paid for her act of courtesy (on the
score of dilatoriness), and once more Muriel's
sensitive heart was shocked. That she, being
fresh to the school, and ignorant of its rules,
was exonerated, was no satisfaction to her so
long as another was punished on her account.
She would have refunded the fine.

"Keep your pence," said Miss Ford, who
was two years older than herself ; " you will
need all your pocket-money."

And so Muriel thought when Miss Wilhams
warned her not to stand on the hearth or she
would be fined, and when the entrance of Miss
Betty after a tour of inspection in the dormi-
tories, and the discovery of stray articles,
such as caps and brushes, added sundry pence
and halfpence to the growing fund " for the
poor."

Wills: M'-iriel was sr-fi-Z-iiVliij: c.: :]:e s::ra
m tee t^'X. i: v - ^ ~ .e led in a

year. Miss Br iit her head

with a fcHinal " Good moming, ladies," as her
aster had dcHie, to be in turn saluted with low
and daboiate courtseys from the pupils ^n
■Iff I If Miss Willijun?;^ the mild and ladylike
teadier, then placed a large book on a table
near the fiie, and at the signal, with won-
drondy little shuffling, the girls dropped to
thdr knees simultaneously, and Miss Briscoe
read, ex- dedaimed, a morning prayer from
the volume.

After prayers there was more reprimanding
for inattsition, carele^ess, lack of devotion;
and Murid wondered at her own escape, for
her mind would stray homewards, and insti-
tute comparisons between the prayers of her
mother and of Miss Briscoe.

Breakfast followed, but until she had ceased
to be the especial guest of the principals,
Muriel knew nothing but hearsay of school-
room fere.

Zr as of the boiled milk

MURIEL'S SEW LIFE. 121

and bread set before tlie young ladies for
breakfast thrice a week, which the careful
cook had seasoned with bits of ^g shell,
cheese, suet, etc., shaken in ~1: the crumbs
from the bread-basket and kitchen table.
" Oh ! for a cup of the new milk from the
Stocks' Farm, and a plate of oatmeal pc rri-^g^e !
This mess is uneatable," thous^ht she.

T- cic —ere plenty of hungry candidates for
that A^hich she rejected, and on nulk mori_i :_ -
she generally went breakfastless.

Xor did dinner make amends. A gu<:d ap-
petite was " vulgar," ** over-feeding tended to
corpulence," consequently the meat and
vegetables were doled out with due regard to
the shm gentihty of the young ladies. The
consternation when " Ohver Twist asked for
more,'' could not exceed that when Muriel
passed her plate innocently for '* another
potato, if you please,"

As at dinner, so was the long tea-table set
out, with due r^ard to gentihty. Each young
lady had her own china cup and silver spoon ;
but a very wishy washy apology for tea was

122 FOBBIDDEN TO MARBY.

poured therein, and one tiny lump of loaf-
sugar duly dropped in from silver tongs as
flavouring, by Miss Williams, who presided.
(Brown sugar was not genteel, and white was
expensive.) Plates of thick bread, with a
microscopic film of butter, were ranged at
intervals, and hungry Muriel unsuspiciously
helped herself to more than the regulation
quantity.

Some one else, better informed, must have
done the same, for when Miss Ford and the
other raonitress, whose duty it was literally to
icait, sat down to their own chilled repast,
the plates were bare.

" Oh, that's nothing new," w\as the answer
of her next neighbour, to a question from
Muriel ; " only two pieces each are sent
in. If any one takes more, some one
must go without. There is no more to
be had."

Muriel was dismayed. A second time Miss
Ford was doing penance for her. She could
not stand that. Her sense of justice over-
came timidity. She rose, and begged that

MURIELS XEJV LIFE. 123

Miss Williams would order in a fresh supply,
explaining that she found she had taken more
than her share.

" It is against the rules," said the teaclier
quietly, but she flushed to the roots of her
hair, as if she felt her task unpleasant, know-
ing how insufficient Avas the quantity for
f]^rowinof crirh.

O Do

It is certain that Muriel's frank admission
and request were not displeasing, or she would
not have shut her ears to the indignant " It's
a shame ! " with which the novice sat down.
As certain as that Muriel had a friend in Miss
Ford from that hour.

And it was no unusual thing for kindly-
disposed Rachel Williams to close both her
ears and eyes, when by so doing she could
ward off punishment for trivial offences. How
else would it have been possible for the day-
scholars to smujrGfle in the buns and rolls half-

CO

famished Muriel and her companions gave
them the secret pence to buy ?

She had a gentle heart, and had been
tenderly nurtured, but her mother had long

124 FORBIDDEN TO MABRY.

been dead ; lier father, a naval officer, had
fallen in battle, and she was dependent on her
situation for support. Many were the indig-
nities she herself bore, and bore calmly, wait-
ing patiently for the day in the unknown
future Avhen her lover, a Lieutenant Griffitlis,
in her late father's ship, should come and
claim her. Not that she was altogether friend-
less ; she had an aunt in Wales who would
have made a home for her, but self-respect
inclined her to turn her English education
to account, and to put up with minor evils
philosophically. She saw much in the
fashionable boarding-school which she was
powerless to remedy, but she had the conso-
lation of softening asperities, and even of
turning hardships to a Christian account.

Muriel soon learned to look to lier for
counsel and comfort. After carrying her
silver-clasped Bible to St. John's Church a
couple of Sundays, it was coolly transferred
to Miss Briscoe's hands, and not returned.
" It is too costly for a child's use," she was
told. The girl felt as if a portion of her

MUBIELS SEW LIFE. 125

heart had been torn away, 3^et she could not
venture to expostulate. To Miss WilHams she
went in an agony of grief, and laid bare all
her mother's wishes, and her own promises, as
bound up in that volume, and her dread lest
it was gone for ever, and the fulfilment of her
promise with it.

" My dear Miss D'Anyer," said the teacher
kindly, making the best of what she disap-
proved, " do not be alarmed ! When you leave
the school, your Bible will be restored to you.
Xo doubt Miss Briscoe considered that the
parade of so costly a book before your school-
fellows was calculated to arouse pride in
yourself, env}^ and other ill-feelings in them.
You would not wish to tempt others to evil.
Consider it as a temptation out of your way;
and remember that your promise to your good
mother was made as a means to build up a
Christian life. I will find you a plain Bible
and Prayer-book, which will serve that pur-
pose quite as well ; and I will give you what
help I can — a quiet half-hour now and then,
for reading, and explanation when any

126 FOB BID BEX TO MABBY.

difficulty arises, if 3^011 will regard me as a
friend."

Muriel could but remember, as tlie explana-
tion so kindly put made itself felt, that she
had indeed been proud of her exclusive
possession, as if it conferred distinction on
herself; and she recalled too the upturned
noses of her schoolfellows ; their nods, and
looks, and sly nudgings as she had taken her
place in the file, book in hand ; to say nothing
of the whispers.

"Isn't Miss set up?" "Silver clasps in-
deed ! " " Vastly fine ! " and other sneers
which had reached her in passing, and being
open to conviction, she grew calmer as she
listened to Miss Williams' apology, if not
altogether reconciled to her loss.

It was soon buzzed about that Miss Briscoe
liad impounded the coveted volume, and then
the same young lips twitted her spitefully
with the "pride that had a fall," until Miss
Ford interposed between the passive Muriel
and their ill-nature.

She soon found that the teacher was as

MURIELS SEW LIFE. 127

o'ood as her word. Without the shi^htest
show of favouritism, Miss Williams made her
feel she had a friend beside her there ;
and truly a friend was needed to make the
strict routine endurable. Xot that it was
worse for Muriel than for others, only that
she was sensitive and susceptible.

So much time was given to study and needle-
work, so little, so very little, to recreation;
unless the hour devoted every morning to
deportment was considered such. Muriel did
not think it very lively to bend her knees in
courtseys till they ached, or to be screwed up
in the stocks to turn out her feet, or to march
about the schoolroom with a leather collar
propping up her chin, and her arms pinioned
by a backboard to improve her figure. She
would much rather have walked up and down
the kitchen at home with George in her arms,
or led a game of romps with her younger
sisters, and I am afraid was not over grateful
to her grandmother, whose motives had not
been confided to lier.

Yet it must not be forofotten that for

128 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

healthful exercise — and the parade of the
school — there was the weekly promenade
round the city Avails, with the favour of an
occasional detour into the Eows, when those
whose pocket-money had not already gone
in secret to the baker's, or openly to the
poor-box, might regale at the pastry-cook's,
and lucky did the girls think themselves
if now and then the Misses Briscoe delegated
their guardianship to Miss Williams and a
monitress.

Muriel would have considered herself for-
tunate had it been so on that brisk December
day, when she had been ten weeks in the
school. Instead, Miss Briscoe, stiff as any
other martinet, marched at the head of the
(graduated file of o-irls, whilst Miss Bettv
brought up the rear. Miss Williams was a
prisoner to the schoolroom, keeping guard
over lesser prisoners then in disgrace.

It was a very staid and decorous but not
very animated procession. The keen air
sharpened appetites already sharp enough,
and the cold pinched fingers and toes already

M URIEL'S NEW LIFE. 1 29

in danger of chilblains. Muriel was well pro-
tected from tlie weather. Other girls had
muffs, or cloaks, or gipsy bonnets of straw, but
her bonnet was a glossy black beaver, rough-
ened by every breeze, and worn in conjunction
with muff and cloak, the combination brought
her into trouble. They had not proceeded far
in their routine walk along the walls, when,
midway between the Wishing steps and the
Bridge-gate a young lieutenant of the Eoyal
Welsh FusiJiers, was observed lounging idly
against the parapet. He had a handsome face
under his black cheese-cutter hat ; and as his
scarlet coat and white spatterdashes set off a
well-formed if slight figure, no wonder if more
than one stray glance went towards him.

All at once he c^ave a recos^nisino: start,
ejaculated "Eed Eiding Hood, by all that's
wonderful ! " and, with a well-pleased smile
breaking over his face, darted forward and
offered his hand to Muriel, who took it,
nothing loth, and answered his " Miss
D'Anyer, how glad I am to see you ! " with
" And so am I, Mr. Arthur. But I did not

VOL. I. K

I30 FOBBIDDEX TO MARRY.

know you. I hope Mrs. Wynne is better,
sir."

" Ah the hair-powder and uniform disguised
me, I suppose. Now it was your famihar
attire caught my eye ! Oh, thank you, my
mother is "

He got no farther. Miss Betty from the
rear, and Miss Briscoe from the van, had come
aghast to the rescue. Consternation sat on
every youthful brow but Muriel's, and she
wore a look of questioning perplexity. With
awful severity Miss Briscoe demanded, —

" How dare you presume, sir, to accost
one of viy pupils without sanction ? Lying
in wait to arrest her progress during our
promenade ! It is monstrous ! "

Lieutenant Wynne bowed, offered a defer-
ential explanation and an apology ; but Miss
Briscoe was not to be molhfied, or misled, as
she phrased it. "Your colonel will hear of
this matter, sir," was her final and decisive
blow.

Arthur Wynne raised his hat, bowed re^j^ret-
fully, said to Muriel, " I hope, Miss D'Anyer,

MUBIEUS NEW LIFE. 131

I have not plunged you into disgrace with my
precipitation," and stepped back, leaving the
way clear.

But the scandalized spinsters were so much
discomposed by the pouncing of this wolf in
uniform on one of their flock, that nothino-
but immediate return was possible. It was
only in the security of the haven in Queen
Street that they could deal with a matter of
so much moment. The very character of the
school was in peril.

As for Muriel, solitary confinement and
bread-and-water diet for the remainder of
the week was her portion. Her attempt at
explanation only made the matter worse.
" Not known him a fortnie^ht ! It was dis-
graceful ! "

Solitary confinement in a fireless room in
midwinter with such dietary would now-a-
days rouse the indignation of parents, and
drive the educational professor into the Bank-
ruptcy Court. Then, it was a part of the
common system, and it was not for the pupil to
rebel or the parent to remonstrate. Alike in

K 2

132 FOBBIDDEN TO MARBY.

our army, our navy, and our schools, discipline
was preserved rigorously.

If Muriel, catcliing at a word thrown out
by the young officer, whose commission was
little more than a montli old, looked for the
appearance and intervention of Mrs. Wynne,
she was disappointed. That lady never came,
although her health was sufficiently re-estab-
lished for visiting.

'' The schoolmistress was quite right,
Arthur, and most discreet," she had said to
her son, "You certainly took a liberty.'' —
" Yes, gratitude is vastly proper, no doubt,
but it lias limits and degrees. Mine does not
prompt to a cultivation of an acquaintance
with a school-girl, or her trading relatives."

Captain Wynne must have thought some-
what differently, since, before Miss Briscoe
could forward her complaint to the colonel at
liead quarters, she had a visit from him. He
came less to tender an apology for his son
than to inquire for Miss D'Anyer, and to
smooth away any misconception by the
remark that he and his were under consider-

MURIEL'S NEW LIFE. 133

able obligations to the young lady and her
friends, and he desired to thank her in person.
Yet so little deference did he pay to Miss
Briscoe's dignity, and so little was she disposed
to admit precipitancy or mistake on her part,
that the captain was constrained to take leave
without seeing Muriel, and the message he left
was never delivered.

But such a Hiitter had the officer's arrival
created, that the news went to Muriel as a
" profound secret " along with her bread and
water.

For a moment it warmed up the chilly
atmosphere of lier dormitory ; but it passed,
and added only one more to the many
problems lier child-brain attempted to solve
during her fasting solitude. At first she had
flung lierself down on the deeply recessed
window-seat, and coihng her pinafore round
her bare arms, looked down vacantly on back-
yards, wliere garments from the Avash alone
enlivened the scene, and on the pla3'ground
where was never any play, wondering and
pondering the nature of her offence.

134 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

" Oh, wliat would I not give for my cloak,
or my fur muff and tippet, from the robing-
room ! " she murmured to herself, as the cold
seemed to freeze her blood ; " I dare not
wrap myself up in one of tlie quilts or they
would chastise me as they did Miss Sims.
It is very cruel ! I wonder if either Miss
Briscoe or Miss Betty was served so when
they went to school ! But what u it all
for?" And then she walked about the long
room to keep herself from freezing utterly ;
still turnino- over and over in her mind the

o

injustice of lier punishment, the hardship of
her dail}^ life, the stern discipline of the school,
her grandmother's motive for singling her out
for such an experience, the pain it would
cause her mother to know what she had to
endure, the wonder no letters came with home
news or inquiries, the aching fear lest she was
.forgotten; and then with the memory of the
Sunday evening sermon at the Octagon
Chapel, came the inner questioning if she
was expiating some unremembered sin; and
the preacher's category of " sins of omission,"

MURIEL'S yEJV LIFE. 135

coupled with his fiery denunciations, filled
her with terror.

Unknown to all, Muriel passed through a
crisis of her life in those three solitary days.
There had been bitter moments when there
was danger that her soft and sensitive heart
would harden to stone under the sense of
neglect and cruelty. But on the eve of the
second day (the day on which Miss Ford, as
monitress of her class, brought up on a daintily
covered waiter, the bread and water for her
mid-day meal, and with it the secret of Cap-
tain Wynne's visit), whilst the Misses Briscoe
w^ere sipping their souchong in contentment,
Miss Williams, whose heart ached for the
innocent offender, carried her own tea up to
the bewildered pupil sitting alone in the cold
and dark, and with it, a downy angola-shawl
of her own ; determined to brave the censure
of her employers if it came to their know-
ledge.

" Here, throw this over your shoulders,
my dear, and drink this tea, it may serve to
warm you," was all that she said, but it was

136 FOBBIDDEX TO MAURY.

sufficient. Muriel knew instinctively that the
tea was her teacher's own, that she would her-
self have to go without, and that simple act of
self-denying sympatliy turned the whole cur-
rent of the t^drl's feelinirs. She burst into
tears. The teacher had to slip back hurriedly,
but she had time for a few words of healing,
and when she left the crisis was past. Muriel
sank on her knees and prayed. It was a
child's j)rayer ; but it went up to heaven on
the wings of faitli and submissive humility.

The learning of a psalm liad been part of
her 2^unishment ; the Bible left with her for
the purpose became an up-springing fountain
of consolation for her all the last day of her
penance, and for ever after ; and she gathered
strength from it as well as comfort and guid-
ance. That which had been intended by the
Misses Briscoe as a p^?za/^^ for speaking to a
stranger, and which had called up a spirit
of rebellion long dormant, was, with God's
blessing and the kind teacher's instrumen-
tality, converted into a permanent benefit.
Whithersoever Miss Williams went, went

M URIEL'S SEW LIFE. 1 37

also tlie Three Christian Graces, and she had
introduced them to her sad Uttle friend.

All the school was ao-os: the followino- week.
Letters w^ere to be written home. It was a
sad damper to the uninitiated to find they had
to be draughted on their slates, and to be sub-
mitted to Miss Briscoe for revision and inter-
polation before they could be transferred to
paper. Muriel's epistle had undergone wonder-
ful transformation in the process, and she felt
some compunction in setting her signature to
it when complete.

'' How am I to sign this ? It is not true,"
whispered Muriel across the double desk to
Miss Ford who sat opposite.

" What you wrote was true. Leave the
alterations on Miss Briscoe's conscience," was
the cool reply, and after a little more hesitation
the letter was signed.

The answer came in a hamper just before
Christmas time, when the other pupils were
looking forward to home cheer and festivities.
Muriel did not see it opened ; but Miss Briscoe
reported among the contents three letters, —

13S • FORBIDDEX TO MARRY.

one for herself and two for ^Iiiriel, two books,
and a larsre currant cake. This she was at
once allowed to cut up and distribute amongst
her companions. Then, and not before. Miss
Briscoe read out to her slowly and deliberately,
as if she were picking her way amongst the
words and sentences, that whicli had been
penned by her mother and grandmotlier for
the girl's own eye and heart, and to which
Muriel listened Avith clasped hands and eager
eyes.

They were just such letters as might be
expected to answer her fabulous epistle home.
She was conoratulated on her health, her
happiness, jier attacliment to her benign
teachers, and was told to be thankful for a
home so replete with comforts denied in other
schools which they could name. Then
fuUowed the home news, and this swallowed
up the advice with wliich the letters were
concluded.

She learned not only that her Uncle Sam was
gone to Waverham to be married to Lydia
Bradley, but that her little brother George

MUBIEL'S y£JV LIFE. 139

Lad been dead for more than six weeks, — the
brother she had nursed, who had learned to
walk by her hand.

After that Miss Briscoe's dry, hard tones fell
on deaf ears. Muriel sat on the form with
her hands still clasped, but as one crushed
and stunned. There were pitying glances
directed towards her, but she seemed neither
to hear nor see. At length Miss Williams
took her by the hand and led her to her own
room, where the sluices of grief might open
and relieve the bursting child-heart.

She did more. Under the conviction that
it would be cruel to leave the young thing
with those frigid spinsters in that great liouse,
alone with her new sorrow, she obtained per-
mission (granted readily enough on the calcu-
lation that her board would be saved) to bear
Muriel away with her to Wrexham, where
she always spent her own holidays, at a large
farm about a mile beyond the town, with her
good-natured and hospitable Aunt Parry.

CIIAPTEE YIII.

:\n?s. iiorj.Kv's postscript.

I^XIA' tlirce weeks' lioliday ! Yet wliat
'^<J^ a boon and a refreshment it was,
alike to worn-out teacher and pupil. To
Muriel it was notliin^^ less tlian a provi-
dential change for which soul and body
were the better.

Fancy what she wonld liave endured shut
up for those three weeks with the prim and
unbending spinsters in their formal back
sitting-room, witliout recreation or books cal-
culated to dissipate her new sorrow — the
library of which she had " the use " was scant
and lieavy — or waking the echoes in the soli-
tary dreariness of the uncarpeted school-room
and dormitories ; to pass and re-pass servants
to whom she might not speak ; to shiver in
view of a fire she might not approach ; and to

MRS. HOPLEY'S. POSTSCElP'i: 14

sit in silence at a precise table where lier
portion of food was all too meagre.

And then contrast the untrammelled free-
dom of the farm-house life, wdiich she had
been so fearlessly invited to share, and where
a hospitable welcome met them in advance
with the farmer's cart at Wrexham, to be
repeated in every act and word of her kind
hostess. True, everyone there save Mrs.
Parry had a Welsh tongue, and her English
w^as none too fluent, but Miss Williams was a
ready interpreter, and in her absence a smiling
pantomime did duty for speech ; and it was
good fun for Muriel to pick up' words and
phrases in the Cymric vernacular. Then
there was the abundant and nutritious fare —
milk, eggs, poultry, apples, honey, without
stint, with the very sweetest of brown bread
and butter.

Muriel had learned to milk at the Stocks'
Farm. It was a renewed pleasure to pat the
sleek sides of tlie small Welsh cows, and try
her hand afresh at milking time. She could
help to feed the poultry, watch with interest

142 FOBBIDDEX TO MAURY.

the processes of churning, butter and cheese-
makinor, and could share in the Christmas
merry-making, where the strange costume and
speech were part of her entertainment ; and if
she could not understand the Sunday services
at Wrexham's picturesque church, she could
comprehend her kind friend's translation and
comments during the drive back to the farm.

On one of these occasions the spring cart,
driven by Mrs. Parry's son, had to be drawn
aside to make wav for a passinof carriacre
drawn by two small native ponies ; and in
which reclined a lady muffled up in furs, and
accompanied by a portly gentleman.

In the former Muriel recognised Mrs.
Wynne, and with a sudden exclamation
clasped her hands elated ; but the lady made
no sign of recognition, and her companion was
a strano'er. The sjirl's countenance fell.

" Do you know that lady ? " inquired Miss
Williams.

"Yes, she is Mrs. Wynne, Captain Wynne's
wife, mother of the young officer — you
remember."

MBS. HOPLEVS POSTSCRIPT. 143

Yes ; Miss Williams remembered ; she liad
heard how Muriel chanced to know the voung
lieutenant ; and she had an opinion that the
lady might have distinguished Muriel in the
cart, had she been so minded, but she only
added, after a few words in Welsh witli Mrs.
Parry, "Mrs. Wynne is staying with the
captain's relatives at the Plas, we may meet
her again."

Meeting thus with Mrs. Wynne, sent Muriel's
thoughts off at a tangent to the Forest, to
wonder if the captain's servant was better,
and if the robbers had been put in prison ;
and if they were the men Mrs. Kingsley
fancied; and who that Maggy Blackburn was,
for she had kept her ears open thougli her
lips were closed. Then having landed at
Waverham with Maggy Blackburn, the
marvel of her Uncle Samuel's marriage filled
her mind with speculations what her new aunt
would be like, and when she would see her,
and where they were going to live ; and then
home her thoughts flew to her mother,
mourniner for the loss of little George, and

144 FOBBIDDEX TO MARRY.

she ]iad not a very bright face when the cart
stopped at the farm-gate.

They did not meet with Mrs. Wynne again,
although they wrapped themselves up and
rambled over the mountains, making the most
of the fine crisp weather, day after day.
There is no question Muriel was disappointed,
but she did not let disappointment mar her
enjoyment. Indeed, she gathered a fund of
more than health in those excursions. For to
Eachel Wilhams —

" Not a tree,
A ]>lant, a leaf, a Llossom, but contained
A folio volume. She could read, and read.
And read again, and still find something new, —
Something to please and something to instruct, —
E'en in the noisome weed."

And though winter had stripped most of the
leaves from the book of Nature, she could
find—

" Sermons iu stone, books in the running brooks,
And good in everything."

And so she fed Muriel's receptive mind with
the purest thought, and led the girl to look
herself for good in everything, even though

MRS. HOP LEY'S POSTSCBIPT. 145

tlie mountains wore no summer robes and the
air was keen and cold.

It was well ; for Muriel had gone to the
Misses Briscoes' school under a delusion, only
to experience a rough awakening. She went
back now, re-invigorated and strengthened, to
face evils of which she knew the worst, and
determined, with the help of her Heavenly
Father, to make the best of that which she
could not remedy, and which might not be
wholly evil.

It was well she went back to the chilly
rooms, scant fare, wearisome exercises, and
difficult tasks (not so much in books as needle-
work) in so cheerful a spirit ; it served to
reconcile her somewhat to the severe
discipline, and brighten the monotonous
hardship of daily routine, not only for herself
but for those with wdiom she came in contact :
as Eachel Williams had brightened it for her.

Young Misses of the present generation
have no conception what those hardships
were at the period when the birch for personal
castigation was considered an indispensable

VOL. I. L

146 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

adjunct of even a fashionable seminary; when
the set visits of music and dancing masters
alone broke the monotony; and a letter or
hamper from home put the whole school in a
flutter, even though the contents were doled
out, as it were, through a sieve.

It was quite an excitement when Miss
Briscoe announced, with some stateliness, the
arrival of '' an eminent artist to paint Miss
Ford's portrait " on white siik for the after
embroidery of draperies and accessories in
coloured silks by the favoured young hady ;
such portrait-taking being a sure indication
of a coming removal from the estabUshment,
and of friends willing to pay well lor the
distinction. Yet Muriel blurred a bright
carnation in her own embroidery with a tear
when she heard of the parting in store, for
she had learned to love Alice Ford.

Two years, — two years more of study and
privation, — and then Miss D'Anyer herself
was invited " to have the honour of sitting to
the celebrated artist ; " but prior to that, her
grandmother (who came duly for the great

MRS. HOPLErS POSTSCRIPT. 147

fairs, and brought just a few scraps of home
news for the girl's hungry heart, and always
a present for the Misses Briscoe) had carried
off in triumph an embroidered posy with
impossible stems adorned and tied Avith a
sprawling blue bow, all on a circular disc of
white satin, likewise a filigree basket and tea-
caddy, a set of fine linen shirts, and a muslin
apron of marvellously delicate Avorkmanship,
to be exliibited to the D'Anyers as a proof
of Muriel's proficiency and her own wisdom in
bearino' her off to Miss Briscoe's renowned

o

school.

She had no suspicion how many fines had
been paid, how many tears shed by aching
eyes over the " sixteen different openwork
stitches " in the embroidered apron border
which Miss Briscoe displayed with so mucli
pride as " a credit to the school," or how
often the rosebuds and forget-me-nots Iiad
bloomed and faded from the satin before
completion. And so far had Muriel accepted
the irremediable, that proud of her work and
the commendations she received, she was

L 2

148 FOB BID DEN TO MABRY.

too full of questions about tliose at home,
durincf the brief visits of her Grandmother
Bancroft or lier father at fair-time, to think
of complaining, had the opportunity been
allowed.

Indeed, so rigidly was the dogma enforced,
" Obey those in authority over you," that
the complaint of a child or anyone 7iot in
authority, would have been disregarded, if
indeed it did not suggest insubordination,
and a more rigorous rule. And so long as
Muriel was no worse off than the rest she
would have felt ashamed to talk of hardship
or accuse either Miss Briscoe or Miss Betty
of inhumanity.

Consequently, when the Eev. Thomas Ban-
croft, mindful of his promise, called to ascertain
how the young lady w^as progressing, he
carried away only favourable impressions,
setting down to youthful diffidence the hesita-
tion of Muriel to answer, in the presence of
Miss Briscoe, his questions, whether she
was happy and comfortable. Muriel gained
nothinof bv his brief visits, but the suave

MRS. HOPLEY'S POSTSCRIPT. 149

Misses Briscoe did. The good report of the
learned Head Master of the Grammar School
was not to be despised, and they gained that
by Muriel's uncomplaining silence.

Xay, she made no complaints during the
midsummer holidays spent at Forest House,
and if she looked thin, it was put down to
over- growth and over-study.

She was too curious to ascertain what
became of Captain Wynne's servant, and if
the robbers had been caught, to say much
about herself, though it did transpire that she
had been punished because Arthur Wynne
spoke to her, and that she had not been
allowed to see the captain when he called.

" Ah, 1 daresay it was against the rules,"
said Mrs. Kingsley, polishing and dusting an
oaken buffet or sideboard on which silver
drinking vessels disputed precedence with
china punchbowls. One of the former she
took up and handed to Muriel, "See what the
captain sent to my good man, and read what
is on it, ' A token of a stranger's gratitude for
genuine kindness and hearty hospitality.'

I50 FOBBIDDES TO MABUY.

It's a iine cup ; Kingsley's rare and proud of
it, I can tell you. And look here, I'm just as
proud of these." And she threw open a
panel-door of the buffet to display a china
tea-service over Avhich a modern aesthete
might rave.

" I suppose Mrs. Wynne sent you that,"
suggested Muriel, when she had sufficiently
admired Loth.

"Not she! And if she had I should have
sent it back. She gave herself too many fine
airs to suit me. If the rest of the world
wasn't born to wait on her she thouolit so.
No, it came from the young man; the best of
the lot; the only sociable one of the three. I
daresay he had some of the family pride, but
he didn't show it here. Kincrslev and he i>-ot
on famously together ; and he looked well
after that man Xorris."

" I'm glad of that," said Muriel, " but you
did not tell me "

"Oh, I forgot. Aye, the thieves were
caught as sure as they ever will be, but there
were three or four folk, an ostler and a bar-

3fBS. HOPLEY'S POSTSCRIPT. 151

maid, and one or two others that swore an
aUbi, and so they got off, more's the pity !
For, if there be two bii^fjer roorues in all
Cheshire than those Blackburns, I never saw
an honest man. And that old mother of theirs
is qnite as bad. I wonder how Lydia and

your Uncle " Mrs. Kingsley stopped short

suddenly, as if the vigorous rubbing of old
oak demanded all her breath and her
attention.

Muriel looked up — wondered — but she had
asked what was an alibi, and Mrs. Kingsley
launched into an explanation that it was a
proof an accused person was somewhere else
when a crime was committed ; and then into
compassion for Norris, who would be lame for
the rest of his life, his hip having been "put
out" ; and Muriel went back to school without,
hearing what Mrs. Kingsley had to say about.
Uncle Sam and her new aunt ; the aunt slie-
had not seen.

Back to school, fresher and brighter ; to
grow pale and thin again as the months went
on ; and there was acrain a dreary winter

152 FORBIDDEN TO MABBY.

holiday before her when all her schoolfellows
were gone. But her good friend Miss Williams
again came compassionately to the rescue, and
Muriel was quite content to leave the good
things in her Christmas-hamper for the Misses
Briscoe, so long as she was carried off to spend
another delightful vacation at Wrexham. The
last; for soon after, to Muriel's great grief,
she was called upon to part from her beloved
teacher : that governess on whom the Misses
Briscoe looked loftily down, yet to whom she,
and not she alone, could point in all her after
life as her exemplar; who had taught her
that patient endurance might be sublime, and
that self was a very small item in the sum of
duty.

The naval officer had come ashore on leave
and promotion. There was such a lovers'
meeting in the spinsters' reception-room as
ought to have brightened it up for ever.
Then followed a happy wedding at St. John's,
and a feast to all the boarders, over which the
Misses Briscoe graciously presided in their
best array, because they got all the credit

MRS. HOPLEY'S POSTSCRIPT. 153

and had none of tlie cost ; then there was a
general presentation of girhsh tributes of
esteem and affection.

And when at last the gallant Captain Grif-
fiths carried off his bride in a post-chaise
so many tears w^ere shed for the loss of their
gentle teacher, that Miss Briscoe nodded her
head significantly and said in confidence to
lier sister, " It was time she went ; " to
which the echo responded, " So it was.''

Thoughtful for others to the last, the newl}^-
made wife contrived to make that a red-letter
day for Muriel as well as herself, by the
restoration of Deborah Massey's Bible, surren-
dered by Miss Briscoe at her urgent entreaty ;
and the few impressive words of farewell
counsel which accompanied it were not likely
to be soon forgotten.

Her departure was a loss to the whole
school. Her successor was of another order.
She strained discipline to hide her own incom-
petence, and made the girls' lives intolerable
with fnies and punishments, intensifying in-
stead of softenini^ the harsh rule of the prin-

154 FOHBIDDEX TO MAUIiY.

cipals. But if the good teacher was lost, her
influence was not. In emulation of her
exam[)le, it became Muriel's aim to screen or
shield younger or more delicate girls from un-
deserved penalties, to lend her aid in difficult
tasks, whether of book or work, and between
her cares for others and the embroidery which
was supposed to herald release, time passed
less drearily.

She was now a tall, thin, dark -haired, brown-
eyed maiden close upon fifteen, taking her
place as monitress in due rotation ; and,
besides coming in for frequent short-commons
in consequence, had many opportunities for
self-denial. Tlien she had a child of eight in
her charge in school and dormitory; and that
which miglit have been a source of irritation
to others, proved a very safety-valve for her
pent-up affections. And surely never was one
school-girl so cared for by another as was
Polly Button.

Not only when lessons from Johnson's
School Dictionary or Murray's Grammar had
to be driven into a dull brain, but night after

MBS. HOPLEY'S POSTSCBIPT. 155

night in the severe depth of winter did Muriel
sit up in bed, chafing the cliild's benumbed
feet in the dark, to alLay incipient chilblains
when her own were in far worse plight. And
who but she had the bravery to appeal to
Miss Briscoe's humanity against the weekly
promenade on the walls, and the double walk
to mornino^ service at St. John's and evenino;
service at the Octagon Chapel on the Sunday,
when the snow lay deep upon the ground, and
every girl in the school had sore heels to be
excoriated by the friction of shoes and pattens 1

And what though Miss Ikiscoe stood aghast
at her audacity, and lifting her mittened
hands, declared : —

" It would bring ruin on the school ! So
loncf as Mr. Twemlow's youns^ o^entlemen can
w^alk abroad for air and exercise, or to attend
Divine service, our young ladies must. A
single exception might be made ; but as a
body — impossible ! "

What mattered it, so long as Muriel ob-
tained immunity for the little one in her
charge and two others, and induced Miss

156 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

Betty to prepare a whey of alum-and-milk to
batlie affected feet ! She was herself repri-
manded ; but she " had done some good," and
was therewith content.

The snow lay on the ground for weeks.
Miss Briscoe was inflexible. Through it the
limping girls must j)lod so long as Mr. Twem-
low's pupils went their wonted way. (They
might, or might not, be in like condition.)
Even Miss Betty ventured to expostulate {she
had a slightly tender spot under the hard
crust) ; but she was put down with, " Betty, I
am surprised! We cannot afford to indulge
in foolish sentiment. We must maintain ap-
pearances at any cost. The reputation of our
school depends upon it. What would be
thought if even half the girls were left at
home? It would be ruin, utter ruin!"

As if she had invoked it, ruin came after
the snow was gone, and of the general chil-
blains only the scars remained.

An epidemic broke out in the school, which
was not to be concealed. Cestrian parents
removed their children in alarm, and spread

MRS. HOPLEY'S POSTSCBIPT. 157

the rumour to others further afield. True to
her creed, Miss Briscoe dehayed communi-
cating with friends until Doctor Wilmslow
urged the necessity.

"But we shall lose all our pupils, sir,"
argued Miss Briscoe in dismay.

" Ye — es, madam, so I am a — afraid ; but
— a — I see no alternative. The healthy — a — ■
a — must be removed — a — a — for their own
safety." (The puffy little physician seemed to
draw inspiration from the gold-headed cane
which he tapped against his chin.) "Eela-
tives will — a — I doubt not — a — appreciate
your — a — thoughtful attention, and — a — a —
self-sacrifice. And — a — I fear, madam — you
would — a — be certain to lose them — a — other-
wise."

" You do not think there is any real danger
of the others, doctor, do you ? " and the lace
frill of her tall cap trembled as she spoke.

The doctor had a pecuniary interest in the
Misses Briscoes' pupils ; but he had also his
professional reputation at stake.

"Well — um — a not if they — a — have a

158 FOE B ID D EX TO MAE BY.

careful — a — attention, such — a — as Miss
D'Anver oivcs to Miss — a— Dutton, and — a —
you have space to separate the — a— cases."

" Separate ! Why, sir, we have given up
one dormitory to the invahds already ! The
house is like a hospital ! "

" Without hospital conveniences I " thouglit
tlie doctor, as he closed liis lips with the
gold knob of his cane, and bowed himself
out.

And so thouglit Mrs. Bancroft when she
came upon the scene about a week later.

Manchester had only just set about lighting,
watching, and cleansing the town b}' Act of
Parliament ; it had not added a postman to its
list of officials in the spring of 1793. The
whole postal staff of the rich and thriving
manufacturing centre, consisted of Miss Wil-
lett the post-mistress, and two clerks! Had
not Sarah Bancroft, as a business woman, sent
<a trusty messenger to the small post-office in
St. Ann's Square, twice or thrice a week, as
did other merchants and traders, Miss Briscoe's
tardy communication might have waited with

MRS. IIOPLEl 'S POSTSCRIPT. 159

its face to the window-pane until seen and
demanded.

It was a dreary, drizzling February day.
With a hood over her head to protect lier
cap, Mrs. Bancroft slipped her feet into pattens
and crossed the wet yard to a long, low, timber,
louvre-boarded shed, where her son stood to
superintend the nailing of raw or damp skins
fur downwards on dry boards, and the dusting
or rubbing of powdered qidcklime on others
already stretched, such being at that time the
cleansing and purifying process.

She had two open letters in her hand.
"Ell! Sam, here's a pretty coil — read that,"
and she put Miss Briscoe's formal letter into
his hand, whilst her quick eye went over the
rows of skins set aside to dry, and those in
preparation, and her equally quick tongue
called out to a workman : '' Liglitly, lad, wi'
th' lime, do'st mean to eat through the skin
to th' fur ! Thah lays it on th' chinchilli as
thick as if 'twere bearskin."

" Well," said Sam, " and Avhat"s the coil ?
Wliat if Muriel be ill, doesn't Miss Briscoe say

i6o FOBBIDBEX TO ^fARRY.

there's no occasion for alarm, she will have
every care and attention ? "

" At. ay, lad ! but read what Mrs. Hop ley
says, and then spell, and put together.''

Mrs. Hopley was a mantua-maker in Water-
gate Street, Chester, patronized by the beauti-
ful Lady Grosvenor, to whom she had been
for many years own maid or housekeeper,
until, late in life, she married the butler and
speedily discovered that if she would have a
garment to wear herself, she must begin to
make garments for other people.

The buying of undressed skins (rabbits were
classed and killed as vermin) had taken Mrs.
Bancroft to Eaton Hall year by year, she had
thus become acquainted with both, and now
she supplied Mrs. Hopley with prepared furs
for her aristocratic customers.

Mrs. Hopley's episrle would have been a
mere order for court ermine for " my lady,"
with sable and mink in sets and for trimminir
fcr other customers, given with business-
like precision, but for an afterthought, which
found expression in a postcript.

J^BS. HOP LETS POSTSCRIPT. i6i

''I think you have a CTandchild at Miss
Briscoe's. Of course you will send to remove
her without delay ; and if your messenger
brought the furs, it would save carriage.
What a direful calamity for Briscoe ! "

It was a characteristic addendum.

•• Well/' said Sam, scratching his chin, ^^ that
means something. It's decidedly queer ! "

" It means a journey to Chester for me, lad.
I shall be off by the morning packet-boat, to
catch the coach at Preston Brook ; so get the
furs sorted out and packed first thing. What-
ever s the matter 111 see into it. And see you
don't go to D'Anvers. and frisrhten Ellen.
And give that wife of yours a caution:
though Lydia looks as if she coidd hold
her tongue. Ill be back before the week's
out."

" Ay, trust Lydia to keep a secret with any
woman ahve ; " and a curious look came into
Sam's half-shut eyes.

" I want no secret kept : I only recommend
caution for Ellen's sake. Secrecy, sin, and
sorrow begin wi' th' same letter : ay, and

VOL. I. M

1 62 FOBBIDDEX TO MARRY.

selfishness too. Keep clear of secrets, my
lad ! "

She had turned so abruptly that the peculiar
expression of doubt and misgiving which sud-
denly settled on the face of that tliirty-three
years' " lad " was unseen. And if the clank
of her pattens echoed any misgivings in Sarali
Bancroft's own breast, they were not of her
son Sam, or of lier own unerring judgment,
but of the Misses Briscoe, so bepraised in her
grandchild's letters home. Mrs. Hopley's
postcript pointed to something more than did
Miss Briscoe's guarded epistle. She was
" bound to see into it."

And she did, but was not back before the
week was out.

CHAPTER IX.

A PKOPOSAL.

S^HEN ushered into the prim re-
' ception-room, so rich in specimens oi
needlework and cahgraphy, and flattering
testimonials, Mrs. Bancroft found herself in
the midst of an excited group of strangers, to
whom a surgeon named Prestbury, engaged
by an anxious father, was enunciating his
very decided opinion that the outbreak of
disease in the school was mainly due to in-
sufficient dietary, warmth, and water supply ;
and, in short, much that is now summed up
as defective sanitation.

" Infamous ! infamous ! " ran round the
room in a chorus. Guardians and relatives
rose in a body from their high-backed em-
broidered chairs, and turned with one accord

and all degrees of exasperation towards the

M 2

1 64 FOBBIDDEX TO MARBY.

two spinsters, wlio stood, witli primly folded
arms and compressed lips, to confront accusa-
tions and reproaches witli dignified silence.

Denial was impossible, tlie condition of the
suflering girls, the scant bedding, the crowded
dormitories, needed little by way of evidence
from youns: lips to confirm the surQ-eon's
sorrowful testimony. Yet it was from young
lips Mrs. Bancroft learned that Muriel had
caught the infection whilst watching and
tendinis Polly Dutton and others in the
dormitory.

" She was so kind, and I am so sorry," said
her little informant pitifully, adding, " And she
read to us out of lier beautiful Bible, and the
' Pilorim's Proirress/ and ' Evenincfs at Home,'
and never seemed tired. Xo one reads to us
now."

But Muriel made no complaint, she only
said, —

"It was very well I was not taken ill at
first, or Polly would have had no one to nurse
her, and might not have got better so soon."
Getting better for any of them was not an

A PROPOSAL. i6s

easy matter there^ yet not an hotel in the town
would open its doors to a patient from the
infected school.

It was the break-up of the important estab-
lishment. By ones and twos the pupils were
removed as speedily as safety permitted. Only
the few who had escaped, and whose distant
friends were uninformed, remained until the
vacation, and of these not all returned.

It was in vain, by tardy attention to the
sick, that the Misses Briscoe strove to re-
habilitate themselves in public esteem and
maintain their ])osition. Strict disciphne was
allowable, but not starvation. The prestige of
the school was gone ; and after a struggle
against fate, in a year or two they announced
their " intention to retire."

Seeing no chance of her removal with the
<_

disorder at its height, energetic Mrs. Bancroft
cooUy took possession of Muriel's dormitory,
as if it had been a hospital ward, and she the
appointed nurse ; a hint taken by two other
pupils' feminine friends, whether to the
chagrin or the satisfaction of the sisters there

1 66 • FORBIDDEN TO MARBY.

is no knowing. As for Mrs. Bancroft, she
engaged her own doctor, sent in supplies, and
took care that medicines and diet were duly
administered.

She set aside Miss Briscoe and Miss Betty at
the outset.

" Look you," said she, " don't you go near
my grandchild with long faces and pitiful
words. as if you cared for her. All you care
for is money. The little creatures committed
to your charge have been no more to you
than so many oranges, out of which you
could squeeze the golden juice. And you've
squeezed them a trifle too close at last. Here
I am, and here I shall remain until there is a
change one way or other. And if Mr. Prest-
bury's orders are not carried out, and aught
happens to my dear child, if there's justice to
be had in the Pentice Court, you shall suffer
for it. ril see to that."

And there, sure enough, did the hard-
featured woman of business, whose soul was
supposed to be w^rapped up in her business,
remain, watching night and day by Muriel's

A PROPOSAL. 167

bed with unwavering affection; her bustling
energy subdued to quiet, or expended on
obstructives in the regions of the kitchen, to
whom she soon laid down a law of her owni.

Up and dow^n stairs she went w^ith the
activity of a younger woman ; indeed, if truth
were told, sitting still to watch the thin face
was like a penance to her.

At such times would her thoughts fly off
to the furriery, wondering how^ Sam would
manage without her ; if orders were executed
properly ; if certain furs had been dressed
satisfactorily; if wages and bills had been paid.
Then her mind would revert to Ellen D'Anyer
and her probable anxiety ; and occasionally a
still small voice would whisper that she had
better have left the girl wdth her mother.
But the whisper made her uneasy, and she
resolutely closed her ears.

Then she blamed the Eev. Thomas Bancroft
for keeping her in the dark ; little thinking
how he had been blinded on the one or two
occasions he had made for seeing the girl, or
how much the good man was occupied with

1 68 FORBIDDEN TO MABBY.

his own concerns, liis duties as clergyman,
schoolmaster, author, and the father of a family.

She had trusted so much to his supervision
when she brought Muriel to the Misses Briscoe ;
and noAV she blamed herself for trusting to
anyone hut herself.

There was only one thing she liked less
than a silent watch ; and that began when
Muriel first showed sis^ns of amendment,
and expressed a desire that she would
read her Bible aloud to her. She could
not refuse ; but surely never had Deborah
Massey's Bible been opened less willingly.

Muriel's full eyes kindled at her favourite
passages, unwitting that many a one was a
searching probe to her grandmother's self-
reliant soul.

Before Muriel left her bed the task required
less effort, and by the time she was able to
walk downstairs, Sarah Bancroft had resolved
to renew her acquaintance with the large
family Bible, mounted on the oak bureau at
home.

Then followed a demand for Miss D'Anyer's

A PROPOSAL. 169

bill, and a business-like docking of exorbitant
charges, never before disputed, ere Sarah Ban-
croft opened her canvas money-bag and laid
her guineas down.

School-books and other belonc^ino^s had
already been gathered together, not forget-
ting the unfinished portrait, to be completed
at home. An ostler came from the Plume of
Feathers in Bridge Street for '' the young lady's
luggage." There was a tearful farewell to
the remaining fragments of the broken-up
school, poor motherless Polly Button sobbing
on Muriel's neck. There was a more cere-
monious and less affectionate leave-taking in
the worsted-work apartment (where Mrs.
Bancroft had spoken her mind pretty freely),
an exchange of elaborate courtesies, and
Muriel, who longed to say she was sorry for
their misfortune, went down the outer steps
for the last time ; her freedom anticipated by
fully three months.

She was not judged fit for a tedious journey;
but her grandmother (who never lost sight of
business, and so turned her involuntary

I70 FORBIDDEN TO MAR BY.

presence in Chester to account), invited Mrs.
Hoplev's company, hired a boat at the Bridge
Wliarf, and the following day treated Muriel
to a breezy row up the river to Eaton Park,
the home of the Grosvenors. And it was
a treat to Muriel, wlio had only seen the
silvery Dee irom the walls, and previously
nothing wider than the fresh water Irwell and
Irk, and had never put foot in a boat before.

As they walked, after landing, along the
avenue of bare but stately trees, just swelling
into bud, to the imposing and solid, if heav}-,
brick mansion Sir John Vanbrugh had de-
signed (since superseded by a palace), and
Muriel's brown eyes, ranging over the park
(where indications that Spring was on the
alert made themselves felt, and seen, and
heard), were filled with silent delight, she was
startled out of her dreamy rapture by the
abrupt question of her grandmother, —

" Did'st ever hear or see anything more of
that captain and his wife who had so narrow
an escape in Delamere Forest? "

Muriel flashed with shame as she answered,

A PBOPOSAL. .171

not sliame for herself, but that which she had
to tell of others.

" Well, grandmother, ^Ir. Arthur was on
the "Walls one day when the school went for
the weekly airing ; I scarcely knew him, for
he had on a fine uniform, and looked so hand-
some, but he knew me, and came to shake
hands with me, and then — and then, Miss
Briscoes were angry, said he was ' rude ' and
' impertinent,' threatened to write to some-
body about him, and perhaps they did, for
we never met him again — and I was repri-
manded, and was sent to the dormitory."

'"For what?" was the mutual interro-
gation of her companions.

"Why, it seems, I had broken the
rules in speaking to him."

" Broken the fiddlesticks ! " exclaimed Mrs.
Bancroft indignantly. '• I wish I'd known !
Then I suppose that was the last of
them."

'' Well, I was told, as a great secret, by one
of the monitors, that Captain Wynne called
the next day, and asked for me, but Miss

172 FORBIDDEN TO MAR BY.

Briscoe sent no message to me, and lie never
came again."

"Eh! And didn't the lady you had waited
upon hand and foot come herself?"

" I don't know, I was never told. But I've
seen her. I saw her the first time I was in
Wrexham — the Christmas little Georgey died."

" Ah," interrupted her grandmother, " and
when your Uncle Sam was married. Well ? "

Muriel went on, " We were on a narrow
road in Mrs. Parry's cart, and she met us in a
carriage — but she didn't see me," and a sigh
pointed the sentence.

" Wouldn't, more like. I've no notion of
fine folk, wlio take your services as if they
liad a right to them, and are too proud to
know you afterwards ; but the lass has as good
blood in her veins as they have, I know.
Catch me putting myself out of the way for
such people again ! I hate ingratitude."

" Nay, grandmother," pleaded Muriel, " I
don't think Mrs. Wynne ungrateful : you know
she gave me that beautiful locket ! and T.n
certain Mr. Arthur was glad to see me."

A PROPOSAL. 173

'' Well, well, cliild, liave your own way ! "
was Mrs. Bancroft's conclusion of the arcfu-
ment. " The lass has more charity than I
have," she whispered, aside to Mrs. Hopley ;
adding aloud, " But here we are, and now,
Muriel, you can have a rest."

There was rest and a luncheon in the
housekeeper's room, along with the house-
steward and lady's maid, over which the
elders chatted pleasantly ; then Muriel, being-
still weak, was laid on a roomy sofa, whilst
Mrs. Hopley had an interview with Lady
Grosvenor, and Mrs. Bancroft with the head
gamekeeper. Muriel was fatigued and
drowsy ; she was at length awaked from
slumber by the housekeeper's invitation to
show her the picture-gallery and other state
apartments.

It was all new and wonderful to Muriel ;
and when at length they returned to Chester,
she had forgotten all about the Wynnes and
her grandmother's suggestion of ingratitude,
which had given her some unpleasant sensa-
tions.

174 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

She was left the next morning to explore
the city in which she had lived so long, and
of which she had seen so little, whilst her
grandmother made business calls on customers
in the Eows.

The afternoon was given to a formal tea
drinking at Mrs. Hopley's, where Muriel was
treated with especial attention, not only as a
convalescent, but as Mrs. Bancroft's grand-
child.

Indeed, Mrs. Hopley — a little woman in a
plain black stuff dress, of no fashion but her
own — seemed to lay herself out to attract and
entertain her younger guest; now a tall, thin
girl of graceful bearing, and not uncomely
face. Time had done wonders in the three
years and a half she had spent in Chester,
and if her flowing locks had been sacrificed in
her recent illness, the old marks on her skin
were rapidly disappearing.

There were hot wheat-cakes, and other
Cheshire delicacies on the table, of which she
was invited to partake freely. After tea she
was taken to the show-room where Lady Gros-

A PliOPOSAL. 175

Tenor's court dress, suspended on an upright
pole with cross-way pegs' for arms, and
inflated by a hoop, was displayed amongst
others, most attractively.

" How do you like them, my dear? " ques-
tioned Mrs. Hopley graciously, after explain-
ing to Muriel that hoops were worn at court,
though out of fashion in private life; court-
dress being appointed at the beginning of a
reign, to be retained to the end ; and the little
plain woman in black gave a touch to a fold
here, and a turn to drapery there, so as to
catch the hglit and produce the best effect.

" Oh ! very much ; — at least, all but that
purple velvet, I don't care for the way in
which it is trimmed," answered truth-tellinij
Muriel, wliose instinctive taste was offended.

Mrs. Ilopley lifted her eyebrows, " How
would 3'ou have trimmed it ? " she said with
encouraging suavity.

" Oh, I'm not a mantua-maker," Muriel
replied modestly, " but I think I should have
liked it better this way," and she proceeded
to a practical demonstration with some loose

176 FOB BIDDEN TO MABBY.

paper, and pins from her own pocket pin-
cusliion.

" My dear," cried Mrs. Hopley, " your
admirable suggestion shall be carried out on
another robe. I wish I had a young lady in my
work-room with so much taste and discernment.
Talent of that kind is instinctive." A few
more questions were asked to draw Muriel
out, and Mrs. Hopley, — who had made her
acquaintance before, when growth had necessi-
tated fresh garments, — exclaimed, " You
might have been a milliner ! What say you,
Mrs. Bancroft, to leaving her with me as an
apprentice. It's a thousand pities so much
natural taste should be wasted ; and if, as you
tell me, there is a large family of girls, she
would find a knowledge of dressmaking ex-
tremely useful — supposing she did not work
for strangers," she added, observing the com-
pression of the furrier's closed lips.

" She is going home with me to-morrow,
Mrs. Hopley," was Sarah Bancroft's answer,
somewhat doggedly given.

Mrs. Hopley returned to the charge. She

A PROPOSAL. 177

had seen Muriel's embroidery and tambour-
work,* and had long desired to get one of
Miss Briscoe's needlework pupils into her
Avork-roora, to replace one named Phoebe
Home who had been out of her time quite
two years, and was missed.

" Yes, yes, of course ; I don't mean now —
but after a while" (she had said "leave her
Avith me"). "You have known me long
enough to trust her in my care ; you know I
have children of my own."

" Ay, ay, I know," was all the response.

Mrs. Ilopley turned to Muriel, " Would
you not like to be able to make and trim such
robes as this," and she laid her finger lightly
on a rich amber and black brocade.

" Oh, yes, if "

Her "if" was cut short. "You hear, my
friend ? " and then after a pause —

" It is worth considering. Neither man
nor woman should be without a trade, in
these uncertain times. Eiches take wing,

* So called from being worked on muslin or other material
stretched on a frame as tightly as a drum. Tlie tambour-needle
resembles somewhat the modern crochet-hock.

VOL. I. N

178 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

and a livins^ at the fin2^er-ends does not. And
/ have not found mantua-makincr at all de-
rogatory. / mamtain a good position," and
the little woman looked as if she knew her
own importance.

" Well, well," said the furrier impatiently,
" I'll see about it, I'll see about it," as if
desirous to turn the conversation.

''That's right, do! I'll make the premium
easy," persisted Mrs. Hopley as a clencher,
" and we might shorten the seven years to
five."

But no more was said, and the girl hoped
no more would be said ; she was not inclined
to take kindl}^ to the proposal, but she stood
too much in awe of her grandmother to
venture an opinion of her own unasked.

To untravelled Muriel, the homeward
journey was something too exquisite for
speecli. The early March winds were keen,
but Mrs. Bancroft declared, " I'd as lief be
shut up in a hayloft or a snuff-box as be stifled
inside a coach. Give me the breeze that
blows the cobwebs off a body ! " So they

A PROPOSAL. 179

were outside passengers, their places having
been taken and booked overnisflit ; and as
they were well wrapped up in warm woollen
and fur, neither she nor the convalescent
Muriel could take much harm.

She was not a talkative woman ; and no
sooner were the wheels in motion than her
thoughts travelled with them to the ware-
house and sheds left for more than three
weeks to the sole care of Sam.

Muriel's joyous anticipations outstripped
the horses ; but the face of nature was newer
to her ; and in the freshness of its budding
hopes was all in unison with her own, and from
her high seat she gazed on the shifting
panorama of meadow and upland, brook and
river, farm and village, with feelings and
emotions not to be put into words.

True, it was not the smihng month of sun
and shower ; but the trees had already sipped
the wine of spring, and felt it throbbing in
the furthest shoot. There was a ruddy flush
of flowering bloom on the wych-elm and
poplar, a tender green on meadow and hedgc-

N 2

i8o FORBIDDEX TO ^fARRy.

row, where tlie litlie honeysuckle twined
among the hawthorn's opening fans ; and if
only a sohtary snowdrop Hngered here and
there, the crocus boldly lifted np its purple
cup, the unostentatious daffodil by the way-
side brook bent its head as it offered its
incense to the passing breeze, and the colts-
foot had sent forth its golden stars to tell with
perfumed breath that its broad leaves were
comingf bv-and-bve. Xow and a^rain the
love-song of the missel-thrush was half
drowned in the rattle of the wheels ; but
Muriel felt as if she too must burst into
song, so glad, so hopeful, and withal so
thankful was she.

She was silent from excess of feeling ; but
even raptures do not last for hours, and
coaches in the last century did not race
with the wind.

A little child shivering by her side, to
whom she extended the benefit of her cloak
at Frodsham, helped to enliven the remainder
of the journey with his prattle; but when
thev reached Preston Brook at eleven o'clock,

A PROPOSAL. i8i

she was almost too stiff and tired to aliij^ht.
Her grandniotlier not more so.

The long, slow-going, ark-like packet-boat
seemed indeed an ark of refufre after the
shaking coach. The gliding motion was rest-
ful; she sat at the cabin window, listened to
the ripple of the water, the occasional swish
of the rope and the tread of feet overhead,
watched the trees and houses on the canal
bank slip past as in a dream, the glory of all
being that she had left Miss liriscoe and
Chester for ever, and was going back to the
dear mother and sisters who must have missed
her so much. The dream was broken in
upon by a woman crushing past, who offered
Eccles cakes and nettle beer for sale, by way
of refreshment ; but Mrs. Bancroft had a
reticule basket well supplied, and there was
tea to be had on board. There had need to
be, for it was nearer seven than six o'clock
when they reached the Castle wharf at Knot
Mill (where Canute's castle is said to have
been), and there was neither Sam nor con-
veyance to meet them.

i82 FORBIDDEN TO MAEEY.

They waited, the bustUng passengers
dispersed, yet no one came. Mrs. Bancroft's
brows were knit, and her hps set over her
strong teeth, telUng of disquiet or displeasure,
had there been hght for Muriel to read the
record. And still they waited.

" Do you think uncle received your letter ? "
asked Muriel at last, in some trepidation.
" And what shall we do ? "

" Eh ! I don't know, child ! " brusquel}^
answered the first question, the characteristic
"I'll see to it," the second.

There were as yet no hackney coaches,
there was no place at hand whereat to hire
a chaise. There were, however, sturdy men
upon the wharf, one of whom Mrs. Bancroft
found willing to act as porter, seeing there
was no alternative but to take the man's
honesty upon trust, and let him lead the way
through dark, narrow Alport Street, and Deans-
gate, with Muriel's small hair-trunk on his
shoulders, and Mrs. Bancroft's baof as a balance
in the other hand, and to take the chance
of meeting an empty sedan-chair by the way.

A PROPOSAL. 183

Neither Muriel nor Mrs. Bancroft cared to
show all the alarm she felt ; each had a dread
of something wrong at home, to say nothing
of the dangers of the streets or the two-mile
walk at the end of a day's journey, but the
man must have heard the tremour in Muriel's
voice as she asked her grandmother if she
thought the man could obtain one of the
lanterns then flitting about the wharf among
the shadows ; for he put down the luggage
with a civil, " Yoi, miss, aw thenk aw con ! "
and in a few minutes a horn lantern was in
Muriel's hand, the luggage once more
shouldered, and they, thus lit, following
closely on the man's heels with apprehension
in their hearts.

Eemember — for in this Chester was in
advance of Manchester — there were as yet
no public lamps, only private ones at a few
of the better-class houses ; that respectable
women were not supposed to go abroad
unattended after dusk ; that there was no
organized police, that drunkenness was a
fashionable vice ; that footpads drove a brisk

i84 FOBIDDEN TO MABBY.

trade ; and that the wild young men of the
time thought it no shame to insult more
peaceable people, even to the drawing of
swords ; and you will perhaps better under-
stand the apprehension felt alike by the
strongminded woman, who had a nice-
looking young girl in her charge, and the
inexperienced young girl herself.

CHAPTEE X.
Sam's fiest.

|?|0T until they had gained the stand in
^^ St. Ann's Square, where paviors had
begun their much-needed work, \vas an
empty sedan to be found, and then so many
more intrusive carousers had they met by the
way than sober home-going townfolk, that
Sarah Bancroft was glad to put her grand-
child under the canopy of one, as much for
security as conveyance. She scorned the
extravagance of such a luxury for herself.

So the sturdy old dame trudged on by its
ide, glad of the extra lantern swung on one
of the forward poles of the sedan, as well as
of the additional protection of the two stout
chairmen. It was a late hour for reputable
females to be abroad unattended.

It was close upon eight by St. Ann's Churcli

i86 FORBIBDEN TO MAURY.

clock, Avlien the prim rows of trees wliicli
sentinelled the aristocratic mansions in the
Square were left behind, Mrs. Bancroft con-
gratulating herself that the foul dark entry,
with its " Dangerous Corner," so recently the
only outlet from the Square to the Market
Place, was done away with, and, losing sight
of the narrowness of the Xew Exchange
Street, thought only how soon tlie Exchange
itself, with all its pillared facade, would be
only a memory — and such a memory ! Had
she not seen the heads of the Jacobite leaders
spiked atop? She supposed the queer old
market cross and the pilloiy they were passing
would be the next to go ; things changed so
fast since her young days. Her dreams of
the past were put to flight by the activities
of the present. The clock of the Collegiate
or Old Church, towards which their faces were
set, chimed the hour, and then the glorious
bells rang out the curfew with a resonant
dash.

In an off-street close to the shambles stood
a dingy old public-house, known as the

SAM'S FIB ST. 187

" Punch House," and kept by John Shaw, at
one time a dragoon, where throughout the
day, and especially from four to eight in the
evening, might be found the chief merchants
and manufacturers discussing the news of the
day and the prices of goods over their six-
penny or shilling jorums of punch, for which
the military landlord had a special and occult
receipt. But at the first stroke of eight did
John Shaw enter his bar-parlour with " Eight
o'clock, gentlemen ; you must clear out."
And out they went at the first bidding, for,
did anyone presume to linger, the martinet's
long-lashed whip cracked in their ears, or in
came Molly, his factotum, Avith mop and pail,
and flooded them out.

No one got drunk thei^e. Some of the
least steady-going and more exuberant spirits
might, however, be primed for finishing the
night elsewhere.

The chairmen were jogging along with their
light burden under the shade of the overhang-
ing black and white gable-fronted old build-
ings, not the less shadowy for the dim illumi-

iSS FOEBIDDEN TO MABRY.

nation of casements from within, when, simul-
taneously with the first clang of the bells,
John Shaw drove forth the members of his
club, six or eight of whom came on from the
narrow bye-way, right in front of Mrs. Ban-
croft's party, one calling to another, " Who's
for the Cockpit?" "Who's for the Bull's
Head?" '^ Who's for the play?" "I'm off
to the Blue Boar ! " and so forth, blocking
such pathway as there was. They w^ere in the
very height of jollity and merriment, some of
them ripe for what they called fun.

" I say, old dame, with the lantern and
basket, w^hat treasure have you there you
guard so carefully ? " cried out one, — a tall,
elegant man, in a fashionable suit of blue
kerseymere, with shining buckles at his
breeches' knees, — and he took a step forward
as if to ascertain for himself. He stopped
short, arrested by a stern, hard voice he
knew well.

" Your daughter, John D'Anyer, who is
fortunate in having a more faithful guardian
than her father this nisdit."

SA^f'S FIB ST. 189

In an instant the long back bent, the
Frenchified cylindrical hat was raised from
the gentleman's powdered hair with a graceful
flourish, not altogether due to John Shaw's
punch.

" I — I beg pardon, Mrs. Bancroft ; you
have quite taken me by surprise. The imper-
fect light must excuse the discourtsey of my
address. But how is it "

She interrupted him. " Now, sir, don't
make matters worse by excuses of that kind ;
nothing excuses rudeness to an old woman
whoever she may "

She broke off short. She had seen another
figure warily edging off into the background
as if to beat a retreat ; the stealthiness of the
action caused her to raise her lantern, and the
light fell on the broad buckled shoes, the grey
worsted stockings, the steel buckled brown
breeches, brown flap-pocketed waistcoat, wide
deep-skirted coat, falling white neckcloth and
disordered hair of her son Sam, with his three-
cornered hat somewhat awry, — steady-going
Sam !

I90 FORBIDDEN TO MABBY.

" Stop, sir ! " she cried imperatively, and he
thought best to obey. " Where art thah
sneaking off to ? What hast thah done that
thah cannot face me? Aye, thah may well be
ashamed of leaving thy old mother and a
young girl to come through the streets at
night as they best could, and at the risk
of insult. But I'll see into it. Move on,
chairmen."

John D'Anyer was turning the handle of
the sedan door, which Muriel could not open
from within. She waved him back. "You
can see Muriel to-morrow. You were in no
such hurry to meet us on the quay."

John DAnyer's pride was easily touched.

As she nodded to the men to proceed, and
stepped forward herself, heedless of the jests
and laughter of the dispersing party from the
Punch House, leaving son and son-in-law to
follow, or not, as might suit them best, he
answered haughtily :

" As a gentleman, madam, if not as a father,
I should have met you at the Quay had your
coming been notified. As you did not think

SAM'S FIRST. 191

proper to acquaint me with your intended
return, and so think proper to refuse me a
word with my own daughter, I have no more
to say. Good-night to both."

His hat was again raised, but with the
sarcastic sweep of ultra ceremony, as if he
bowled their dismissah

Sam was a decided contrast to his brother-
in-law, in more than the old-fashioned homeli-
ness of his attire and manners. He professed
to have less pride ; he might have added that
he had more policy.

They had neither of them taken sufficient
punch to cloud their intellects, and, although
somewhat elevated, the first shock of the
unwelcome surprise had dispelled any
vapours from its fumes. John's wounded
pride led him to follow a couple of his com-
panions into the open jaws of the Blue Boar,
whose lair was a court off the other side
the Market Place, where he talked loftily to
his intimates of his character as a gentleman
being at stake, and treated the said gentleman
to so many soothing potations that he was

192 FOBBIDDEN TO MARRY.

anything but a gentleman when his rat-tat-tan
on his door knocker roused the echoes of
Broom Street at midnight.

Wiser Sam stuck close by his mother ;
excused his presence at John Shaw's, and his
extra dose of punch, on the plea that a
little daughter having arrived that day, he
and John had "been merely wetting the
child's head." And the excuse Tvas sufficiently
cogent, seeing that it was customary for a
newly-made father to stand treat under his
own roof, or in some bar-parlour to pay for
the " glasses round," in which the health and
lonfif life of the new-born child were toasted
and drunk.

She was barely satisfied, but she let
it pass.

On like grounds he excused his unpardon-
able absence from Castle Quay. His extreme
agitation and anxiety for Lydia had driven
everything else out of his mind. He had for-
gotten to send to the Post Office that morning.
Her letter of instruction would be lying there.

This was a much more heinous offence.

SAM'S FIRST. 193

" A business man forget the post ! " it sounded
incredible ! Hers niiglit not be the only
important missive lying neglected in Mrs.
Willett's Avindow ! She was not so easily
appeased. Yet Sam made his confession so
naturally, and with so many genuine expres-
sions of regret ; he had such a firm hold of
his mother's heart, and slie such a firm belief
in his integrity, tliat she softened at last,
and said : —

" Well, Sam, lad, as it is thy first child, it
may be excusable, and as thah's come and
owned thy forgetfulness all straight up and
above board, I may overlook it this time ;
but, prithee, be careful in the future.
Punctuality and method are the hinges of
trade, and a business man has no business
to forget."

Sam's face was in deep shadow, so the
uneasy expression which crossed it during
the first portion of this speech was lost, and
her sharply emphasized rebuke of his untrades-
manlike foro-etfulness mic^ht account for his
temporary silence.

VOL. I. o

194 FOBBIBBEN TO MABRY.

Presently, after a trade question or two,
she began to ask about Lydia and the newly-
born child, wished she had been a day earlier,
and said ; —

" I'd rather it had been a lad than a lass,
for the first ; but we must take what comes."

Again Sam's brows contracted uneasily
and were not smoothed Avhen she bethoucfht
herself to ask ;

" Who's with Lydia ? "

" Oh, — Maggy Blackburn," he answered,
but not readily.

"MagjQfy Blackburn!" exclaimed his
mother, in not too pleasant atone. "Was
there no one to be had nearer home ? "

" Yea ; but Lj^dia has known Maggy all
her life, and I thought, as you were away,
it was best to humour her, as she seems to
have such a liankerins: after Waverham folk,"
he responded, as they stopped at his mother's
house, and his hand went up to the door-
knocker quite unnecessaril}^, seeing that the
door opened with a mere turn of the
handle.

SAM'S FIB ST. 195

' Chairmen and porter were glad to ex-
change their loads for hard cash and foaming
home-brewed ale, and, after spitting on the
coins for luck, departed.

Muriel, notwithstanding the unsuspected
tears shed when her father left her so
readily, had fallen asleep by the way, OAving
as much to tlie motion of the vehicle as to
her fatio^ue ; and she was but half awake
when she followed her grandmother into
the large bright kitchen, where the stone
floor was scrubbed as clean as the deal
tables and dresser ; and where Margery had
put as bright a polish on the tall clock-
case and oaken-settle as on the brass and
copper utensils on walls and tall mantel-shelf.

On that same settle lay a boy about four
years old, in clothes of a countrified cut,
though they were good and respectable
enough. He was a ros3'-cheeked chubby
fellow, and was fast asleep.

" Whose lad's this ? " demanded Mrs. Ban-
croft, as sharpl}^ and briskly as if her journey
and two mile walk were of no account.

0 2

196 FOBBIDDEy TO MABBY.

" Ell ? A nurse-clioilt Maggy Blackburn
browt \vi her fro Waverliam. Hoo* said hoo
couldn't come boutf it. Measter browt it
here to-day, to be out o' th' way," explained
Margery, all in a fluster with the unexpected
arrivals, and full of grief that there was "ne'er
a foire anywheere but i' th' kitchen, and nowt
but ham an' eggs for supper. Yo' nioight ha'
letten folks know."

" Never mind, Margery. If grandmother's
as tired as I am, she won't care what she has
for supper, or where she sits," said Muriel,
dropping wearily to a seat on the settle
beside the sleeping boy, on whom Mrs.
Bancroft's keen glance was fixed.

" Sup, oh, anywhere," said the latter some-
what impatiently, as she left the kitchen to
meet Sam in the passage. To him she put the
same question she had put to Margery, to be
answered again :

" A nurse-child of Maggy Blackburn's. She
couldn't leave it with those rough sons of hers,
so she brought him with her. She thought, as

* She. t Without.

SAM'S FIRST. 197

lie was but a little chap, we should not
mind."

"Maggy Blackburn all out ! " remarked the
old lady, seemingly satisfied with his ex-
planation, if not with Xurse Blackburn's easy
assurance ; and by the time their outer wraps
were removed, and the savoury supper
smoking on the board, her temporary irrita-
tion had vanished.

Still, her eyes strayed from her plate to the
sleeping boy, as if there was something in his
form or face which puzzled her ; and Sam was
not sorry when she proposed that the child
should be carried to bed, saying it was " not
fit to take the little fellow through the night
air at that hour, whoever he belonged to."

" Whew ! " he whistled to himself when
well clear of his mother's door, " that storm's
blown over ! If ever I neoflect to send for
the letters again may I be hanged ! And how
she looked at the lad. I'd stand a guinea to
know what she thought, that I would ! Well
I may tell Lydia the danger's over now,
thouirh it's been a close shave."

1 98 FOBBIBBEN TO MAR BY.

Thinking thus, and having escaped a
dreadful catastrophe, it was with lightened
feet and spirits he trod the uneven and wind-
ing way down Red Bank and Long Millgate,
under the shadow of gable-fronted cottages
(long since swept away), heedlessly stumbhng
over outlying steps, and at last coming into
violent collision with one of the ncAvly-
appointed watchmen as he turned the sharp
corner abruptly into Toad Lane, where he lived
in one of his mother's houses ; a row of which
rose with the rising ground on the right-hand
trending towards Hyde's Cross.

" Neaw then, tha drunken foo' ! What dost
mean?" blurted out angrily the custodian of
the peace, steadying himself on the narrow
path.

" Heiglio ! " cried Sam simultaneously and
prophetically, " I think tim might be called
'Dangerous Corner' with a vengeance ! " and he
gave himself a shake to restore his balance.

"A dangerous corner belike to thee, for
I've hauve a moind to tak' thee t' th' watch-
heause t' gie an acceawnt o' thisel' ; " and the

SAM'S FIB ST. 199

lantern went up into the disconcerted face of
Sam.

He liad to put his hand in his pocket to
find the heavily-coated man of lantern, rattle,
and many capes, a heal-all, and that sent him
home a little less elated, and the mollified
watchman contentedly on his way, bawling,
lustily, " Past ten o'clock, and a clear, dry
night ! "

Maggy Blackburn, a thin, lithe woman,
with cold, light grey eyes, and what had been
a ruddy face, dressed in a dark-blue linen bed-
gown (or loose jacket) and linsey petticoat,
with a white linen long-eared cap or mutch
to keep her straggling grey locks in order,
opened the door for him, and before he could
say, "How's Lydia? " began to ask " Wheer's
th' lad ? Theer's no gettin' tlioi wife to rest
till she knows he's safe in th' lieause."

At his answer, the woman, for many
reasons a privileged individual in that house-
hold, uplifted both hands and voice : " Thy
mother come back ! an' seen th' lad ! Eh !
]3ut I wouldna stand i' thy shoes, Sam Ban-

aoo FOEBIDDEy TO JfARBT.

eroft, fiir surnmai ! Tliy _iiu:^:r -ins cVcs ::
see throngb. a biick wa.^.

It was an ancient blac^:-?.!: :^- :::e tinil-er-
and-rubble house, with - _rs. cueer

tommss- ^ . . . r :

• -■ - - ^^ 01

various sizes. - ^

. _-" Ti'feoic J.

br beams.

..-?i :ran-

somed ^" - !-- : ' ^ --

;■■_—. or

tz:?:.!. - . - - - - _ -- .--:-"

- - ~-

^/V.' ' -■ " -.'.:...._"---";■

. T V -

iar into me :

serring to scr-

- ^ ~-

and maiTito^-

..- .

strai^ia^ oiize ::

. :/ --

qoiries. Out of thi- :

-_ .. --.- -

^r::l : :. np two or three

stairs, lav

:l.e snort passage to the

. : > the

toitnons staircase.

- -r

' - ^iamond-paned.

::.-

i fnmL Thi?:.

. - r_

: '- - — ' T fT?rfi?«hed as a best

r, and

~is ^r : aflmir:

. went

j; and it was :_

SAJiS FIBST. 2Z1

Avhere a light was burning on a snap-table,
Mr. Samuel had led the way, closing the door
before he had committed himself to answer ;
when he did it was with a sort of wink:

" But what if dust be thrown in the eyes,
Maggy?" and he slapped his thigh as if well
pleased at his own dust-throwing ; the wisdom
of the punch-bowl in his self-satisfied half-
shut optics.

"Some folks' eyes won't hold dust long.
They may be blinded for a bit, but they see
noan th' waur afterwards. I'd noan have
left Jem behind. Folk as have secrets conna
be too careful. But take thi shoon off an'
come gradely up the stairs, an tell Lydia it's
a' reet. She'll happen beUeve yo. I don't."

And if Samuel Bancroft could have known
how the face of that sleeping boy haunted
the pillow of his mother, as a vague dream
of somethinor remembered throusrh the mist
of years, he would not have assured his
anxious wife so ghbly that it was " all right."

His confidence, however, served to set poor
Lydia's aching heart at rest for the time, and

202 FORBIDDEN TO MAR BY.

when lie kissed lier and the babe and said
'' good-night," and went off lo the spare bed-
room, she closed her eyelids and went to
sleep contentedly ; with none of the mis-
givings that had tronbled her mind for years,
and which somehow seemed transferred to
the brain of Sarah Bancroft.

Even with the many cares of her large
bnsiness on her mind — business which she was
no longer assured had been under vigilant
supervision in her long absence, and which
summoned her from sleep to work-rooms and
ware-rooms at five in the morning, when the
workmen entered the o;ate — she thought of
him ; nay, even in the midst of calculations
during her hasty breakfast, she could pause
to watch the boy eating ]iis bowl of porridge
by the side of Muriel, and ask his name.

" Jem," was the shy ]'esponse.

"Jem what?"

" Maggy's Jem."

" And what besides ? "

"Mammy's Jem."

" And who's your mammy ? "

SAM'S FIB ST. 203

The boy looked with wondering eyes from
Mrs. Bancroft to Muriel, but only replied,
" Why, mammy's mammy."

He knew no more, and he could tell no
more.

6,0

^6

CIIAPTEPt XL
Muriel's eeturx home.

W^T was well ^luriel had been schooled
^ m self-control, for tlie morning passed,
noon came, dinner was despatched, and yet
Mrs. Bancroft, who had sent for the delayed
letters, could not spare time from Jier own
pressing concerns to accompany the girl
home, and slie had forbidden her to go
alone.

She took little Jem by the hand into the
shed and warehouse to show how furs were
dressed and prepared. The powdered lime,
the smells, and the fluff soon drove them
back. Tiien, keeping him still with her, she
w^ent for a stroll down Eoger's Brow to see
her cousin Milly — or Millicent — Hargreaves,
whose father's dyeworks lay almost behind
Mrs. Bancroft's place, but close to the river

MURIELS BETUBX HOME. 205

side, his house adjoining the works. They
went through great gates, and a grassy croft
set with rows of stout posts that bristled with
spiky hooks, into a wet yard overlooked by
the buildings which covered in the dye-pits,
where men in coarse woollen overshirts, and
thick clumsv leo-aino-s, Avith bare arms all red,
or brown, or blue, went clattering about
in clogs away from the carboys and dye
stuffs, hanging up dripping hanks of yarn or
pieces of clotli on the lines or tenter-hooks
to dry, and the boy stared on all with won-
dering eyes.

When they had picked their way to the
house, Muriel was sorry to hear that Milly
was away, but Mrs. Hargreaves found them
some cake and promised tliat Milly should
soon come to see her in Broom Street ; and
as they went back through the yard they
were met by the dyer himself, as roagh-look-
inof with his cloo's and lei^sfinijs and indisjo-
stained arms, as one of his own workpeople.

He shook hands heartily witli Muriel,
leaving his mark on her palm, asked a

2o6 FOBS IB BEN TO MABBY.

few questions, then, eyeing the boy askance,
patted him on the head, saying :

" And what httle chap's this ? He favours
thi Uncle Sam, I'll be hanged if he don't."

"He comes from Waverham. A woman
they call Maggy Blackburn brought him with
her. He says his name's Jem, and does not
seem to know any other."

" Oh I " was all his acknowledgment of
Muriel's answer ; but when she went away,
disappointed at not seeing Milly, he looked
after them and crave a long: whistle.

The banks of the Irk were not then all
built upon. There were green spots here
and there. She gathered a bunch of wild
spring-flowers as they went back, for the
chattering little one ; then in the house again,
sat down to sing ballads and hymns, and to
play on the harpsichord, as much to still her
impatience as to amuse the child.

She had a marvellously musical voice, and
as its liquid notes floated through the rooms,
Margery put down her work to listen ; and,
putting her head in at the open door, said:

MUniEUS BETUBN HOME. 207

" Ell ! but aw fair thowt it wur an ano-el
singin', aw did ! "

'• I don't feel very like an angel, Margery,"
she said witli a laugh. " My feet are tingling
with impatience to be off," and she rose to
consult the tall kitchen clock, as she had done
many times during the morning.

For not only was she most impatient to see
those from whom she had been so long parted,
but she feared to incur her father's displeasure
and excite her dearly-loved mother's anxiety
bv lins^erino- there, now that her return to
Manchester was known.

Yet it was close upon three o'clock before
Mrs. Bancroft looked into the front parlour,
where Muriel sat with little Jem in the window-
seat, showing the pictures in the big Family
Bible (which apart from order-book and
ledger constituted the family library), to keep
him quiet, and said : " Be sharp and put your
things on, and that lad's too. We may leave
him at your Aunt Lydia's as we go."

Be sure no second bidding was needed.
Up started Muriel, forgetting in her haste to

2oS FORBIDDEX TO MAURY.

put back the big Bible in its place on the
bureau. It went no farther than the table,
and there Sarah Bancroft found it at night.
She was closing it with a mental reproof of
Muriel's carelessness, when lier eye was caught
by a word or two of the large type. She sat
down ; the resolve made in Chester by her
grandchild's bedside came freshly to mind.
The c^reat book which had lain so loner on the
bureau unopened, like so many a Family
Bible, as a sort of dumb guarantor of the
family Christianity, the silent custodian of
its religion, lay with the seventh chapter
of Matthew open before her, to strike, as it
were, a shaft into her soul :

"Judge not, that ye be not judged."
Was it Muriel who had been careless or
herself? Muriel had left the book open, she
had more carelessly left it closed.

She sat down, and read, and pondered ;
that woman whose faith was in herself, whose
soul was in her business, and as she read
begfan to wonder if she was buildiiifi: her
liouse on the rock, or on the sand?

MUBIErS BETURN HOME. 209

Howsoever slie answered the question to
herself, she was more careful of the sacred
volume in the future. During the week she
was at business from early morning until late
at night, but every Sunday afternoon, when
she was alone, it came from its long resting-
place to be read and studied.

Xot too soon. There were disturbing in-
fluences at work, and the woman who had
rested on herself so long, needed to find
" the shadow of a great rock in a weary
land."

But we are hastening too fast through that
busy day. Muriel was well pleased to find
her grandmother in a hurry : her own young
feet had such a tendency to outstrip both
the younger and the older ones.

Curious as Muriel had been to know what
sort of a person was her Uncle Sam's wife,
the introduction to the new aunt and cousin
in the darkened room was soon over, and left
her not much the wiser. The face she saw on
the pillow had a sort of faded prettiness,
thouo^h there was an ingrained colour on her

VOL. I. P

2IO FOBBIDBEN TO MABRY.

clieeks, and the lips were close set when not
speaking. And she was surely more than
twenty-five, thought the niece, who had been
told her age. But she had no desire to linger ;
even the pink baby had no charm to hold her
that afternoon.

Indeed she thought her grandmother
wasted time asking the queer nurse unneces-
sary questions about little Jem, and it was
with quiet satisfaction that she gave him a
kiss and wished him "good-bye," her face
radiant with hope and expectation.

Yet the questions Sarah Bancroft had put
to Maggy Blackburn had staggered the
Waver ham nurse, and her close set eyes
contracted under catechism. She w^as,
however, equal to any emergency, and
her answers were satisfactorily true to the
letter if not to the spirit. The catastrophe
was averted — for the time.

With head erect, as befitted Miss Briscoe's
pupil, Muriel tripped on lightly, glad that her
grandmother only nodded to people she met
in the crowded thoroughfare about Hyde's

MURIEL'S BETUny HOME. 211

Cross, instead of stopping to speak ; but when
at length the exclusive posts and chains of
Broom Street were gained, and she saw lier
father standing without hat on their own
doorstep, all Miss Briscoe's lessons in
deportment were forgotten.

Children even in their teens were kept at
formidable distances in those days, but human
nature is stronger than custom. Muriel set
off at a run to throw herself into his arms.
Had she been alone he might have closed
tliem round her in a fatherly embrace, for
tliere is no doubt he had missed her. But the
irritation of the previous night had not
passed away with the fumes of John D'Anyer's
])()tations. He had been called to order in the
open street before both his own friends and
common porters. He had been unwarrantably
taxed with ungentlemanlike neglect, and any-
thing more galling to the great foible of the
fustian manufacturer was not possible. He
had gone in from the wareliouse to the noon-
tide meal expecting to fnid his long absent
daughter dutifully waiting to salute him with

r 2

212 FORBIDDEN TO MAliBY.

filial respect and affection. Her absence he
had construed into a want of both, on her
part, and as an intentional affront on that
of Mrs. Bancroft. His amiable little ivife
had only made matters worse by suggesting
excuses.

Several matters had gone wrong in the
warehouse that afternoon— pieces of fustian
had been spoiled in the cutting, and it did
not improve matters Avhen he came in the
house at four o'clock for his tea, and saw
no signs of Muriel. Instead of sitting down,
he walked nnpatiently to the front door,
and thus it was that the girl's open-armed
advance received a check.

" I think, Miss, as you have been so long
in findmg your way home, you might almost
as well go back where you came from."

" 0 father ! " exclaimed Muriel in a tone
of deep disappointment, as she clasped her
open hands together in pain, and stopped
short.

"She can do that, John D'Anyer, if she be
not welcome here I " cried Mrs. Bancroft,

M URIEL'S PiETUUy HOME. 2 1 3

coming iij) in time to hear liim. " And if
that's all the greeting thah has for the lass
who pined for the sight of you all, till she
could not eat her dinner, I think she's likely
to go back sooner than thah counts for."

But Muriel had seen another figure in the
liall, and flying past her father, who made
way for her, was locked in the embrace of
her dear mother, deaf and blind to all the
world besides.

Sisters too, just home from school, book-
bag and slate in hand, came rushing in
the back way to surround and overwhelm her
with kisses and questions, and drag her into
the back sitting-room, where the tea-table
was set, the toast and teapot being kept warm
on a brass stool in front of the fire.

Meanwhile John D'Anyer, bowing stiffly to
his v/ife's mother, ushered her ceremoniously
into the front parlour before she spoke
another word.

Much less ceremonious, she began first —

" See thi, John, I took that dear good
lass away because I saw there was no proper

214 FORBIDDEN TO MABUY.

place for her either on thy hearth or in tliy
heart. And if "

She was interrupted.

" May I ask, madam, on what grounds you
thus heap insult on indignity? You profess
to have gauged my heart. I'm afraid you
have not gauged my patience, which is not
so long as to tolerate unfounded accusations
even from Mrs. Bancroft, no later than last
night."

It was her turn to interrupt.

" Stay, John ; Sam was to blame for that.
I had written desirino- iliee or him to be on
the quay to meet the packet. It was not
until we had parted in the Market Place that
I discovered tliah wert not in fault — that my
letter was still at the Post Office— had not
been sent for, in fact — and I am sorry I spoke
so hastily. But I found what politeness an
unknown old w^oman was likely to have met
from thee and tlii friends — and I found
Samuel amongst the roysterers."

The listener bowed in acknowledi^ment of
the apology, reddened as he found the tables

MURIELS EETURy HOME. 215

turned upon him, but smiled covertly when
Sam Avas mentioned.

" Ah, yes ! wetting the child's head in John
Shaw's punch ! "

" Ay, and disturbing his own ! Now, John
D'Anyer," and she laid her mittened hand
upon his coat sleeve, " thah'st a strong head
and can stand carousing. Sam is not used to
it. He would not have o-one to the Punch

o

House but for thee. Don't thah lead him
into bad habits."

Astonishment, incredulity, scorn, sat on her
interlocutor's handsome visao-e. He waved,
his hand loftily.

*' Mr. Samuel Bancroft, madam, is not one-
to be led. Leading strings are not for men of
his years and cool temperament. Mr. Samuel
may certainly be trusted to take care of
himself."

" So I thounrht till last nitrht." And Mrs.
Bancroft untied her bonnet strings, and sat
down meditatively.

But he said no more, not even that he-
found his brother-in-law at the Punch House

2i6 FORBIDDEN TO MAE BY.

before him ; such admission being contrary
to his code of honour. And he scarcely
came down from his stilts all the evening,
though he did take Muriel in his arms at last,
did extol her growth and upright carriage,
and sent her to her sisters in a Hush of
delight. But he spoiled all by saying before
she was fairly out of hearing, "What a fright
that cropped head makes of the lass." He
had last seen her with her hair rippling in
waves below her waist.

'' Be thankful you've got tlie lass back safe,
crop or no crop," jerked out the old woman,
who had been talking to her daughter about
Lydia and just overheard him.

"Aye, mother,'' assented the younger one,
as she poured out the tea, "we may be well
content to let her hair go, so that we have
her back safe and sound, seeing she has
been so ill."

"Tchut! What has tliat to do with the
lass beino' a fright ? Would you have me
thankful for tliat ? Women have no sense ! "
Then having vented his explosive, John

MURIEL'S BETURX HOME. 217

D'Anyer turned the conversation, " Did you
do any trade in Chester before you came
back?" And Mrs. Bancroft, launching into
her natural theme, lost her irritation.

This was not a very auspicious home-coming
for Muriel. She could not forget her glimpse
through the sedan window of her father and
his companions, or the fright she had before
he was recognized, and he, on his part, could
not forget that she had so seen him. The
want of cordiality in his first greeting was
followed by a restraint not observed tow^ards
the others. He was conscious that his eldest
daughter had seen him at a disadvantage, had
seen him guilty of an act of discourtesy to
an elderly stranger in the street, and wounded
self-esteem suggested that her respect for him
and his authority would thereby be lessened.
In the clear eyes which said plainly enough,
" Why am I not loved like the rest? " he read
only the glance of a searching spirit to probe
his soul, and not feeling comfortable himself,
he was not likely to set her at ease. Added
to that, the Eeign of Terror in France, and

2iS FORBIDDEN TO MAR BY.

t]ic declaration of war with that country,
affected Ensflish commerce, and he beaan to
feel it. Annoyance on 'Change or in the ware-
house meant irritability at home, and polite
sarcasm on his own hearth, of which Ellen
had hitherto had the chief benefit. Xow,
Muriel, throwing herself, as it were, as a soft
cushion between them, came in for more than
a share of his ill-humours and suspicions, nay,
the very alacrity with which she ran to
anticipate his wishes only increased his
disfavour. " A pair of meek lacke3^s with-
out a grain of spirit," he styled them on one
occasion in his scornful cups ; and yet the
man could be generous and noble on occasion.
Nor were her sisters more amiable after the
first few days. They felt themselves super-
seded, and began to be jealous of her superior
manner and accomplishments, as one after
another, aunts and cousins, came in and
noticed her and her needle-work with out-
spoken admiration. Not so much the silken
nosegay on the wall, in its circular gold frame,
no prettily reflected in the circular convex

MUBIEL'S BEITRX HOME. 219

mirror opposite between the velvet curtained
windows, or the filio^ree-basket on the folded
card table beneath the mirror, or the pair of
tent-stitch footstools guarding the polished
steel fender ; as the embroidered portrait,
which she sat in the light of one window
to finish.

It was this, which being a novelty, eclipsed
the nosegay; and was pronounced far beyond
competition by the fingers of either cousin
or sister. It was a tangible evidence of her
superior endowments ; since such work was
only turned out of schools of high standing ;
and the minor matters of grammar, history,
geography and arithmetic were thereby
guaranteed.

Moreover, it was a well painted picture of
a comely girl in a white dress, crimson shoes
and sash, adorned with a gold-rimmed locket
set with pearls, and with a glorious mass of
brown hair flowing and rippling far below
her waist. Overarching trees and a back-
ground of bushes threw out the graceful
figure, which seemed in motion as did the

220 FOEBIDDEX TO MaBBY.

fluttering canary on her linger, the ribbon
^vhR'h seemed to hold it safe, tlie floating
ends of her sash, and the folds of her ^vhite
robe.

The artist had quite been equal to his
task, and the portraiture was faithful.

Marion and Anna envied the distinction.
T\'hat right had she to have her portrait
taken any more than they I And the feeling
oozed out one day when Milly Hargreaves
was present, admiring the picture, of which
the hair, flesh, and sky were as the painter
left them.

'• It's well the painter put no marks on
the skin to spoil its beauty,"' said Anna
spitefully.

" Painters never do, even in large pictures,"
answered observant Milly. '* Didn't the
painter leave the wart off Cromwell's
face?"

" Well, I'm sure Muriel's hair was never so
long or beautiful as that I " asserted Marion,
whose raven locks only rested on her
shoulders.

MUBIELS BETUEX HOME. 221

" I dare say it was," struck in little Sara
chivalrously, seeing the crimson rising in
good-natured Muriel's cheeks ; " Didn't you
cry when they cut it all off? "

"No love, I was too ill/' And Muriel
sighed.

"Never mind, Muriel. It is sure to grow
again," said Milly, reassuringly, as she noticed
the moisture ofatherincr in the mild brown
eyes.

" I don't mind my hair, ^Wly — that is —
(she corrected herself) I should not mind,
but father does not like me without it ; " and
the moisture rounded to a tear.

" That's a very pretty locket," said Milly,
still looking at the picture, with a kindly
desire to change the subject ; "Have you one
like it?" ^

" Yes, the lady whose chaise broke down
in Delamere Forest, gave it to me."

" Gave it to you ? What for ? "

"You may well ask what for? " jerked out
Marion. "People are always giving her
things. What did mother give her the old

222 FOR BIDDEN TO MAE BY.

silver-clasped Bible for, I sliould like to
know?"

" All, and grandmother gave lier a fur-
muff and tippet, but she didn't give us any ! "
added Anna, crossly.

" Perhaps she will wlien you are older ; "
suggested Milly ; " but 1 sliould like to see
the locket and hear all about it." And when
she did hear all about it, Milly, who was half
a year older and a bit of a sentimentalist,
went into ecstasies about the romantic adven-
ture, and the handsome young officer
cotniected therewith, running into a whole
chapter of possibilities and probabilities. At
which Miss Marion again turned up her long-
nose.

From this it will be seen that kindliness
did not spring up in Muriel's path at
liome.

Little Sara loved her, clung to her, slept
in her arms at night, followed her about in
the day, came to her hornbook in hand for
lielp up the first and hardest steps to know-
ledge, or for a romp when work was over,

MURIEL'S EETUBX HOME. 223

but Marion and Anna took the cue from
their father and in small indescribable ways
strove ••' to bring the lady down a peg,"
especially Anna, who for some occult
reason was his favourite.

At the same time they did not hesitate to
take her gifts, or to tax her skill and obliging-
nature to the uttermost, and scarcely gave
thanks for the willing service.

Besides Sara the only appreciative being in
the household was her mother, and her smile
was Muriel's ample reward. Was John
D'Anyer's fastidious palate to be catered for,
or baking, pickling, preserving, wine-making
about, Muriel's untiring activity might be
counted on ; but whence came her patience
and cheeriness under discouragement only
her good mother knew.

She, however, had not been at home quite
a fortnight, when her mother, whose stay-at-
home habits were proverbial, taking advan-
tage of her husband's absence on a business
journey, and of a line da}^ said slie thouglit it
was about time she went to see Lydia, and

224 FOBBIBDEN TO MAEEY.

that if Muriel felt inclined she miglit bear
her company.

The April sunshine was not brighter than
the smile of Muriel as she tripped upstairs for
her hat and cloak, and she carried something
of the sunshine into the quaint old house and
the shaded chamber where sat Lydia in a big
easy-chair between the heavily draped four-
post bed and the fire. She was wrapped in a
blanket, had a pillow beneath lier feet, and
pillows behind her, all tokens of Maggy Black-
burn's good nursing. Little Jem seated on a
low stool by the fender had fallen fast asleep
with his head resting against her knee. Her
right hand lay caressingly on his head when
they opened the door, but it was calmly folded
in the other across her waist when they
had made the circuit of the bed, and stood
before her.

"How do you do. Aunt?" said Muriel in
a low voice, accompanied by a graceful
courtesy.

" How do you fmd [yourself by this t,ime,
Lydia ? " was Mrs. D'Anyer's first salutation,

MUniELS BETUnX HOME. 225

as she held her hand to the fire to take the
chill off before offering it to her sister-in-
law ; " your nurse says you are both doing
well."

" Aye, pretty well. But I thought you had
forgotten me, Ellen," was the faint reply.

" Nay, I had not. Rheumatism came with
the March winds, as usual, so I had to wait
for fine weather and less pain, or you Avould
have seen me sooner. So that's the little lad
your nurse brought with her," Mrs. D'Anyer
exclaimed, as the boy's brown head caught
her attention. " I think she took a great
liberty. Don't you? "

" Oh, no," answered Lydia, with the least
possible tremour in her voice, which her
hearers ascribed to weakness, " we knew she
could not come without him."

" But what induced you to send so far for
a nurse so encumbered ? I could have recom-
mended a very trustworthy person close
at hand ; Mother tells me she comes
from Delamere, from the very heart of the
forest."

VOL. I. Q

226 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

Lydia shifted her head as if to change her
position, and shade her face from the fire
which had leapt into a bLaze. " Well, her
house is a goodish step from Waverham, but
I've known Maggy all my life, and thought
I should hke her better than a strano^er,''
was answered wearily.

At that moment in came the said Macfo-y,
with cake and caudle on a tray for the visitors,
checking Mrs. D'Anyer's next remark,
"Mother says she has a very queer — "
before the words " character from the
Kingsley's," could be spoken. But whether
Maggy overheard tlie speech or divined the
thought, both Muriel and her mother were
struck Avith the searching and anything but
pleasant gleam of her hght ^rey eyes, which
seemed as though they would transfix the
arrested speaker, whilst she bent her long
back to wait upon them.

And Muriel thought the long ears of her
linen mutch flapped as if shaken, whilst she
interposed with the voice of one in authority,
"Yo' munna talk so much, Lydia, till yo're

MURIELS BETURN HOME. 227

stronger — and maybe ma'am, as yo' seem to
be a mother yo'll bear me out. Oi've not
ower much, loikin' for early visitors mysel',
they dun moore harm than good."

" Hush, Maggy," feebly remonstrated Mrs.
Sam, " that lady is Mrs. D'Anyer, my sister-in-
iaw ; and I have not been talking much."

" Moore than yo' shouldn' oi've a notion,"
put in the woman with another strange look.

Mrs. D'Anyer rose, there was small induce-
ment to prolong her visit. " Show us the
infant, nurse," she said, with some little dig-
nity, " and then we will retire."

The sleeping infant was lifted out of bed
for inspection, duly kissed and admired, and
then Muriel said : " I will come and nurse her
for you, if mother will allow me, aunt. I
used to nurse my poor brother George. How
I wish she was a boy. Don't you, aunt? "

The aunt's reply was inaudible.

" You must not tease your aunt," said her
mother, putting a gratuity in the hand of
Maggy Blackburn, and then they departed.
Neither observed that there were tears on the

Q 2

228 FOIiBIDDEN TO MABRY.

laslies of Lydia's closed eyes, or that her hand
went back in a caress to the head of the still
sleeping boy against her knee, as they turned
away. Did she too wish that her first-
born had been a boy ?

"- We may as well walk on to Eed Bank,
now I am out, as your father will not be
home until to-morrow, and after dinner you
can run and see your cousin Milly, Avhilst I
have a quiet hour with your grandmother.'*
said Mrs. D'Anyer, turning down-hill towards
Long Millgate, then a long, narrow and busy
thoroughfare, between houses of all shapes
and sizes, from the new red-brick mansion to
the ricketty frame-built cottage of the work-
ing man; some up steps some down steps,
wdth here and there a bay- windowed shop,
where the lic^ht strucfgled throus^h small
panes set in thick frames. On the left, dark
entries and narrow alleys ran steeply down
the sand-stone bank to the very margin
of the river Irk and shut it out of sight.
Shut out of sight too if not of smell,
the tanneries and dye-houses also on its

MURIELS PiETURN HOME. 229

margin, and the fair gardens and bleach-crofts
across the stream.

Two or three streets broke the Une on the
townward side ; and on both, more than one
painted sign intimated that there might be
had " good entertainment for man and
beast."

On the lowest and ontside step of one of
these (the Qneen Anne, whose painted Q^gj
over the door was in good preservation)
stood James Hargreaves, with his sleeves
rolled np, his bare arms yellow with fustic,
his leather breeches and leggings displaying
samples of many dyes, jnst as rough-looking as
when at his own works, more than a quarter
of a mile away. He was, however, well
known, and appearances were nothing to him,
whatever they might be to his companion, a
bleacher named Walker, whose croft lay across
the unseen river, but whose attire showed
no such intimacy with his vats and bucking
keirs. Their two wives were closely related
and they had business connections likewise
to draw them too-ether.

230 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

" Wliy, Ellen, is that tliee ! the sight's good
for sore een ! What's brouc^ht thee so far ? "
and out went the great yellow hand to grip
hers heartily.

Before she could answer that she had " been
to see how Lydia was getting on," the
bleacher had also put forth a claim to notice ;
and James Hargreaves, chucking his niece
under the chin with a couple of yellow fingers,,
said in a tone of pleasant banter : " So, Muriel^
lass, you've begun betimes ! Milly says you
picked up a sweetheart in the wilds of
Delamere : nothing less than a liandsome
young officer ; and under tlie very nose of
your grandmother ! "

Muriel was abashed; her colour rose. She
could only say, " Oh, uncle I " in a tone of
remonstrance.

Her mother came to her aid . " Don't talk
such nonsense to the girl, James. And your
Milly ought to know better. Muriel was not
twelve years old when she met those people
in Delamere, and it is more than three years
since she saw one of them."

MUBIEUS BETUUX HOME. 231

As if reminded by association Avith
Delamere, he remembered Lydia, and
remembered something else. " I say,
didn't thah see th' httle lad from Waver-
ham at Sam's ? " he asked curiously.

"Yes, surely."

" What dost a' think of him ? "

" He was asleep, with his head against
Lydia's knee ; I did not see his face."

"Then Lydia taks to th' lad? Oho!
Well look at him when thah goes again,
and tell us."

And with a nod, and a chuckle, and an
injunction that they should " go and see th'
old woman and Mill}^" he turned into the
Queen Anne, after Mr. Walker, leaving both
Mrs. D'Anyer and Muriel to wonder what
there was remarkable to see in the boy.

There was the tinkle of a Avorkyard bell, then
of another, and another, a clatter of clogs on
the stony pavement, of voices hailing one
another, and the roads were alive with men
and women, lads and lasses, and poor wee
children hurrying home from dye works,

232 FOIiBIDDEN TO MAIiRY.

bleach works, tanneries, factories, bearing all
some tokens of tlieir various callings in dress
or person, tlie stains of some, the odour or
the fluff of others.

" Poor little things," said Muriel, as two
barefooted and raixu'ed urchins of nine or ten
years ran against her at the corner, " how
hard it must be for them to get up at four in
the morning and work in a buzzing factory
all day, when the sun is shining in the sky
and there are buttercups in the meadows.
I never thouoiit how much worse other
children were off than myself, when I was
at Miss Briscoe's."

"No, my dear, we are all naturally selfish,
and in our own sorrows are apt to forget the
greater ones of others ; perhaps because we
know and feel our own, and can only imagine
those of others. But we must make haste
or your grandmother will have sat down
to dinner before we get there."

In another minute they were on Scothmd
Bridge ; there was another stoppage. Samuel
Bancroft hastening home to his dinner met them.

MURIELS RETURN HOME. 233

After ordinary greetings, Mrs. D'Anyer
began :

" Sam, whose boy is that at your house?
James Hargreaves has just asked me to look
at him and say "

Sam scowled. " Hang James Hargreaves ! "
he cried irritably. " Let him mind his own
business. What's Maggy Blackburn's nurse-
child to him, or to you either ? " he added
sharply, " that's Maggy's affair. / never asked
her."

" Well, Sam, you need not get into a pas-
sion, I only repeated Avliat "

Again Sam interrupted :

" Yes, only repeated. That's the way mischief
is made. I reckon you're going up to Eed
Bank to 'only repeat' there. But I tell \o\\
what, Ellen, and you, Muriel, too, you'd best
not say anything you see or hear about my
house up tliere^ or you'll fmd yourselves in
the Avrong box ; " and with a monitory nod
he stalked on.

He was not given to think aloud, or to
mutter as he went, but with his lips close

-54

lOEBZi'i'Zy 10 mai:f:t.

set. his thoughts kept pace with his steps,

and thus they ran :

" Hang it all ! This comes of giving way

to Lydia. A pretty coil iherell be if mother

gets hold of the clue. It was sure some imp

of mischief kept me from the Post Office that

day, and sent the poor little lad right in

mother s way. It's confoundedly awkward !

confoundedly ! " And whilst he meditated he

scratched his chin, and looked vacantly at

the ground as he went. Presently a cunning

gleam shot into his eyes : he had found a

cause for self-oxatulation. *• Ir was lucts"
»_ •

I met Ellen and Muriel. I've got to know
what's in the wind, and that's something.
And I think IVe fricfhtened both of them
into silence- Xeither one or the other has
the courage of a mouse, and Pd lay odds
they say nothing to mother that's likely to
come back to me.''

He was right so far, that nothing was said,
but whether from lack of courage, or from
lack of interest in the subject, or the pressure
of more interesting topics, is another matter.

MURIELS BETURX HOME. 235

Ellen L'Anyer had certainly remarked to
Muriel :

" Your Uncle Sam seems put out about that
boy. And no wonder. He's not overfond of
children, and I daresay he is savage at the
nurse bringing another person's child into his
house to be kept. Perhaps your grandmother
has been grumbhng about it. I know she said
it wa:- like Maggy Blackburn's impudence
to bring it. So we had best say nothing
about it, we may only make mischief. Lydia
seems half afraid of the woman ; and it's not
safe to offend her, seeinsr how often your
father lias to cross the forest and the rough
character of her two sons. You know they
narrowly escaped the gallows over the attack
on that captain's servant."

" Yes, Mrs. Kins^slev told me. She said
there had been some false swearing or they
would never have got off. Perhaps Aunt
Lydia only had her for a nurse, on account
of Uncle Sam's travelling."

However this might be. Uncle Sam's
courage led him to disturb his sick wife's

236 FORBIDDEN TO MARRY.

serenity that day by grumbling at the
presence of both Maggy and little Jem, and
to eat his dinner with no worse relish for
leaving her in tears.

And when Muriel went a few days later to
inquire after her Aunt Lydia, she found her
downstairs, weak and low spirited, with a fret-
ful child, and no nurse or attendant but a
rouo-h servant-lass not more than fourteen.

Sam had " bundled Maggy and the boy
both off," with little apparent regard either
for his wife's condition or her tears.

Lydia did not say this, she merely explained
that "Maggy Blackburn was obliged to go
back to Cheshire ; and I am very sorry, for I
cannot keep baby quiet."

" Let me try," said Muriel, and walking
about the room witli tlie velvet face nestled
to her own she lulled it to sleep after a time.
'Til en seeing that Lydia was making feeble
.attempts to " put the disordered room to
rights," she bade her sit down and she would
•do it.

When Sam came in for his tea he saw

MURIEL'S BETUBX HOME. 237

Muriel installel in the place of Maggy Black-
burn, with her mother's approval, she having
hurried home to obtain it.

"I found Aunt Lydia all alone, with the
baby crying on her lap, and her eyes were
red as if she was fretting over her own
inability to manage it," she had said, nothing
doubting her own accuracy.

Fretting, from whatever cause, is not con-
ducive to a patient's recovery, and quite
three more weeks elapsed before Lydia was
strong enough to take charge of her own
household affairs.

"You're born for a nurse, Muriel, in spite of
your grandmother," Sam had said before she
had been there many days ; Lydia had seemed to
appreciate the gentleness of her tone, manner,
and movements, and the unwonted daintiness
with which lier meals were served ; and both
were hearty and sincere in their thanks when
she left; but for all that she had a lurking
suspicion that tiiey would feel her absence
a relief.

'' Tlierc's no place like home, mother dear,"

238 FORBIDDEN TO MABRY.

said she, as slie untied her bonnet-strings in
their own snug sitting-room ; "I did not feel
much hke home at Uncle Sam's ; and I don't
think Aunt Lydia feels so either, she sighed
so heavily if I chanced to mention Delamere
or the Kingsleys, or the Wynnes ; I could
see she checked herself in speaking and shut
her mouth tight. She never seems free and
open, but always under some restraint,
especially when Uncle Sam is there ; and I
am afraid she is unhappy."

" May be so, my dear, long courtships and
late marriages do not always ensure felicity,
whatever yowv grandmother may think."

Nor did early and hasty ones, if her own
might be taken as a sample. Not that John
D'Anyer did not estimate his wife in his best
moods. But he set so much larger an esti-
mate on himself, was so thoroughly imbued
with personal vanity, and his claim to gentility
— though his own father was only a manu-
facturer— had such extravagant ideas of his
supreme right as lord and master to worship
and obedience, and was so easily flattered out

MURIEL'S BETURN HOME. 239

of doors into excesses which sent him home in
his worst moods, that the poor little v/ife
might have been excused had she joined her
mother in deprecating early marriages.

END OF VOL. I.

u,

/Si.i'v'^ik