candle; but saw nothing to awaken his suspicions.

"Oh," he said, carelessly, as we left the room, "I do think him a most pitiful fellow."

CHAPTER VI.

A GIFT OF TONGUES.

"My lady is an archer rare,

And in the greenwood joyeth she; There never was a marksman yet who could compare

In skill with my ladie."

EARLY morning in Henley! From over the wooded hills in the east there comes a great flood of sunshine that lies warmly on the ruddy side of the old inn, on its evergreens, and on the slopes of sweet-scented mignonette, and sweetbriar, and various blossoms that adorn the bank of the river. The river itself, lying apparently motionless between level and green meadows, has its blue surface marred here and there by a white ripple of wind; the poplars that stand on its banks are rustling in the breeze; there are swallows dipping and skimming about the old bridge, and ducks paddling along among the rushes and weeds, and cattle browsing in the deep green; and further on, some high-lying stretches of rye-grass struck into long and silvery waves by the morning wind.

All the stir and the motion of the new day have come upon us; and Henley, clean, white, and red, with its townhall shining brightly down its chief street, and all its high clusters of oldfashioned houses backed by a fringe of dark-wooded hill, shows as much life and briskness as are usually seen in a quaint, small, old-fashioned English town. But where the silence and the stillness of the morning dwell is away up the reach of the river. Standing on the bridge, you see the dark blue stream, reflecting a thousand bright colours underneath the town, gradually become greyer in hue until it gets out amid the meadows and woods; and then, with a bold white curve, that is glimmering like silver in the north, it sweeps under that line of low, soft green hills which have grown pearly and No. 148.-VOL. XXV.

grey in the tender morning mist. Bell is standing on the bridge, too. The Lieutenant has brought out her sketchbook, and she has placed it on the stone parapet before her. But somehow she seems disinclined to begin work thus early on our journey; and, instead, her eyes are looking blankly and wistfully at the rich green meadows, and the red cows, and the long white reach of the river shining palely beneath the faint green heights in the north.

"Is Henley the prettiest town in the world, I wonder?" she said.

"Yes, if you think so, mademoiselle," replied Von Rosen, gently.

She lifted her eyes towards him, as though she had been unaware of his presence. Then she turned to the

stream.

"I suppose, if one were to live always among those bright colours, one would get not to see them, and would forget how fine is this old bridge, with the pretty town, and the meadows, and the stream. Seeing it only once, I shall never forget Henley, or the brightness of this morning."

With that, she closed her sketchbook, and looked round for Tita. That small person was engaged in making herself extremely wretched about her boys and the pony; and was becoming vastly indignant because she could get no one to sympathize with her wild imaginings of diverse perils and dangers.

66

Why, to hear you talk," she was saying at this moment, "one would think you had never experienced the feelings of a parent-that you did not know you were the father of those two poor boys."

"That," I remark to her, "is not a matter on which I am bound to express an opinion."

"Very pretty-very !" she said, with "But I will say a contemptuous smile. this-that if you had had to buy the pony, the boys would have had to wait long enough before they were exposed to the dangers you think so little about now."

"Madam," I observe, sternly, "you are the victim of what theologians call invincible ignorance. I might have

T

bought that pony and all its belongings for a 201. note; whereas I shall have to pay 401. a year for its keep."

"Oh, I know," says my Lady, with great sweetness, "how men exaggerate those things. It is convenient. They complain of the cost of the horses, of the heaviness of taxes, and other things; when the real fact is that they are trying to hide what they spend out of their income on cigars, and in their clubs when they go to town. I counted up our taxes the other day, and I don't believe they have been over 81. for the whole of the last six months. Now you know you said they were nearly 351. a year."

"And you counted in those that are due next week, I suppose?"

"Did you leave money to pay for them?" she asks, mildly.

"And you based your calculations on some solitary instalment for armorial bearings ?-which you brought into the family, you know."

"Yes," she replies, with an engaging smile. “That was one thing you did not require before-I am sorry to have caused you so much expense. But you need not avoid the subject. Mrs. Quinet told me last week that she knows her husband pays every year 657. for club-subscriptions alone, and nearly 401. for cigars."

"Then Mrs. Quinet must have looked into your eyes, my dear, and seen what a simple little thing you are; for your knowledge of housekeeping and other expenses, I will say, is as slight as need be, and Mrs. Quinet has been simply making a a fool of you. For the Major belongs to two clubs, and in the one he pays eight guineas and in the other ten guineas a year. And he smokes Manillas at 25s. a hundred, which is equivalent, my dear-though you will scarcely credit it-to threepence apiece." "The money must go somehow," says Tita, defiantly.

"That is a customary saying among women; but it generally refers to their own little arrangements."

"You avoid the question very skilfully."

"I should have thought you would have preferred that."

"Why?" she says, looking up. "Because you accused me of stinginess in not buying a pony for the boys, and I showed you that I should have to pay 401. a year for the brute."

"Yes, showed me! I suppose by that pleasing fiction you will gain other 207. a year to spend in Partagas, and Murias, and trumpery stuff that the tobacconists tell you came from abroad."

"My dear," I say, "your insolence is astounding."

"If you call speaking the plain truth insolence, I cannot help it. Bell, breakfast must be ready."

"Yes, my Lady," says Bell, coming forward demurely. "But I wasn't doing anything."

So they went off; and the Count and I followed.

"What is the matter?" says he.

"Do you know what a 'relish' is at breakfast?"

"No."

"Then don't marry, or you will find out."

The tall young man with the brown beard and the light eyes shrugged his shoulders, and only said, as we walked to the inn

"That is a very pleasant comedy, when it means nothing. If it was earnest, you would not find so much enjoyment in it-no, not at all-you would not amuse yourselves, like two children, instead of the parents of a family. But, my dear friend, it is a dangerous thing; for some day you will meet with a stupid person, who will not understand how Madame and yourself do make-believe in that way, and that person will be astonished, and will talk of it, and you will both have a very bad reputation among your friends."

However, there was one amiable person at the breakfast-table, and that was Bell.

"Bell," I said, "I am going to sit by you. You never provoke useless quarrels about nothing; you are never impertinent; you never argue; and you can look after a breakfast-table better than people twice your age."

Bell prudently pretended not to hear; indeed, she was very busy helping every

body and making herself very useful and pleasant all round. She seemed to have forgotten her independent ways; and was so good-naturedly anxious to see that the Lieutenant's coffee was all right, that he was apparently quite touched by her friendliness. And then she was very cheerful, too; and was bent on waking up the spirits of the whole party-but in a bright, submissive, simple fashion that the audacious young lady did not always affect.

66 Did you hear the cocks crowing this morning?" she said, turning to Von Rosen with her frank eyes. "I thought it was so pleasant to be woke up that way instead of listening to the milkman coming along a dismal London square, and calling up the maidservants with his 'El-cho! El-cho!' But did you

notice that one of the cocks cried quite plainly, 'Oh, go away! Oh, go awa-a-ay!'-which was a stupid animal to have near an inn; and another fine fellow, who always started with a famous flourish, had got a cold, and at the highest note he went off at a tangent into something like a plaintive squeak. The intention of that crow, so far as it went, was far better than the feeble 'Oh, go away!' of the other; and I was quite sorry for the poor animal. Do have some more toast, Count. He reminded me of poor Major Quinet, Tita, who begins a sentence very well; but all at once it jerks up into the air-goes off like a squib, you know, just below his nose; and he looks amazed and ashamed, like a boy that has let a bird escape out of a bag."

"You need not amuse yourself with the personal defects of your neighbours, Bell," says Tita, who did not expect to have Major Quinet brought forward again. "Major Quinet is a very wellinformed and gentlemanly man, and looks after his family and his estate with the greatest care."

"I must say, Tita," retorted Bell (and I trembled for the girl), "that you have an odd trick of furnishing people with a sort of certificate of character, whenever you hear their names mentioned. Very likely the Major can manage his affairs in spite of his cracked

;

voice; but you know you told me yourself, Tita, that he had been unfortunate in money matters, and was rather perplexed just now. Of course, I wouldn't say such a thing of one of your friends but I have heard of bankrupts; and I have heard of a poor little man being so burdened with debt, that he looked like a mouse drawing a brougham, and then, of course, he had to go into the Court to ask them to unharness him.— Do have some more coffee, Count; I am sure that is quite cold."

"You ought to be a little careful, Bell," says my Lady. "You know absolutely nothing of Major Quinet, and yet you hint that he is insolvent." "I didn't-did I?" says Bell, turning to her companion.

"No," replies the Count, boldly.

At this Tita looked astonished for a second; but presently she deigned. to smile, and say something about the wickedness of young people. Indeed, my Lady seemed rather pleased by Bell's audacity in appealing to the Lieutenant; and she was in a better humour when, some time after, we went out to the river and got a boat.

Once more upon the Thames, we pulled up the river, that lies here between wooded hills on the one side, and level meadows on the other. The broad blue stream was almost deserted; and as we got near the green islands, we could see an occasional young moor-hen paddle out from among the rushes, and then go quickly in again, with its white tail bobbing in unison with its small head and beak. We rowed into the sluice of the mill that lies under Park Place, and there, having floated down a bit under some willows, we fixed the boat to a stump of a tree, landed, and managed to get into the road along which we had driven the previous night. As we ascended this pleasant path, which is cut through the woods of various mansions, and looks down upon the green level of Wargrave Marsh, and the shining meadows beyond the other bank of the river, the ascents and descents of the road seemed less precipitous than they had appeared the night before. What

we had taken, further, for wild masses of rock, and fearful chasms, and dangerous bridges, were found to be part of the ornamentation of a park-the bridge spanning a hollow having been built of sham rock-work, which, in the daylight, clearly revealed its origin. Nevertheless, this road leading through the river-side woods is a sufficiently picturesque and pleasant one; and in sauntering along for a mile or two and back we consumed a goodly portion of the morning. Then there was a brisk pull back to Henley; and the phaeton was summoned to appear.

When the horses were put in, and the phaeton brought out, I found that Von Rosen had quietly abstracted the bearing-reins from the harness, some time during the morning. However, no one could grudge the animals this relief, for the journey they had to make to-day, though not over twenty-three miles, was considerably hilly.

Now Tita had come early out, and had evidently planned a nice little arrangement. She got in behind. Then she bade Bell get up in front. The Lieutenant had lingered for a moment in search of a cigar-case; and my Lady had clearly determined to ask him to drive so soon as he came out. But, as she had not expressed any contrition for her conduct of that morning, some punishment was required; and so, just as Von Rosen came out, I took the reins, stepped up beside Bell, and he, of course, was left to join the furious little lady behind.

"I thought the Count was going to drive," says Tita, with a certain cold air. "Surely the road to Oxford is easy to find."

"It is," I say to her. "For you know all roads lead to Rome, and they say that Oxford is half-way to Rome -argal"

But knowing what effect this refer ence to her theological sympathies was likely to have on Tita, I thought it prudent to send the horses on; and as they sprang forward and rattled up the main street of Henley, her retort, if any, was lost in the noise. There was a laugh in Bell's eyes; but she

seemed rather frightened all the same, and said nothing for some time.

The drive from Henley to Oxford is one of the finest in England, the road leading gradually up through pleasant pastures and great woods until it brings you on to a common-the highest ground south of the Trent-from which you see an immeasurable wooded plain stretching away into the western horizon. First of all, as we left Henley on that bright morning, the sweet air blowing coolly among the trees, and bringing us odours from wild flowers and breadths of new-mown hay, we leisurely rolled along what is appropriately called the Fair Mile, a broad smooth highway running between Lambridge Wood and No Man's Hill, and having a space of grassy common on each side of it. brought us up to Assenton Cross, and here, the ascent getting much more stiff, Bell took the reins, and the Count and I walked up the hill until we reached Bix turnpike.

This

"What a curious name!" said Bell, as she pulled the horses up.

"Most likely," said the Lieutenant, who was looking at an ancient edition of Cary's Itinerary, "it is from the old Saxon bece, the beech-tree, which is plentiful here. But in this book I find it is Bixgibwen, which is not in the modern books. Now what is gibwen?" "St. Caedwyn, of course," said Bell, merrily.

"You laugh, but perhaps it is true," replied the Lieutenant, with the gravity befitting a student: "why not St. Caedwyn's beeches? You do call many places about here by the trees. There is Assenton; that is the place of ashtrees. We shall soon be at Nettlebed; and then comes Nuffield, which is Nutfield, how do you call your wildnuttree in England?"

"The hazel," said Bell. "But that is commonplace; I like the discovery about St. Caedwyn's beeches better: and here, sure enough, they are."

The road at this point-something less than a mile past Bix turnpikeplunges into a spacious forest of beeches, which stretches along the summit of the hill almost on to Nettlebed. And this

road is bordered by a strip of common, which again leads into a tangled maze of bracken and briar; and then you have the innumerable stems of the beeches, showing long vistas into the green heart of the wood. The sunlight was shimmering down on this wilderness, lying warmly on the road and its green margin, and piercing here and there with golden arrows the dense canopy of leaves beyond. High as we were the light breeze was shut off by the beeches, and in the long broad cleft in which the road lay the air was filled with resinous odours, that of the tall green and yellow brackens prevailing. An occasional jay fled screaming down between the smooth grey branches, giving us a glimpse of white and blue as it vanished; but otherwise there seemed to be no birds about, and the wild underwood and long alleys lay still and warm in the green twilight of the leaves.

"It is very like the Black Forest, I think," said the Lieutenant.

"Oh, it is much lighter in colour," cried Bell. "Look at all those silver greys of the stems and the lichens, and the clear green overhead, and the light browns and reds beneath, where the sunlight shines down through a veil. It is lighter, prettier, more cheerful than your miles of solemn pines, with the great roads cut through them for the carts, and the gloom and stillness underneath, where there is no growth of underwood, but only level beds of green moss, dotted with dropped cones."

"You have a very accurate eye for colours, mademoiselle; no wonder you paint so well," was all that the Lieutenant said. But Tita warmly remonstrated with Bell.

"You know Bell," she said, "that all the Black Forest is not like that; there is every variety of forest-scenery there. And pray, Miss Criticism, where were the gloomy pines and the solemn avenues in a certain picture which was sold at the Dudley last year for twentyfive solid English sovereigns?"

"That is a very good income," said the Lieutenant, with a smile.

"I do not like people with large incomes," said Bell, dexterously avoiding that part of the subject. "I think they must have qualms sometimes, or else be callous. Now I would have everybody provided with a certain income, say 2001. a year; but I would not like to prevent all competition, and so I would fix an income at which all people must stop. They might strive and strive if they liked, just like bells of air in a champagne glass, you know, but they should only be able to reach a certain level in the end. I would have nobody with more than 1,000l. a year; that would be my maximum."

"A thousand a year!" exclaimed Tita. "Isn't a thousand ten hundred?" "Yes," said Bell, after a second's calculation.

"And suppose you have one hundred to pay for two boys at school, and another hundred for rent, and another hundred for the keep of two horses, and a hundred and twenty for servants' wages

"Perhaps, Tita," I suggest in the meekest possible way, "you might as well tell Count von Rosen what you pay for a leg of mutton, so that when he next comes to dine with us he may enjoy himself the more."

How

It is well that the lightning which is said to dart from women's eyes is a harmless sort of thing-a flash in the pan, as it were, which is very pretty, but sends no deadly lead out. ever, as Queen Tita had really behaved herself very well since we set out from Henley, I begged Bell to stop and let us in, and then I asked the Lieutenant if he would drive.

By this time we had walked the horses nearly to the end of the pleasant stretch of beechwood, which is about a mile and a half long, and before us was a bit of breezy common and the village of Nettlebed. Von Rosen took the reins and sent the horses forward.

"Why did you not continue to drive?" said Tita, rather timidly, when I had taken my seat beside her.

"Because we shall presently have to