18 A more beautiful October morning than that of the next day never beamed into the well and valleys. The early dissolution of leafage was setting in apace. The foliage of the park trees rapidly resolved itself into the multitude of complexions which marked the subtle grades of decay, reflecting wet lights of such innumerable hues, that it was a wonder to think of beauty's only a repetition of scenes that had been exhibited there on scores of previous October's, and had been allowed to pass away without a single dirge from the imperturbable beings who walked among them. Far in the shadows semi-opaque screens of blue haze made mysteries of the commonest gravel-pit, dingle, or recess. The wooden cabin at the foot of Ringshill Spear had been furnished by swithin' as a sitting-and-sleeping apartment, some little while before this time, for he had found it highly convenient during night observations at the top of the column to remain on the spot all night, not to disturb his grandmother by passing in and out of the house and to save himself the labour of incessantly crossing the field. He would much have liked to tell her the secret, and had it been his own to tell, would probably have done so, but sharing it with an objector who knew not his grandmother's affection so well as he did himself, there was no alternative to holding his tongue. The more effectually to guard it, he decided to sleep at the cabin during the two or three nights previous to his departure, leaving word at the homestead that in a day or two he was going on an excursion. It was very necessary to start early. Long before the great eye of the sun was lifted high enough to glance into the well and valley, St. Cleaver rose from his bed in the cabin and prepared it apart, cooking his breakfast upon a little stove in the corner. The young rabbits, littered during the foregoing summer, watched his preparations to the open door from the grey dawn without, as he bustled half-dressed in and out under the boughs and among the blackberries and brambles that grew around. It was a strange place for a bridegroom to perform his toilettine, but considering the unconventional nature of the marriage, a not inappropriate one. What events had been enacted in that errant camp since it was first thrown up nobody could say, but the primitive simplicity of the young man's preparations accorded well with the prehistoric spot on which they were made. Embedded under his feet were possibly even now lewd trinkets that had been worn at bridal ceremonies of the early inhabitants. Little signified those ceremonies today, or the happiness or otherwise of the contracting parties. That his own right, nevertheless signified much, was the inconsequent reasoning of swithing, as it is of many another bridegroom besides, and he, like the rest, went on with his preparations in that mood which sees in his stale repetition the wondrous possibilities of an untried move. Then through the wet cobwebs that hung like movable diaphragms on each blade and bow, he pushed his way down to the furrow, which led from the fir tree island to the wide world beyond the field. He was not a stranger to enterprise, and still less to the contemplation of enterprise, but in enterprise such as this he had never even outlined. That his dear lady was troubled at the situation he had placed her in by not going himself on that errant he could see from her letter, but believing an immediate marriage with her to be the true way of restoring to both that equanimity necessary to Syrian philosophy, he held it of little account how the marriage was brought about, and happily began his journey towards her place of sojourn. He passed through a little copse before leaving the parish, the smoke from newly lit fires rising like the stems of blue trees out of the few cottage chimneys. Here he heard a quick, familiar footstep in the path ahead of him, and turning the corner of the bushes confronted a foot-post on his way to Welland. In answer to St. Cleaves's query, if there was anything for himself, the postman handed out one letter, and proceeded on his route. Swithin opened and read the letter as he walked, till he had brought him to a standstill by the importance of its contents. They were enough to agitate a more fligmatic youth than he. He lent over the wicket which came in his path, and endeavored to comprehend the sense of the whole. The large long envelope contained first a letter from a solicitor in a northern town, informing him that his paternal great-uncle, who had recently returned from the Cape, wither he had gone in an attempt to repair a broken constitution, was now dead and buried. This great-uncle's name was like a new creation to Swithin. He had held no communication with the young man's branch of the family for innumerable years, never in fact since the marriage of Swithin's father with his simple daughter of Welland Farm. He had been a bachelor to the end of his life, and had amassed a fairly good professional fortune by a long and extensive medical practice in the smoky, dreary manufacturing town in which he had lived and died. Swithin had always been taught to think of him as the embodiment of all that was unpleasant in man. He was narrow, sarcastic, and shrewd to unseemliness. That very shrewdness had enabled him, without much professional profundity, to establish his large and lucrative connection, which lay almost entirely among a class who neither looked nor cared for drawing-room courtesies. However, what Dr. St. Cleave had been as a practitioner matters little. He was now dead, and the bulk of his property had been left to persons with whom this story has nothing to do. But Swithin was informed at out of it. There was a request of six hundred pounds a year to himself, the payment of which was to begin with his twenty-first year, to continue for his life unless he should marry before reaching the age of twenty-five. In a latter precocious and objectionable event his annuity would be forfeited. The accompanying letter, said the solicitor, would explain all. This, the second letter, was from his uncle to himself, written about a month before the former's death and deposited with his will, to be forwarded to his nephew when that event should have taken place. Swithin read, with the solemnity that such posthumous epistles inspire, the following words from one who, during life, had never once addressed him. Dear nephew, you will doubtless experience some astonishment at receiving a communication from one whom you have never personally known, and who, when it comes into your hands, will be beyond the reach of your knowledge. Perhaps I am the loser by this lifelong mutual ignorance, and perhaps I am much to blame for it, perhaps not. But such reflections are profitless at this date. I have written with quite other views than to work up a sentimental regret on such an amazingly remote hypothesis, as that the fact of a particular pair of people not meeting among the millions of other pairs of people who have never met is a great calamity either to the world in general or to themselves. The occasion of my addressing you is briefly this. Nine months ago a report casually reached me, that your scientific studies were pursued by you with great debility, and that you were a young man of some promise as an astronomer. My own scientific proclivities rendered the report more interesting than it might otherwise have been to me. And it came upon me quite as a surprise that any issue of your father's marriage should have so much in him, or you might have seen more of me in four more years than you were ever likely to do now. My health had then begun to fail, and I was starting for the Cape, or I should have come myself to inquire to your condition and prospects. I did not return till six months later, and as my health had not improved, I sent a trusty friend to examine into your life pursuits and circumstances, without your own knowledge, and to report his observations to me. This he did. Through him I learned of favourable news. One, that you worked assiduously at the science of astronomy. Two, that everything was auspicious in the career you had chosen. Of unfavourable news. One, that the small income at your command, even when eaked out by the sum to which you would be entitled on your grandmother's death and the freehold of the homestead, would be inadequate to support you becomingly as a scientific man, whose lines of work were of in nature not calculated to produce emoluments for many years, if ever. Two, that there was something in your path worse than narrow means, and that something was a woman. To save you, if possible, from ruin on these heads, I take the preventative measures detailed below. The chief step is, as my solicitor will have informed you, that at the age of twenty-five, the sum of six hundred pounds a year will be settled on you for a life, provided you have not married before reaching that age. A yearly gift of an equal sum, to be also provisionally made to you in the interim and vice versa, that if you do marry before reaching the age of twenty-five, you will receive nothing from the date of the marriage. One object of my request is that you may have resources sufficient to enable you to travel and study the southern constellations. When at the Cape, after hearing of your pursuits, I was much struck with the importance of those constellations to an astronomer just pushing into notice. There is more to be made of the southern hemisphere than ever has been made of it yet. The mind is not so thoroughly worked as the northern, and dither your studies should tend. The only other preventative step in my power is that of exhortation, at which I am not an adept. Nevertheless, I say to you, Swith and St. Cleave, don't make a fool of yourself, as your father did. If your studies are to be worth anything, believe me, they must be carried on without the help of a woman. Avoid her, and every one of the sex, if you mean to achieve any worthy thing. I shoo all of that sort for many a year yet. Moreover, I say, the lady of your acquaintance avoid in particular. I have heard nothing against her moral character hitherto. I have no doubt that it has been excellent. She may have many good qualities, both of heart and of mind. But she has, in addition to her original disqualification, as a companion for you—that is, that of sex—these two serious drawbacks. She is much older than yourself. Much older, said Swithin resentfully, and she is so impoverished that the title she derives from her late husband is a positive objection. Beyond this, frankly, I don't think well of her. I don't think well of any woman who dotes upon a man younger than herself, to care to be the first fancy of a young fellow like you shows no great common sense in her. If she were worth her salt, she would have too much pride to be intimate with a youth in your unassured position to say no worse. She is old enough to know that a liaison with her may, and most certainly would, be your ruin. And on the other hand, that a marriage would be preposterous, unless she is a complete goose. Under that case, there is even more reason for avoiding her than if she were in her few senses. A woman of honourable feeling, nephew, would be careful to do nothing to hinder you in your career, as this putting of herself in your way most certainly will. Yet I hear that she professes a great anxiety on this same future of yours as a physicist. The best way in which she can show the reality of her anxiety is by living you to herself. Perhaps she persuades herself that she is doing you no harm.  Women's brains are not formed for assisting at any profound science, and they lack the power to see things except in the concrete. She'll blab your most secret plans and theories to every one of her acquaintance. She's got none, said Swithin, beginning to get warm. And make them appear ridiculous by announcing them before they are matured. If you attempt to study with a woman, you'll be ruled by her to entertain fancies instead of theories, air castles instead of intentions, qualms instead of opinions, sickly prepossessions instead of reasoned calculations.  A woman waking a young man's passions just at a moment when he is endeavouring to shine intellectually is doing little less than committing a crime. Like a certain philosopher I would upon my soul have all young men from 18 to 25 kept under barrels, seeing how often in the lack of some such sequestering process the woman sits down before each as his destiny and too frequently innervates his purpose, to the abandons the most promising course ever conceived. But no more. I now leave her fate in your own hands. Your well-wishing relative, Jocelyn Sinclave, doctor in medicine. As coming from a bachelor and hardened misogynist of seventy-two, the opinions herein contained were nothing remarkable, but their practical result in restricting the sudden endowment of Swithin's researches by conditions which turned the favour into a harassment was, at this unique moment, discomforting and distracting in the highest degree. Sensational, however, as the letter was, the passionate intention of the day was not hazarded for more than a few minutes thereby. The truth was, the caution on bribe came too late, too unexpectedly, to be of influence. They were the sort of thing which required fermentation to render them effective. Had Sinclave received the exhortation a month earlier, had he been able to run over in his mind at every wakeful hour of thirty consecutive nights, a private catechism on the possibilities opened up by this annuity, there was no telling what might have been the stress of such a web of perplexity upon him, a young man whose love for celestial physics was second to none. But to have held before him, at the last moment, the picture of a future advantage that he had never once thought of, or discounted for present staying-power, it affected him about as much as the view of horizon shown by sheet lightning. He saw an immense prospect, it went, and the world was as before. He caught the train at Warborne and moved rapidly towards Bath, not precisely in the same key as when he had dressed in the hut at dawn, but as regarded the mechanical part of the journey as unhesitatingly as before. And with the change of scene his gloom left him, his bosom's lord sat lightly in his throne. Sinclave was not sufficiently in mind of poetical literature to remember that wise poets are accustomed to read that lightness of bosom inversely. Swithin thought it a nomen of good fortune, and as thinking is causing in not a few such cases, he was perhaps in spite of the poets right. CHAPTER 19 At the station Lady Constantine appeared, standing expectant. He saw her face from the window of the carriage long before she saw him. He no sooner saw her than he was satisfied to his heart's content with his prize. If his great-uncle had offered him from the grave a kingdom instead of her, he would not have accepted it. Swithin jumped out, and Nature never painted in a woman's face more devotion than appeared in my ladies at that moment. To both the situation seemed like a beautiful allegory. Not to be examined too closely lest its defects of correspondence with real life should be apparent. They almost feared to shake hands in public, so much depended upon their passing that morning without molestation. A fly was called, and they drove away. Take this, she said, handing him a folded paper. It belongs to you rather than to me. At crossings and other occasional pauses pedestrians turned their faces and looked at the pair. For no reason but that among so many there were naturally a few of the sort who have eyes to note what incidents come in their way as they plod on. But the two in the vehicle could not but fear that these innocent beholders had special detective designs on them. You look so dreadfully young, she said, with humorous fretfulness as they drove along. Swithin's cheeks being amazingly fresh from the morning air. Do try to appear a little haggard that the person meant ask us awkward questions. Nothing further happened, and they were set down opposite the shop about fifty yards from the church door at five minutes to eleven. We'll dismiss the fly, she said. It will only attract idlers. On turning the corner and reaching the church they found the door a jar, but the building contained only two persons, a man and a woman, the clerk and his wife, as they learned. Swithin asked when the clergyman would arrive. The clerk looked at his watch and said, At just on eleven o'clock. He ought to be here, said Swithin. Yes, replied the clerk as the hour struck. The fact is, sir, he's a deputy, and apt to be rather wandering in his wits as regards time and such like, which have stood in the way of the man's getting the benefit. But no doubt he'll come. The regular incumbent is away, then. He's gone for his bare pass since fortnight, that's all, and we was forced to put up with a weak talented man, or none. The best man goes into Bluon, or into the ship in nowadays, you see, sir. Doctrine's been rather shattery at present, and your money's worth not sure in our line. So we church officers be left poorly provided with men for odd jobs? I'll tell you what, sir. I think I'd better run round to the gentleman's lodgings and try to find them. Pray do, said Lady Constantine. The clerk left the church, his wife busied herself with the dusting at the further end, and Swithin and Viviet were left to themselves. The imagination travelled so rapidly, and a woman's forethought is so assumptive, that the clerk's departure had no sooner doomed them to an action than it was borne in upon Lady Constantine's mind that she would not become the wife of Swithin St. Cleave, either today or at any other day. Her divinations were continually misleading her, she knew, but a hitch at the moment of marriage surely had a meaning in it. Ha! The marriage is not to be, she said to herself. This is a fatality. It was twenty minutes past, and no person had arrived. Swithin took her hand. If it cannot be today, it can be tomorrow, he whispered. I cannot say, she answered. Something tells me no. It was almost impossible that she could know anything of the deterrent force exercised on Swithin by his dead uncle that morning. Yet her manner tallied so curiously well with such knowledge that he was struck by it, and remained silent. You have a black tie, she continued, looking at him. Yes, replied Swithin, I bought it on my way here. Why could it not have been less somber in colour? My great-uncle is dead. You had a great-uncle, you never told me. I never saw him in my life. I have only heard about him since his death. He spoke in as quiet and measured away as he could, but his heart was sinking. She would go on questioning. He could not tell her an untruth. She would discover particulars of that great-uncle's provision for him, which he, Swithin, was throwing away for her sake, and she would refuse to be his for his own sake. His conclusion at this moment was precisely what hers had been five minutes sooner, that they were never to be husband and wife. But she did not continue her questions, for the simplest of all reasons. Hasty footsteps were audible in the entrance, and the parson was seen coming up the aisle, the clerk behind him wiping the beads of perspiration from his face. The somewhat sorry clerical specimen shook hands with him, and entered the vestry, and the clerk came up and opened the book. The poor gentleman's memories of it topsy-torvy whispered the latter. He had got it in his mind at toward a funeral, and they found him wondering about the cemetery and looking for us. However, all's well as ends well, and the clerk wiped his forehead again. How elowment! murmured Viviette. But the parson came out robed at this moment, and the clerk put on his ecclesiastical countenance and looked in his book. Lady Constantine's momentary langer passed. Her blood resumed its courses with a new spring. The grave utterances of the church then rolled out upon the palpitating pair, and no couple ever joined their whispers there, too, with more fervency than day. Lady Constantine, as she continued to be called by the outside world, though she liked to think herself the Mrs. St. Cleave that she legally was, had told Green that she might be expected at Welland in a day, or two or three, as circumstances should dictate. Though the time of return was thus left open, it was deemed advisable, by both Swithin and herself, that her journey back should not be deferred after the next day, in case any suspicions might be aroused. As for St. Cleave, his comings and goings were of no consequence. It was seldom known whether he was at home or abroad by reason of his frequent seclusion at the column. Late in the afternoon of the next day he accompanied her to the bath-station, intending himself to remain in that city till the following morning. But when a man or youth has such a tender article on his hands as a thirty-hour bride, it is hardly in the power of the strongest reason to set her down at a railway, and send her off like a superfluous portmanteau. Hence the experiment of parting so soon after their union proved excruciatingly severe to these. The evening was dull, as the breeze of autumn crept fitfully through every slit and aperture in the town. Not a soul in the world seemed to note as I care about anything they did. Lady Constantine sighed, and there was no resisting it. He could not leave her thus. He decided to get into the train with her, and to keep her company for at least a few stations on her way. It drew on to be a dark night, and seeing that there was no serious risk after all, he prolonged his journey with her so far as to the junction, at which the branch-line to Warborne forked off. Here it was necessary to wait a few minutes, before either he could go back or she could go on. They wandered outside the station doorway into the gloom of the road, and there agreed to part. While she yet stood holding his arm, a faton sped towards the station entrance, where, in ascending the slope to the door, the horse suddenly jibbed. The gentleman who was driving, being either impatient or possessed with a theory that all gibbers may be started by severe whipping, applied the lash. As a result of it, the horse thrust round the carriage to where they stood, and the end of the driver's sweeping whip cut across Lady Constantine's face with such severity, as to cause her an involuntary cry. Swithin turned her round to the lamp-light, and discerned a streak of blood on her cheek. By this time, the gentleman who had done the mischief, with many words of regret, had given the reins to his man and dismounted. I will go into the waiting-room for a moment, whispered Viviette hurriedly, and loosing her hand from his arm, she pulled down her veil and vanished inside the building. The stranger came forward and raised his hat. He was a slightly built and apparently town-bred man, of twenty-eight or thirty. His manner of address was at once careless and conciliatory. I am greatly concerned at what I have done, he said. I sincerely trust that your wife, but observing the youthfulness of Swithin, he withdrew the words suggested by the manner of Swithin towards Lady Constantine. I trust the young lady was not seriously cut. I trust not, said Swithin, with some vexation. Where did the last touch her? Straight down her cheek. Do let me go to her, and learn how she is, and humbly apologize. I'll inquire. He went to the lady's room in which Viviette had taken refuge. She met him at the door, her handkerchief to her cheek, and Swithin explained that the driver of the fateen had sent to make inquiries. I cannot see him, she whispered. He is my brother Louis. He is, no doubt, going on by train to my house. Don't let him recognize me. We must wait till he is gone. Swithin, thereupon went out again, and told the young man that a cut on her face was not serious, but that she could not see him, after which they parted. St. Cleave then heard him ask for a ticket to Warborne, which confirmed Lady Constantine's view that he was going on to her house. When the branch train had moved off, Swithin returned to his bride, who waited in a trembling state within. On being informed that he had departed, she showed herself much relieved. Where did your brother come from? Said Swithin. From London immediately, Rio, before that. He has a friend or two in this neighbourhood, and visits here occasionally. I have seldom or never spoken to you of him, because of his long absence. Is he going to settle near you? No, nor anywhere, I fear. He is, or rather was, in the diplomatic service. He was first at clerk in the foreign office, and was afterwards appointed a taché at Rio de Janeiro, but he has resigned the appointment. I wish he had not. Swithin asked why he resigned. He complained of the banishment, and the climate, and everything that people complain of who are determined to be dissatisfied. Though, poor fellow, there is some ground for his complaints. Perhaps some people would say that he is idle, but he is scarcely that. He is rather restless than idle, so that he never persists in anything. Yet, if the subject takes his fancy, he will follow it up with exemplary patience, till something reverts him. He is not kind to you, is he, dearest? Why do you think that? Your manner seems to say so. Well, he may not always be kind. But look at my face, does the mark show? A streak, straight as a meridian, was visible down her cheek. The blood had been brought almost to the surface, but was not quite through—that which had originally appeared thereon, having possibly come from the horse. It signified that tomorrow the red line would be a black one. Swithin informed her that her brother had taken a ticket for Warborne, and she had once perceived that he was going on to visit her at Welland. Though from his letter she had not expected him so soon by a few days. Meanwhile, continued Swithin, you can now get home only by the late train, haven't missed that one. But Swithin, don't you see my new trouble?  I did. He will know I was the lady with you, whom he called my wife. I wonder why we look husband and wife already. Then what am I to do, for the ensuing three or four days I bear in my face a clue to his discovery of our secret? Then you must not be saying. We must stay at an inn here. Oh no, she said timidly. It is too near home to be quite safe. We might not be known, but if we were. We can't go back to Bath now. I'll tell you, dear Viviette, what we must do. We'll go on to Warborne and separate carriages. We meet outside the station. Thence we'll walk to the column in the dark, and I'll keep you as a captive in the cabin till the scar has disappeared. As there was nothing which better recommended itself, this course was decided on, and after taking from our trunk the articles that might be required for an incarceration of two or three days, they left the said trunk at the cloakroom, and went on by the last train which reached Warborne about ten o'clock. It was only necessary for Lady Constantine to cover her face with a thick veil that she had provided for this escapade, to walk out of the station without fear of recognition. St. Cleave came forth from another compartment, and they did not rejoin each other till they had reached the shadowy bend in the old turnpike road, beyond the irradiation of the Warborne lamp-light. The walk to Welland was long. It was the walk which Swidden had taken in the rain when he had learnt the fatal forestalment of his stellar discovery. But now he was moved by a less desperate mood, and blamed neither God nor man. They were not pressed for time, and passed along the silent lonely way with that sense rather of predestination than of choice in their proceedings which the presence of night sometimes imparts. Reaching the park-gate they found it open, and from this they inferred that her brother Louis had arrived. Leaving the house and park on the right, they traced the highway yet a little further, and plunging through the stubble of the opposite field drew near the isolated artwork bearing the plantation and tower, which together rolled like a flattened dome and lantern from the lighter-hued plain of stubble. It was far too dark to distinguish furs from other trees by the eye alone, but a peculiar dialect of Sylvan language which the piney multitude used would have been enough to proclaim their class at any time. In the lover's stealthy progress up the slopes a dry stick here and there snapped beneath their feet, seeming like a shot of alarm. On being unlocked the hut was found precisely as Sylvan had left it two days before. Liddy Constantine was thoroughly wearied and sat down, while he gathered a handful of twigs and spikelets from the masses strewn without and lit a small fire, first taking the precaution to blind a little window and relock the door. Liddy Constantine looked curiously around by the light of the blaze. The hut was small as the prophet's chamber provided by the shunamite. In one corner stood the stove with a little table and chair, a small cupboard hard-buy, a pitcher of water, a rack overhead with various articles, including a kettle and a gridiron. While the remaining three or four feet at the other end of the room was fitted out as a dormitory for swithing-use during late observations in the tower overhead. It is not much of a place to offer you, he remarked, smiling, but at any rate it is a refuge. The cheerful firelight dispersed in some measure Liddy Constantine's anxieties. If we only had something to eat, she said. Dear May, quite saying cleave blankly, that's the thing I never thought of. Nor I till now, she replied. He reflected with misgiving. Beyond a small loaf of bread in the cupboard I have nothing. However, just outside the door there are lots of those little rabbits, about the size of rats that the keepers called runners. And they are as tame as possible, but I fear I could not catch one now. Yet, dear Vivienne, wait a minute, I'll try. You must not be starved.  When he reappeared he produced not a rabbit, but four sparrows and a thrush. I could do nothing in the way of a rabbit without setting a wire, he said. But I have managed to get these by knowing where they roost. He showed her how to prepare the birds, and having set her to roast them by the fire, departed with a pitcher to replenish it at the brook, which flowed near the homestead in the neighbouring bottom. They are all asleep at my grandmother's. He informed her when he re-entered, panting with the dripping pitcher.  The birds were now ready, and the table was spread. With this fare, eked out by dry toast from the loaf, and moistened with cups of water from the pitcher, to which Swithin added a little wine from the flasky he had carried on his journey. They were forced to be content for their supper. End of Chapter 19 Chapter 20 of Two on a Tower This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Tige Hines Two on a Tower by Thomas Hardy Chapter 20 When Lady Constantine awoke the next morning, Swithin was nowhere to be seen. Before she was quite ready for breakfast, she heard the key turn in the door and felt startled, till she remembered that the comer could hardly be anybody but he. He brought a basket with provisions, an extra cup and saucer, and so on. In a short space of time the kettle began singing on the stove, and the morning meal was ready. The Swith resinous air from the furs blew in upon them as they sat at breakfast. The birds hopped round the door, which somewhat riskily they ventured to keep open. And at the rail-boat rose the lanky column into an upper realm of sunlight, which only reached the cabin in fitful darts and flashes through the trees. I could be happy here for ever, she said, clasping his hand. I wish I could never see my great gloomy house again, since I am not rich enough to throw it open and live there as I ought to. The poverty of this sort is not unpleasant at any rate. What are you thinking of? I am thinking about my outing this morning. Unreaching my grandmother's, she was only a little surprised to see me. I was obliged to breakfast there, or appear to do so, to divert suspicion. And this food is supposed to be wanted for my dinner or supper. There will, of course, be no difficulty in my obtaining an ample supply for any length of time, as I can take what I like from the buttery without observation. But as I looked in my grandmother's face this morning, and saw her looking affectionately in mine, and thought how she had never concealed anything from me, and had always had my welfare at heart, I felt that I should like to tell her what we have done. Oh, no, please not, Swithin!' she exclaimed piteously. Very well, he answered, on no consideration will I do so without your consent. And no more was said on the matter. The morning was past in applying wet rag and other remedies to the purple line on Viviette's cheek, and in the afternoon they set up the equatorial under the replaced dome to have it in order for night observations. The evening was clear, dry, and remarkably cold by comparison with the daytime weather. After a frugal supper they replenished the stove with charcoal from the homestead, which they also burnt during the day, an idea of Viviette's, that the smoke from a wood-fire might not be seen more frequently than was consistent with the occasional occupation of the cabin by Swithin, as here to fore. At eight o'clock she insisted upon ascending the tower for observations, in strict pursuance of the idea on which their marriage had been based, namely, that of restoring regularity to his studies. The sky had a new and startling beauty that night. A broad fluctuating semi-circular arch of Viviette white light spanned the northern quarter of the heavens, reaching from the horizon to the star Etta in the greater bear. It was the aurora borealis, just risen up for the winter seas and out of the freezing seas of the north, where every autumn vapor was now undergoing rapid congliation. Oh, let us sit and look at it, she said, as they turned their backs upon the equatorial and the southern glories of the heavens to this new beauty, in a quarter which they seldom contemplated. The luster of the fixed stars was diminished to a sort of blueness. Little by little the arch grew higher against the dark void, like the form of the spirit maiden in the shades of glen thinness, till its crown drew near the zenith and threw a tissue over the whole wagon and horses of the great northern constellation. Brilliant shafts radiated from the convexity of the arch, coming and going silently. The temperature fell, and Lady Constantine drew her wrap more closely around her. We go down, said Swithin. The cabin is beautifully warm. Why should we try to observe to-night? Indeed, we cannot. The aurora light overpowers everything. Very well. Tomorrow night there will be no interruption. I shall be gone. You will leave me to-morrow, Viviette? Yes, to-morrow morning. The truth was that, with the progress of the hours and days, the conviction had been borne in upon Viviette more and more forcibly that not for kingdoms and principalities could she afford to risk the discovery of our presence here by a living soul. But let me see her face, dearest, he said. I don't think it will be safe for you to meet your brother yet. As it was too dark to see her face on the summit where they sat, they descended the winding staircase, and in the cabin Swithin examined the damaged cheek. The line, though so far attenuated as not to be observable by any one but a close observer, had not quite disappeared. But in consequence of a reiterated and almost tearful anxiety to go, and as there was a strong probability that her brother had left the house, Swithin decided to call at Wellen next morning, and reconnoitre with a view to her return. Locking her in, he crossed the Jewish stubble into the park. The house was silent and deserted, and only one tall stalk of smoke ascended from the chimneys. Notwithstanding that the hour was nearly nine, he knocked at the door. His lady Constantine at home, asked Swithin, with a disingenuousness, now habitual, yet unknown to him six months before. No, Mr. St. Cleave, my lady is not returned from Bath. We expect her every day. Nobody is staying in the house. My lady's brother has been here, but he's gone to Budmouth. He will come again in two or three weeks, I understand. This was enough. Swithin said he would call again, and return to the cabin where, waking Viviet, who was not by nature an early riser, he waited on the column till she was ready to breakfast. When this had been shared they prepared to start. A long walk was before them. Warburn station lay five miles distant, and the next station above that, nine miles. They were bound for the latter, the plan being that she should there take the train to the junction where the whip accident had occurred, claim her luggage, and return to Warburn as if from Bath. The morning was cool and the walk not wearisome. When once they had left behind the stubble field of their environment, and the parish of Welland, they sauntered on comfortably, Lady Constantine's spirits rising as she withdrew further from danger. They parted by a little brook about half a mile from the station, Swithin, to return to Welland by the way he had come. Lady Constantine telegraphed from the junction to Warburn for a carriage to be in readiness to meet her on her arrival, and then, waiting for the downtrain, she travelled smoothly home, reaching Welland House about five minutes sooner than Swithin reached the column hard by, after footing it all the way from where they had parted. CHAPTER XXI From that day forward their life resumed its old channel in general outward aspect. Perhaps the most remarkable feature in their exploit was its comparative effectiveness as an expedient for the end designed, that of restoring calm mass adduity to the study of astronomy. Swithin took up his old position as a lonely philosopher at the column, and Lady Constantine lapsed back to a mirrored existence at the house, with apparently not a friend in the parish. The enforced narrowness of life which her limited resources necessitated was now an additional safeguard against the discovery of her relations with St. Cleave. Her neighbours seldom troubled her, as much it must be owned from a tacit understanding that she was not in a position to return invitations, as from any selfish coldness engendered by her want of wealth. At the first meeting of the secretly united pair after their short honeymoon, they were compelled to behave as strangers to each other. It occurred in the only part of Welland which deserves a name of a village street, and all the labourers were returning to their midday meal with those of their wives who assisted at outdoor work. Before the eyes of this innocent though quite untrustworthy group, Swithin and his viviette could only shake hands in passing, though she could try to say to him in an undertone, my brother does not yet return for some time. He has gone to Paris, I will be on the lawn this evening if you care to come. It was a fluttered smile that she bestowed upon him, and there was no doubt that every fibre of her heart vibrated afresh at meeting, with such reserve, one who stood in his close relation to her. The shades of night fell early now, and Swithin was at a spot of appointment about the time that he knew her dinner would be over. It was just what I had met at the beginning of the year, but many changes had resulted since then. The flower-beds that had used to be so neatly edged were now jagged and leafy. Black stars appeared on the pale surface of the gravel walks, denoting tufts of grass that grew while molested there. Lady Constantine's external affair wore just that aspect to suggest that new blood may be adantagiously introduced into the line, and new blood had been introduced in Good Soothe, with what social result remained to be seen. She silently entered on the scene from the same window which had given her passage in months gone by. They met with a concerted embrace, and St. Cleave spoke his greeting in whispers. We are quite safe, dearest, said she. About the servants. My meager staff consists of only two women and a boy, and they are away in the other wing. I thought you would like to see the inside of my house after showing me the inside of yours, so we would walk through it instead of staying out here. She led them in through the casement, and they strolled forward softly, swithing with some curiosity, never before having gone beyond the library and the adjoining room.  The great apartments through which they now whisperingly walked wore already that funerial aspect that comes from disuse and inattention. Triangular cobwebs already formed little hammocks for the dust in corners of the Wayne Scott, and a close smell of wood and leather seasoned with mouse droppings pervaded the atmosphere, so seldom was the solitude of these chambers intruded on by human feet, that more than once a mouse stood and looked a twain in the face from the arm of a sofa or the top of a cabinet without any great fear. Swithin had no residential ambition, whatever, but he was interested in the place. Will the house ever be thrown open to gaiety? As it was in old times, said he. Not unless you make a fortune, she replied, laughingly. It is mine for my life, as you know, but the estate is so terribly saddled with annuities to sublance distant relatives, one of whom will succeed me here, that I have practically no more than my own little private income to exist on. And are you bound to occupy the house? We're not bound, but I must not let it on lease. And was there any stipulation in the event of your remarriage? It was not mentioned. It is satisfactory to find that you lose nothing by marrying me at all events to your viviet. I hope you lose nothing, either, at least of consequence.  I meant your liberty. Suppose you became a popular physicist. Popularity seems cooling towards art and concetting with science nowadays, and the better chance offers, and one who would make you a newer and brighter wife's and I comes in your way. Will you never regret this? Will you never despise me? Swithin answered by a kiss, and they again went on, proceeding like a couple of burglars, lest they should draw the attention of the cook or green. In one of the upper rooms his eyes were attracted by an old chamber organ, which had once been lent for use in the church. He mentioned his recollection of the same, which led her to say—that reminds me of something.  What shocking neglect! Why was it? I hardly know. The confusion resulting from my father's death caused it to be forgotten, I suppose. Now, dear Swithin, you will do this to please me. Be confirmed on the present occasion. Since I have done without the virtue of it so long, might I not do without it altogether? No, no, she said earnestly. I do wish it indeed. I am made unhappy when I think you don't care about such serious matters. Without a church to cling to, what have we? Each other. But seriously, I should be inverting the established order of spiritual things. People ought to be confirmed before they are married. That's really of minor consequence. Now, don't think slidingly of what so many good men have laid down as necessary to be done. And, dear Swithin, I somehow feel that a certain levity, which has perhaps shown itself in our treatment of the circumvent of marriage, by making a clandestine adventure of what is after all a solemn night, will be well atoned for by a due seriousness in other points of religious observance. This opportunity should therefore not be passed over. I thought of it all last night, and you are a parson's son, remember, and he would have insisted on it had he been alive. In short, Swithin, do be a good boy and observe the church's ordinances. Lady Constantine, by virtue of her temperament, was necessarily either lover or devout, and she vibrated so gracefully between these two conditions that nobody who had known the circumstances could have condemned her inconsistencies. To be led into difficulties by those mastering emotions of hers, to aim at escape by turning round and seizing the apparatus of religion, which could only rightly be worked by the very emotions already bestowed elsewhere, it was after all but nature's well-meaning attempt to preserve the honour of our daughter's conscience, in the trying quandary to which the conditions of sex had given rise. As Viviette could not be confirmed herself, and as Communion Sunday was a long way off, she urged Swithin thus, As a new bishop is such a good man, she continued, I used to have a slight acquaintance with him when he was a parish priest. Very well, dearest, to please you I will be confirmed, my grandmother too will be delighted, no doubt. They continued a ramble, Lady Constantine first advancing into rooms with the candle, to assure herself that all was empty, and then calling him forward in a whisper. The stillness was broken only by these whispers, or by the occasional crack of a floorboard beneath their tread. At last they sat down, and shading the candle with the screen, she showed them the faded contents of this and that drawer or cabinet, or the wardrobe of some member of the family, who had died young early in the century, when muslin reigned supreme, when wastes were close to armpits, and muffs as large as smuggler's tubs. These researches, among habilimental hulls and husks, whose human kernels had long ago perished, went on for about half an hour, when the companions were startled by a loud ringing at the front door-bell. Lady Constantine flung down the old-fashioned lacework, whose beauty she had been pointing out to swithin' and exclaimed, "'Who can it be? Not Louis, surely?' They listened. An arrival was such a phenomenon at this unfrequented mansion, and particularly a late arrival, that no servant was on the alert to respond to the call, and the visitor rang again, more loudly than before. Sounds of the tardy opening and shutting of a passage door from the kitchen-quarter then reached their ears, and Viviette went into the corridor to harken more attentively. In a few minutes she returned to the wardrobe-room in which she had left Swithin. "'Yes, it is, my brother,' she said, with difficult composure. I just caught his voice. He has no doubt come back from Paris to stay. It is a rather vexatious, indolent way he has, never to write to prepare me.' "'I can easily go away,' said Swithin. By this time, however, her brother had been shown into the house, and the footsteps of the page were audible, coming in search of Lady Constantine. "'If you will wait here a moment,' she said, directing St. Cleave into a bed-chamber which joined, "'you will be quite safe from interruption, and I will quickly come back.' Taking the light, she left him. Swithin waited in darkness. Not more than ten minutes had passed when a whisper in her voice came through the key-hole. He opened the door. "'Yes, he has come to stay,' she said. He is at supper now. "'Very well, don't be flurry, dearest. Shall I stay, too, as we planned?' "'Oh, Swithin, I fear not,' she replied anxiously. "'You see how it is. Tonight we have broken the arrangement that you should never come here, and this is a result. Will it offend you if I ask you to leave?' "'Not in the least. Upon the whole I prefer the comfort of my own little cabin, and homestead to the gauntness and alarms of this place.' "'There now, I fear you were offended,' she said, a tear collecting in her eye. "'I wish I was going back with you to the cabin. How happy we were those three days of our stay there. But it is better, perhaps, just now that you should leave me. Yes, these rooms are oppressive. They require a large household to make them cheerful. Yet, Swithin,' she added, after reflection, "'I will not request you to go. Do as you think best.  For myself, I must go downstairs to my brother at once, or he wonder what I am doing.' She kindled the little night-light, and again retreated, closing the door upon him. Swithin stood and waited some time, till he considered that upon the whole it would be preferable to leave. With his intention he emerged and went softly along the dark passage towards the extreme end, where there was a little crooked staircase that would conduct him down to a disused side door. Descending this stair he duly arrived at the other side of the house, facing the quarter whence the wind blew, and here he was surprised to catch the noise of rain beating against the windows. It was a state of weather which fully accounted for the visitor's impatient ringing. St. Cleave was in a minor kind of dilemma. The rain reminded him that his hat and great coat had been left downstairs in the front part of the house, and though he might have gone home without either in ordinary weather, it is not a pleasant feat in the pelting winter rain. Retracing his steps to Viviet's room, he took the light and opened the closet door that he had seen a jar on his way down. Within the closet hung various articles of apparel, a pholstery lumber of all kinds filling the back part. Swithin thought he might find here a cloak of hers to throw around him, but finally took down from a peg a more suitable garment, the only one of the sort that was there. It was an old moth-eaten great coat, heavily trimmed with fur, and in removing it a companion cap of seal-skin was disclosed. Whose can they be? He thought, and a gloomy answer suggested itself. He then said, summoning the scientific side of his nature. Matter is matter, and mental association only a delusion. Putting on the garments he returned the light to Lady Constantine's bedroom, and again prepared to depart as before. Scarcely, however, had he regained the corridor a second time, when he heard a light footstep, seemingly Viviet's, again on the front landing. Wondering what she had wanted with him further, he waited, taking the precaution to step into the closet till sure it was she. The figure came onward, bent to the keyhole of the bedroom door and whispered, supposing him still inside. Swithin, on second thoughts, I think you may stay with safety. Having no further doubt of her personality, he came out with the thoughtless abruptness from the closet behind her, and looking round suddenly she beheld his shadowy, fur-clad outline. At once she raised her hands in horror, as if to protect herself from him. She uttered a shriek, and turned shudderingly to the wall, covering her face. Swithin would have picked her up in a moment, but by this time he could hear footsteps rushing upstairs in response to her cry. In consternation, and with a view of not compromising her, he affected his retreat as fast as possible, reaching the bend of the corridor just as her brother Louie appeared with a light at the other extremity. Whatever the matter, for heaven's sake, Viviet, said Louie. My husband—she involuntarily exclaimed. What nonsense! Oh, yes, it is nonsense! she added with an effort. It was nothing. But what was the cause of your cry? She had by this time recovered her reason and judgment. Oh, it was a trick of the imagination! she said with a faint laugh. I live so much alone that I get superstitious, and I thought for the moment that I saw an apparition. Of your late husband! Yes, but it was nothing. It is the outline of the tall clock, and the chair behind. Would you mind going down and leaving me to go to my room for a moment? She entered the bedroom, and her brother went downstairs. Sweden thought it best to leave well alone, and going noisesly out of the house plodded through the rain homeward. It was plain that agitations of one sort and another had so weakened Viviet's nerves as to lay her open to every impression, that the clothes he had borrowed were some cast-off garments of the late Sir Blount had occurred to St. Cleave in taking them, but in the moment of returning to her side he had forgotten this, and the shape they gave to his figure had obviously been a reminder of two sudden assort for her. Musing thus he walked along, as if he were still as before the lonely student, dissociated from all mankind, and with no shadow of right or interest in well and house or its mistress. The great coat and cap were unpleasant companions, but Swithin, having been reared, or having reared himself, in the scientific school of thought, would not give way to a sense of their weirdness. To do so would have been treason to his own beliefs and aims. When nearly home at a point where his track converged with another path, there approached him from the latter a group of indistinct forms. The tones of their speech revealed him to be hezibiles, not chapman, fry, and other neighbours. Swithin was about to say a word to them, till recollecting his disguise he deemed it advisable to hold his tongue, lest his attire should tell too dangerous a tale as to where he had come from. By degrees they drew closer, their walk being in the same direction. The night stranger said not. The stranger did not reply. All of them paced on a breast of them, and he could perceive in the gloom that their faces were turned inquiringly upon his form. Then a whisper passed from one to another of them. Then chapman, who was the boldest, dropped immediately behind his heels and followed there for some distance, taking close observations of his outline, after which the men grouped again and whispered. Thinking it best to let them pass on, Swithin slackened his pace, and they went ahead of him, apparently without much reluctance. There was no doubt that he had been impressed by the close he wore, and having no wish to provoke similar comments from his grandmother and Hannah, Swithin took the precaution on arriving at Welland Bottom to enter the homestead by the out-house. Here he deposited the cap and coat in secure hiding, afterwards going round to the front and opening the door in the usual way. In the entry he met Hannah, who said, Only to hear what had been said to night, Mr. Swithin, the workfolk have dropped into tell-us. In the kitchen were the men who had outstripped him on the road. Their countenances, instead of wearing the usual knotty irregularities, had a smooth-out expression of blank concern. Swithin's entrance was unobtrusive and quiet, as if he had merely come down from his study upstairs, and they only noticed him by enlarging their gaze so as to include him in the audience. We were in a deep talk at the moment, continued blur, and Natty had just brought up that story about old Jeremiah Paddock's cross on the park one night or one o'clock in the morning, and seeing Sir Blount a shut milady out of doors, and we were saying that it seemed a true return that he should perish in a foreign land, when we happened to look up, and there was Sir Blount awoken along. Did it overtake you, or did you overtake it? whispered Hannah sepulchrally. I don't say it was it, returned Sammy. God forbid that I should drag in a resurrection word about what perhaps was still a solid manhood, and asked to die. But he, or it, closed in upon us as twere. Yes, closed in upon us, said Hamoth, and I said, Good night, stranger, added Chapman. Yes, good night, stranger, that was your word, Natty, I support you in it. And then he closed in upon us still more. We closed in upon he, rather, said Chapman. Well, well, to the same thing in such matters, and the form was Sir Blount's, my nostrils told me, for there is smelled. Yes, I could smell it, been to Leeward. Lord, Lord, what unwholesome scandal this is about a ghost of a respectable gentleman, said Mrs. Martin, who had entered from the sitting-room. Now, wait, ma'am, I don't say there was a low smell, mind ye, to a high smell, a sort of gamey flavour, calling to mine venison and hair just as you'd expect of a great squire, not like a poor man's Natty me at all. And that was what strengthened my fate, that was Sir Blount. The skins that old coat was made of, ruminated, swithin. Well, well, I've not held out against the figure of starvation these five and twenty year, a nine-chilling a week, to be afraid of walk and vapour. Sweeter savoury, said Hezzy. So here's home along. Bid a bit longer, and I'm going to, continued Frye. Well, when I found Sir Blount, my spet dried up within my mouth, for neither hedging or bush-weather for refuge against any foul spring I might have made us. It was very curious, but we had likewise a mention this name just afar, in talking of the confirmation that's shortly coming on, said Hezzy. Is there soon to be a confirmation? Yes, in this parish for the first time in Welland Church for twenty years. As I say, I had told him that he was confirmed the same year that I went up to have it done, as I have very good cause to mind. When we went to be examined, the parson said to me, Rehears the articles of thy belief. Mr. Blount, as he was then, was neist me, and he whispered, Women and wine. Women and wine, says I to the parson, and for that I was sent back to next confirmation, so Blount never owned, and that he was a rascal. Confirmation was a sight different at that time, mused Biles. The bishops didn't lay it on so strong as they do now. Nowadays your bishop gives both hands to every jack-rag and toms straw that drops the knee before him. But with six chaps to one blessing when we was boys, the bishop at that time would stretch out his palms, and run his fingers over our row of crowns, as offhand as a bank-gentleman telling money. The great lord of the church in them days wasn't particular to a soul or two, more or less. Of a white part, I think living was easier for it. The new bishop I hear is a bachelor, man, or a widow-gentleman, is it? asked Mrs. Martin. A bachelor, I believe, ma'am. Mr. St. Cleave making so bold, you've never faced him yet, I think. Mrs. Martin shook her head. No, it was a piece of neglect. I hardly know how it happened, she said. I am going to this time, said Swithin, and turn the chat to other matters. Swithin could not sleep that night for thinking of his viviet. Nothing told so significantly of the conduct of her first husband towards the poor lady, as the abiding dread of him which was revealed in her by any sudden revival of his image or memory. But for that consideration, her almost childlike terror at Swithin's inadvertent disguise would have been ludicrous. He waited anxiously through several following days for an opportunity of seeing her, but none was afforded. Her brother's presence in the house sufficiently accounted for this. At length he ventured to write a note, requesting her to signal him in a way she had done once or twice before, by pulling down a blind in a particular window of the house, one of the few visible from the top of the Ringsealed Column. This to be done on any evening when she could see him after dinner on the terrace. When he had leveled the glass at that window for five successive nights, he beheld a blind in the position suggested. Three hours later, quite in the dusk, he repaired to the place of appointment. My brother is away this evening, she explained, and that's why I can come out. He's only gone for a few hours, nor is he likely to go for longer just yet. He keeps himself a good deal in my company, which has made it unsafe for me to venture near you. Has he any suspicion? None, apparently, but he rather depresses me. How, Viviette? Swithin feared from her manner that it was something serious. I would rather not tell. But, well, never mind. Yes, Swithin, I will tell you. There should be no secrets between us. He urges upon me the necessity of marrying day after day. From money and position, of course. Yes, but I take no notice. I let him go on. Really, this is sad, said the young man. I must work harder than ever, or you will never be able to own me. Oh, yes, in good time, she cheeringly replied. I shall be very glad to have you always near me. I felt a gloom of our position keenly when I was obliged to disappear that night, without assuring you it was only I who stood there. Why were you so frightened that those old clothes had borrowed? Don't ask. Don't ask, she said, burying her face in his shoulder. I don't want to speak of that. There was something so ghastly and so uncanny in your putting on such garments that I wish you had been more thoughtful, and I'd left them alone. He assured her that he did not stop to consider who they were. By the way, they must be sent back, he said. No, I never wish to see them again. I cannot help feeling that your putting them on was ominous. Nothing is ominous in serene philosophy, he said, kissing her. Things are either causes, or they are not causes. When can you see me again? In such wise the hour passed away. The evening was typical of others which followed it at irregular intervals throughout the winter, and during the intense months of the season frequent falls of snow lengthened, even more than other difficulties had done, the periods of isolation between the pair. Swithin adhered with all the more strictness to the letter of his promise not to intrude into the house, from his sense of our powerlessness to compel him to keep out should he choose to rebel. A student of the greatest forces in nature he had, like many others of a sort, no personal force to speak of, in a social point of view, mainly because he took no interest in human ranks and formulas, and hence he was as docile as a child in our hands wherever matters of that kind were concerned. Her brother wintered at Welland, but whether because his experience of tropic climbs had unfitted him for the brumel rigors of Britain, or for some other reason he seldom showed himself out of doors, and Swithin caught but passing glimpses of him. Now and then Viviette's impulsive affection would overcome her sense of risk, and she would press Swithin to call on her at all costs. This he would by no means do. It was obvious to his more logical mind that the secrecy to which they had bound themselves must be kept in its fullness, or might as well be abandoned altogether. He was now sadly exercised on the subject of his uncle's will. There had as yet been no pressing reasons for a full and candid reply to the solicitor who had communicated with him, owing to the fact that the payments were not to begin till Swithin was one and twenty, but time was going on, and something definite would have to be done soon. To own to his marriage and consequent his qualification for the bequest was easy in itself, but it involved telling at least one man what both Viviette and himself had great reluctance in telling anybody. Moreover he wished Viviette to know nothing of his loss in making her his wife. All he could think of doing for the present was to write a postponing letter to his uncle's lawyer and wait-events. The one comfort of this dreary winter time was his perception of a returning ability to work with the regularity and much of the spirit of earlier days. One bright night in April there was an eclipse of the moon, and Mr. Torkingham, by arrangement, brought to the observatory several laboring men and boys to whom he had promised a sight of the phenomenon through the telescope. The coming confirmation fixed for May was again talked of, and Sinclif learned from the person that the bishop had arranged to stay the night at the vicarage, and was also to be invited to a grand luncheon at Welland House immediately after the ordinance. This sounded like a going back into life again as regarded the mistress of that house, and Sinclif was a little surprised that in his communications with Viviette she had mentioned no such probability. The next day he walked round the mansion, wondering how in its present state any entertainment could be given therein. He found that the shutters had been opened, which had restored an unexpected liveliness to the aspect of the windows. Two men were putting a chimney-pot on one of the chimney stacks, and two more were scraping green mould from the front wall. He made no inquiries on that occasion. Three days later he strolled tither-wood again. Now a great cleaning of window-panes was going on, Hezzie Biles and Sammy Bloor being the operators, for which purpose their services must have been borrowed from the neighbouring farmer. Hezzie dashed water at the glass with the force that threatened to break it in, the broad face of Sammy being discernible inside, smiling at the onset. In addition to these, Anthony Green and another were weeding the gravel-walks and putting fresh plants into the flower-beds. Neither of these reasonable operations was a great undertaking, singly looked at. But the life Viviette had laterally led, and the mood in which she had hitherto regarded the premises, rendered it somewhat significant. Sweden, however, was rather curious and concerned at the proceedings, and returned to his tower with feelings of interest not entirely confined to the world's overhead. Lady Constantine may or may not have seen him from the house, but the same evening, which was fine and dry, while he was occupying himself in the observatory with cleaning the eyepieces of the equatorial, skull-cap on head, observing jacket on, and in other ways primed for sweeping. The customary stealthy step on the winding staircase brought her form in due course into the rays of the bull's-eye lantern. The meeting was all the more pleasant to him for being unexpected, and he had once lit up a larger lamp in honour of the occasion. It's but a hasty visit, she said, when, after putting up her mount to be kissed, she had seated herself in the low chair used for observations, panting a little with the labour of ascent. But I hope to be able to come off really soon. My brother is still living on with me. Yes, he is going to stay until the confirmation is over. After the confirmation he will certainly leave. So good is it of you, dear, to please me by agreeing to the ceremony. The bishop, you know, is going to lunch with us. It is a wonder he has promised to come, for he is a man adverse to society, and mostly keeps entirely with the clergy on those confirmation tours or circuits or whatever they call them. But Mr. Talkiam's house is so very small, and mine is so close at hand that this arrangement, to relieve him of the fuss of one meal at least, naturally suggests it itself, and the bishop has fallen in with it very readily. How are you getting on with your observations? Have you not wanted me dreadfully to write down notes? Well, I have been obliged to do without you, whether or no. See here how much I have done. And he showed her a book ruled in Colliam's headed Object, Right Ascension, Declination, Features, Remarks, and so on. She looked over this and other things, but her mind speedily winged its way back to the confirmation. It is so new to me, she said, to have persons coming to the house, that I feel rather anxious. I hope the luncheon will be a success. You know the bishop, said Swithin. I had not seen him for many years. I knew him when I was quite a girl, and he held a little living of puddle submixing near us. But as at that time, and ever since they have lived here, I have seen nothing of them. There has been no confirmation in this village, they say, for twenty years. The other bishop used to make the young men and women go to Warburn. He wouldn't take the trouble to come to such an out-of-the-way parish as ours. This cleaning of preparation that I observe going on must be rather a tax upon you. My brother Louis sees to it, and what's more, bears the expense. Your brother, said Swithin, with surprise. Well, he insisted on doing so. She replied in a hesitating, despondent tone. He has been active in the whole matter, and was the first to suggest the invitation. I should not have thought of it. Well, I will hold aloof till it is all over. Thanks, dearest, fair considerateness. I wish it was not still advisable. But I shall see you on the day, and watch my own philosopher all through the service from the corner of my pew. I hope you are well prepared for the right, Swithin. She added, turning tenderly to him. It would perhaps be advisable for you to give up this astronomy, till the confirmation is over, in order to devote your attention exclusively to that more serious matter. More serious? Well, I will do the best I can. I'm sorry to see that you are less interested in astronomy than you used to be viviet. No, it is only that these preparations for the bishop would settle my mind from study. Now put on your other coat and hat, and come with me a little way. The morning of the confirmation was come. It was mid-May time, bringing with it whether not perhaps quite so blooming as that assumed to be natural to the month by the joyous poets of three hundred years ago, but a very tolerable, well-wearing may, that the average rustic would willingly have compounded for, in lieu of mays occasionally fairer, but usually more foul. Among the larger shrubs and flowers which compose the outworks of the well and gardens, the lilac, the laburnum, and the geldar rose hung out their respective colours of purple, yellow, and white. Whilst within these, belted round from every disturbing gale, rose the columbine, the peony, the laksber, and the Solomon seal. The animate things that moved amid this scene of colour were plodding bees, gadding butterflies, and numerous sauntering young feminine candidates for the impending confirmation, who, having gaily bedecked themselves for the ceremony, were enjoying their own appearance by walking about in twos and threes till it was time to start. Swithin St. Cleave, whose preparations were somewhat simpler than those of the village bells, waited till his grandmother and Hannah had set out, and then, locking the door, followed towards the distant church. Unreaching the churchyard gate, he met Mr. Talkingham, who shook hands with him in the manner of a man with several irons in the fire, and, telling Swithin where to sit, disappeared to hunt up some candidates who had not yet made themselves visible. Casting his eyes round for viviet, and seeing nothing of her, Swithin went on to the church porch and looked in. From the north side of the nave smiled a host of girls, gaily uniform in dress, age, and a temporary repression of their natural tendency to skip like a hair over the meshes of good council. Their white muslin dresses, their round white caps, from beneath whose borders dark knots and curls of various shades of brown escaped upon their low shoulders, as if against their will, lighted up the dark pews and grey stonework to an unwonted warmth and life. On the south side were the young men and boys, heavy, angular, and massive, as indeed was rather necessary, considering what they would have to bear at the hands of wind and weather before they returned to that moldy nave for the last time. Over the heads of all these he could see into the chancel to the square pew on the north side, which was attached to Wellent House. There he discerned Lady Constantine already arrived, her brother Louis, sitting by her side. Swithin entered and seated himself at the end of the bench, and she, who had been on the watch, at once showed by subtle science her consciousness of the presence of the young man who had reversed the ordained sequence of the church's services on her account.  Handsomest woman in the church she decidedly was, and yet a disinterested spectator who had known all the circumstances would probably have felt that the future considered, Swithin's more natural mate would have been one of the Muslim-clad maidens who were to be presented to the bishop with him that day. When the bishop had arrived and gone into the chancel, and blown his nose, the congregation was sufficiently impressed by his presence to leave off looking at one another. The right reverent Cuthbert Helmsdale D.D., 94th occupant of the Episcopal throne of the diocese, revealed himself to be a personage of dark complexion, whose darkness was thrown still further into prominence by the long protuberances that now rose upon his two shoulders, like the eastern and western hemispheres. In stature he seemed to be tall and imposing, but something of this aspect may have been derived from his robes. The service was, as usual, of a length which severely tried the towering powers of the young people assembled, and it was not till the youth of all the other parishes had gone up that the turn came for the well and bevy. Swithin and some older ones were nearly the last. When, at the heels of Mr. Talkingham, he passed Lady Constantine's pew, he lifted his eyes from the red lining of that gentleman's hood sufficiently high to catch hers. She was abstracted, tearful, regarding him with all the wrapped mingling of religion, love, fervour, and hope which such women can feel at such times, and which men know nothing of.  How she saw the great Episcopal ring glistening in the sun amongst Swithin's brown curls! How she waited to hear if Dr. Helmsdale uttered the form, This Thy Child, which he used for the younger ones, or This Thy Servant, which he used for those older? And how, when he said, This Thy Child, she felt a prick of conscience, like a person who had entrapped an innocent youth into marriage for her own gratification, till she remembered that she had raised his social position thereby, and this could only have been told in its entirety by herself. As for Swithin, he felt ashamed of his own utter lack of the high enthusiasm which beamed so eloquently from her eyes. When he passed her again on the return journey from the bishop to its seat, her face was warm with a blush which her brother might have observed had he regarded her. Whether he had observed or not, as soon as Swithin St. Cleave had sat himself down again, Louis Glanville turned and looked hard at the young astronomer. It was the first time that St. Cleave and Viviette's brother had been face to face in a distinct light, the first meeting having occurred in the dusk of a railway station. Swithin was not in the habit of noticing people's features. He scarcely ever observed any detail of physiognomy in his friends, a generalization from the whole aspect forming his idea of them, and he now only noted a young man of perhaps thirty, who lulled a good deal, and in whose small, dark eyes seemed to be concentrated the activity that the rest of his frame decidedly lacked. This gentleman's eyes were henceforward to the end of the service continually fixed upon Swithin, but as this was their natural direction from the position of his seat there was no great strangeness in the circumstance. Swithin wanted to say to Viviette, Now, I hope you are pleased, I have conformed to your ideas of my duty, leaving my fitness out of consideration. But as he could only see her bonnet and forehead it was not possible even to look at the intelligence. He turned to his left hand where the organ stood with Miss Tabitha Lark seated behind it. It being now sermon time the youthful blower had fallen asleep over the handle of his bellows, and Tabitha pulled out her handkerchief intending to flap him awake with it. With the handkerchief tumbled out a whole family of unexpected articles, a silver thimble, a photograph, a little purse, a scent-bottle, some loose half-pence, nine green gooseberries, and a key. They rolled to Swithin's feet and passively obeying his first instinct, he picked up as many of the articles as he could find, and handed them to her amid the smiles of the neighbours. Tabitha was half-dead with humiliation at such an event happening under the very eyes of the bishop on this glorious occasion. She turned pale as a sheet, and could hardly keep her seat. Fearing she might faint, Swithin, who had genuinely sympathised, bent over and whispered encouragingly, Don't mind it, Tabitha, shall I take you out into the air? She declined his offer, and presently the sermon came to an end. Swithin lingered behind the rest of the congregation sufficiently long to see Lady Constantine, accompanied by her brother, the bishop, the bishop's chaplain, Mr. Talkingham, and several other clergy and ladies, enter to the grand luncheon by the door which admitted from the churchyard to the lawn of Welland House. The whole group talking with a vivacity, all the more intense as it seemed, from the recent two hours of forced repression of their social qualities within the adjoining building. The young man stood till he was left quite alone in the churchyard, and then went slowly homeward over the hill, perhaps a trifle depressed at the impossibility of being near viviette in this her one day of gaiety and joining the conversation of those who surrounded her. Not that he felt much jealousy of a situation, as his wife, in comparison with his own. He had so clearly understood from the beginning that in the event of marriage their outward lives were to run on as before, that the rebel now would have been unmanly in himself and cruel to her by adding to embarrassments that were great enough already. His momentary doubt was of his own strength to achieve sufficiently high things to render him in relation to her other than a patronized young favourite whom she had married at an immense sacrifice of position. Now at twenty he was doomed to isolation even from a wife. Could it be that at, say, thirty he would be welcomed everywhere? But with motion through the sun and air his mood assumed a lighter complexion, and on reaching home he remembered with interest that Venus was in a favourable aspect for observation that afternoon. Meanwhile the interior of Wellent House was rattling with the progress of the ecclesiastical luncheon. The bishop, who sat at Lady Constantine's side, seemed enchanted with her company, and from the beginning she engrosses attention almost entirely. The truth was that the circumstance of her not having her whole soul centred on the success of the repast, and the pleasure of Bishop Helmsdale imparted to her in a great measure the mood to ensure both. Her brother Louie it was, who had laid out the plan of entertaining the bishop, to which she had assented but indifferently. She was secretly bound to another, on whose career she had staked all her happiness. Having thus other interests, she evinced today the ease of one who hazards nothing. And there was no sign of that preoccupation with housewifely contingencies which so often makes the hostess hardly recognisable as the charming woman who graced a friend's home the day before. In marrying Swithin Lady Constantine had played her card, recklessly, impulsively, ruinously perhaps, but she had played it. It could not be withdrawn. And she took this morning's luncheon as an episode that could result in nothing to her beyond the day's entertainment. Hence by that power of indirectness to accomplish in an hour what strenuous aiming will not affect in a lifetime, she fascinated the bishop to an unprecedented degree. At bachelor he rejoiced in the commanding period of life that stretches between the time of waning impulse and the time of incipient dotage, when a woman can reach the male heart neither by awakening a young man's passion nor an old man's infatuation. He must be made to admire or he can be made to do nothing. Unintentionally that is how Viviet operated on her guest. Lady Constantine, to external view, was in a position to desire many things, and of a sort to desire them. She was obviously by nature impulsive to indiscretion, but instead of exhibiting activities to correspond. Recently gratified affection lent to her manager's now a sweet serenity, a truly Christian contentment which had puzzled a learned bishop exceedingly to find in the warm, young widow, and increases interest in her every moment. Thus matters stood when the conversation veered round to the morning's confirmation. That was a singularly engaging young man who came up among Mr. Torkium's candidates, said the bishop to her somewhat abruptly. But abruptness does not catch a woman without her wit. Which one? She said innocently. That's used with a corn-colored hair, as a poet of the new school would call it, who sat just at the side of the organ. You know who he is. In answering, Viviet showed a little nervousness for the first time that day.  I never saw a handsome or young man in my life, said the bishop. Lady Constantine blushed. There was a lack of self-consciousness, too, in his manner of presenting himself, which very much won me. A Mr. St. Cleave, you say? A curate son. His father must have been St. Cleave of all angels whom I knew. How comes he to be staying on here? And what is he doing? Mr. Torkium, who kept one ear on the bishop all the lunchtime, finding that Lady Constantine was not ready with an answer, hastened to reply. Your lordship is right. His father was an all-angelsman. The youth is rather to be pitied. He was a man of fine talent, affirmed the bishop, but I quite lost sight of him. He was a curate to the late Vicar, resumed the parson, and was much liked by the parish, but being erratic in his tastes and tendencies, he rashly contracted a marriage with the daughter of a farmer, and then quarreled with the local gentry for not taking up his wife. This lad was an only child. There was enough money to educate him, and he is sufficiently well provided for to be independent of the world, so long as he is content to live here with great economy. But, of course, this gives him few opportunities of bettering himself. Yes, naturally, replied the bishop of Melchester, and better have been left entirely dependent on himself. These half incomes do men little good, unless they happen to be the weaklings or geniuses. Lady Constantine would have given the world to say, he is a genius, and the hope of my life, but it would have been decidedly risky, and in another moment was unnecessary for Mr. Talking instead. There is a certain genius in the young man, I sometimes think. Well, he really looks quite out of the common, said the bishop. Usel genius is sometimes disappointing, observed Viviet, not believing it in the least. Yes, said the bishop, although it depends, Lady Constantine, on what you understand by disappointing. It may produce nothing visible to the world's eye, and yet may complete its development within a very perfect degree. Objective achievements, though the only ones which are counted, are not the only ones that exist and have value, and I for one should be sorry to assert that because a man of genius dies as unknown to the world as when he was born, he therefore was an instance of wasted material. Objective achievements were, however, those that Lady Constantine had a weakness for her in the present case, and she asked her more experienced guest if he thought early development of a special talent a good sign in youth. The bishop thought it well that a particular bent should not show itself too early, less disgust should result. Still, argued Lady Constantine rather firmly, for she felt this opinion of the bishops to be one throwing doubt on Swithin. Sustained fruition is compatible with early bias. Tycho Bray showed quite a passion for the solar system when he was but a youth. So did Kepler, and James Ferguson had a surprising knowledge of the stars by the time he was eleven or twelve. Yes, sustained fruition, conceded the bishop, rather liking the words. It is certainly compatible with early bias, if Enlund preached at fourteen. He, Mr. St. Cleave, is not in the church, said Lady Constantine. He is a scientific young man, my lord, explained Mr. Talkingham. An astronomer, she added, would suppress the pride. An astronomer, really, that makes him still more interesting than being handsome and the son of the man I knew. How and where does he study astronomy? He has a beautiful observatory. He has made use of an old column that was erected on this manner to the memory of one of the Constantine's. It has been very ingeniously adapted for his purpose, and he does very good work there. I believe he occasionally sends up a paper to the Royal Society or Greenwich or somewhere, and to astronomical periodicals. I should have had no idea, from his boyish look that he had advanced so far. The bishop answered, and yet I saw on his face that within there was a book worth studying. His is a career I should very much like to watch. A thrill of pleasure chased through Lady Constantine's heart at this praise of her chosen one. It was an unwitting compliment to her taste and discernment in singling them out for her own, despite its temporary inexpediency. Her brother Louis now spoke. I fancy he is as interested in one of his fellow-creatures, as in the science of astronomy. Observe the cynic dryly. In whom? said Lady Constantine, quickly. In the fair maiden who sat at the organ—a pretty girl, rather—I noticed a sort of bi-play going on between them occasionally, during the sermon which meant mating if I am not mistaken. She, said Lady Constantine, she is only a village girl, a dirty-man's daughter, Tabitha Lark, who used to come and read to me. She may be a savage for all that I know. But there is something between those two young people, nevertheless. The bishop looked as if he had allowed his interest in the stranger to carry him too far, and Mr. Talkingham was horrified at the irreverent and easy familiarity of Louis Glanville's talk in the presence of a consecrated bishop. As for Viviet, her tongue lost all its volubility. She felt quite faint at heart, and hardly knew how to control herself. I have never noticed anything of the sort, said Mr. Talkingham. It would be a matter for regret, said the bishop, if he should follow his father in forming an attachment, that would be a hindrance to him in any honourable career, though perhaps an early marriage intrinsically considered would not be bad for him. A youth who looks as if he had come straight from Old Greece, may be exposed to many temptations. Should he go out into the world without a friend or counsellor to guide him? Despite her sudden jealousy, Viviet's eyes grew moist at the picture of her innocent swithin going into the world without a friend or counsellor. But she was sick and soul and disquieted by Louis' dreadful remarks, who, unbeliever as he was in human virtue, could have no reason whatever, for representing swithin as engaged in a private love affair, if such were not his honest impression. She was so absorbed during the remainder of the luncheon that she did not even observe the kindly light that her presence was shedding on the right reverend ecclesiastic by her side. He reflected it back in tones duly mellowed by his position. The minor clergy caught up the rays thereof, and so the gentle influence played down the table. The company soon departed when the luncheon was over, and the remainder of the day passed in quietness, the bishop being occupied in his room at the vicarage in writing letters or a sermon. Having a long journey before him next day, he had expressed a wish to be housed for the night without ceremony, and would have dined alone with Mr. Talkingham but that by a happy thought. Lady Constantine and her brother were asked to join them. However, when Louis crossed the churchyard and entered the vicarage drawing-room at seven o'clock his sister was not in his company. She was, he said, suffering from a slight headache and much regretted that she was on that account unable to come. At this intelligence the social sparkle disappeared from the bishop's eye, and he sat down to table, endeavouring to mold into the form of a piscable serenity and expression which was really one of common human disappointment. In this simple statement Louis Glanville had by no means expressed all the circumstances which accompanied his sister's refusal at the last moment to dine at her neighbour's house. Louis had strongly urged her to bear up against her slight indisposition, if it were that and not disinclination, and come along with him on just this one occasion, and perhaps a more important episode in her life than she was aware of. Viviette thereupon knew quite well that he alluded to the favourable impression she was producing on the bishop, notwithstanding that neither of them mentioned the bishop's name. But she did not give way, though the argument waxed strong between them, and Louis left her in no very amiable mood, saying, I don't believe you have any more headache than I have, Viviette. It is some provoking whim of yours, nothing more. In this there was a substratum of truth. When her brother had left her, and she had seen him from the window, entering the vicarage gate, Viviette seemed to be much relieved, and sat down in her bedroom till the evening grew dark, and only the light shining through the trees from the parsonage dining-room revealed to the eye where that dwelling stood. Then she arose, and putting on the cloak she had used so many times before for the same purpose she locked her bedroom door, to be supposed within in case of the accidental approach of a servant, and let herself privately out of the house. Lady Constantine paused for a moment under the vicarage windows till she could sufficiently well hear the voices of the diners to be sure that they were actually within, and then went on her way, which was towards the ring's hill-column. She appeared a mere spot hardly distinguishable from the grass, as she crossed the open ground, and soon became absorbed in the black mass of the fur plantation. Meanwhile the conversation at Mr. Torkingham's dinner-table was not of a highly exhilarating quality. The parson, in long self-communing during the afternoon, had decided that the Diocesan Synod, whose annual session at Melchester had occurred in the month previous, would afford a solid and unimpeachable subject to launch during the meal whenever conversation flagged, and that it would be unlikely to win the respect of his spiritual chieftain for himself as the introducer. Accordingly, in the further belief that she could not have too much of a good thing, Mr. Torkingham not only acted upon his idea, but at every pause rallied to the synod point with unbroken firmness. Everything which had been discussed at that last session, such as the introduction of the lay element into the councils of the church, the reconstitution of the ecclesiastical courts, church patronage, the tired question, was revived by Mr. Torkingham, and the excellent remarks which the bishop had made in his addresses on those subjects were quoted back to him. As for Bishop Helmsdale himself, his instincts seemed to be too elude in a debonair spirit to the incidents of the past day, to the flowers in Lady Constantine's bed, the date of her house, perhaps with a view of hearing a little more about their owner from Louis, who would very readily have followed the bishop's lead had the person allow them room. But this Mr. Torkingham seldom did, and about half-past nine they prepared to separate. Louis Glanville had risen from the table, and was standing by the window, looking out upon the sky and privately yawning, the topics discussed, having been hardly in his line. A fine night, he said at last. I suppose our young astronomer is hard at work now, said the bishop, following the direction of Louis Glanth towards the clear sky. Yes, said the person, he is very assiduous when the nights are good for observation. I have occasionally joined him in his tower, and looked through his telescope with great benefit to my ideas of celestial phenomena, and I have not seen what he is doing lately. Suppose we strolled that way, said Louis, would you be interested in seeing the observatory bishop? Now, I am quite willing to go, said the bishop, if the distance is not too great. I should not at all be averse to making the acquaintance of so exceptionally young man as this Mr. Sinclave seems to be, and I have never seen the inside of an observatory in my life. The intention was no sooner formed than it was carried out, Mr. Torkingham leading the way. Half an hour before this time, Swith and Sinclave had been sitting in his cabin at the base of the column, working out some figures from observations taken on preceding nights, with a view to a theory that he had in his head on the motions of certain so-called fixed stars.  He was awakened from his reveries by a scratching at the window-paint, like that of the point of an ivy-leaf, which he knew to be really caused by the tip of his sweetheart wife's forefinger. He rose and opened the door to admit her, not without astonishment as to how she had been able to get away from her friends. Dear Swith, why was the matter?  I thought I would run across to see you. I have heard something so, so to your discredit, and I know it can't be true. I know you are constancy itself, but your constancy produces strange effects in people's eyes. Good heavens, nobody has found us out. No, no, it's not that. You know, Swith, that I am always sincere, and willing to own if I am to blame in anything.  Yes, dear, indeed. Directly I can think of one worth owning. I wonder what does not rush upon your tongue in a moment. I confess that I am sufficiently a Pharisee not to experience that spontaneity. Swith, and don't speak so effectively. When you know well what I mean, is it nothing to you that, after all your vows for life, you have thought it right to flirt with a village girl? Oh, Vivienne, interrupted Swith in taking her hand, which was hot and trembling. You who are full of noble and generous feelings, and regard me with devoted tenderness that has never been surpassed by woman, how can you be so greatly at fault? I flirt, Vivienne.  Why, I am so far from doing so, that I continually pull myself up for watching you too jealously.  Do you, Swithen? She cried. It was evident that the honest tone of his words was having a great effect in clearing away the clouds. She added with an uncertain smile. But how can I believe that, after what we have seen today? My brother, not knowing in the least that I had an iota of interest in you, told me that he witnessed the signs of an attachment between you and Tabitha Lark and the church this morning. Ah! cried Swithen with a burst of laughter. Now I know what you mean, and what has caused this misunderstanding. How good of you, Vivienne, to come to me at once to have it out with me, instead of brooding over it with dark imaginings, and thinking bitter things of me, as many women would have done. He succinctly told the story of his little adventure with Tabitha that morning, and the sky was clear on both sides. When shall I be able to claim you? he added, and put an end to all such painful accidents as these. She partially sighed. Her perception of what the outside world was made of, latterly somewhat obscured by solitude and her lover's company, had been revived to-day by her entertainment of the bishop clergyman, and more particularly clergyman's wives, and it did not diminish her sense of the difficulties in Swithen's path to see anew how little was thought of the greatest gifts, mental and spiritual, if they were not backed up by substantial temporalities. However, the pair made the best of their future that circumstances permitted, and the interview was at length drawing to a close when there came, without a slightest forewarning, a smart rat-tat-tat upon the door. "'Oh, I am lost!' said Viviet, seizing his arm. Why was I so unconscious?' There's nobody of consequence, whispered Swithen assuringly, somebody from my grandmother, probably, to know when I am coming home. They were unperceived so far, for the only window which gave light to the hut was screened by a curtain. At that moment they heard the sound of their visitor's voices, and with a consternation as great as her own Swithen discerned the tones of Mr. Talkingham and the bishop of Melchester. "'Where shall I get? What shall I do?' said the poor lady, clasping her hands. Swithen looked around the cabin, and a very little look was required to take in all its resources. At one end, as previously explained, were a table, stove, chair, cupboard, and so on, while the other was completely occupied by a diminutive Arabian bed-stead, hung with curtains of pink and white chints. On one side of the bed there was a narrow channel about a foot wide between it and a wall of the hut. Into this cramped retreat Viviet slid herself, and stood trembling behind the curtains.  Swithen threw open the door, and Mr. Talkingham introduced his visitors. The bishop shook hands with the young man, told him he had known his father, and at Swithen's invitation, weak as it was, entered the cabin, the vicar and Louis Glanville remaining on the threshold, not to inconveniently crowd the limited space within. Bishop Hemsdale looked benignly around the apartment, and said, quite a settlement in the backwards, quite. Far enough in the world to afford the votary of science the seclusion he needs, and not so far as to limit his resources. And Hermit may apparently live here in as much solitude as in a primeval forest. His lordship has been good enough to express an interest in your studies, said Mr. Talkingham to St. Cleave, and we have come to ask you to let us see the observatory. How is great pleasure! stammered Swithen. Where is the observatory? inquired the bishop, peering around again. The staircase is just outside this door. Swithen answered, I'm at your lordship's service, and will show you about once. Then this is your little bed. For use when you work late, said the bishop. Yes, I'm afraid it's rather untidy. Swithen apologized. Then here are your books. The bishop continued, turning to the table and the shaded lamp. You take an observation at the top, I presume, and come down here to record your observations. The young man explained his precise process as well as his state of mind would let him, and while he was doing so Mr. Talkingham and Louis waited patiently without, looking sometimes into the night, and sometimes through the door at the interlocutors and listening to their scientific converse. When all had been exhibited here below, Swithen lit his lantern, and inviting his visitors to follow, led the way up the column, experienced no small sense of relief as soon as he heard the footsteps of all three tramping on the stairs behind him. He knew very well that once they were inside the spiral, Viviette was out of danger. Her knowledge of the locality enabling her to find her way with perfect safety through the plantation and into the park home. At the top he uncovered his equatorial, and for the first time at ease, explained to them its beauties, and revealed by its help the glories of those stars that are eligible for inspection. The bishop spoke as intelligently as could be expected on a topic not particularly his own, but somehow he seemed rather more abstracted in manner now than when he had arrived. Swithen thought that perhaps a long clamber up the stairs, coming after a hard day's work, had taken his spontaneity out of him, and Mr. Talkingham was afraid that his lordship was getting bored. But this did not appear to be the case, for though he said little, he stayed on some time longer, examining the construction of the dome after relinquishing the telescope, while occasionally Swithen caught the eyes of the bishop fixed hard on him. Perhaps he sees some likeness of my father in me, the young man thought, and the party making ready to leave at this time he conducted them to the bottom of the tower. Swithen was not prepared for what followed at his scent. All was standing at the foot of the staircase, the astronomer, lantern in hand, offered to show them the way out of the plantation, to which Mr. Talkingham replied that he knew the way very well, and would not trouble his young friend. He strode forward with the words, and Louis followed him, after waiting a moment and finding that the bishop would not take the precedence. The latter and Swithen were thus left together for one moment, whereupon the bishop turned. Mr. St. Cleave, he said in a strange voice, now I would like to speak to you privately before I leave, tomorrow morning. Can you meet me? Let me see, in the churchyard at half-past ten o'clock. Oh yes, my lord, certainly, said Swithen, and before he had recovered from his surprise the bishop had joined the others in the shades of the plantation. Swithen immediately opened the door of the hut, and scanned the nook behind the bed, as he had expected his bird had flown.