"Yes, I'm back, mother dear, and jolly glad to get home, I can tell you! I'm in clover already to have met you so soon." try, certainly. The question remains, "For goodness' sake get in, Phil, and Why was Lord Ailesbury a Jacobite ? "It, don't stand and stare at us like that!" is evident," he says, "how little I ap-- And as she was turning her head round proved of many things my unfortunate in amazement, she had the further satisking and master had done." Even more faction of hearing Phil's unmistakable evident is his drunken contempt for his laugh, as he jumped in quickly. babbling, drunken, vain, and envious felow-Jacobites. But, as to loyalty, "I drew it in with my mother's milk," he says more than once. He was loyal, as Falstaff was cowardly, or instinct "by shear force of sentiment, of that sentiment which history can scarcely destroy, which yet wins our hearts, if not our heads, to the forlorn cause the impossible, undesirable venture-the cause of the White Rose. Of course it was Phil. Who else could it be ? Lady Arabella stopped in the middle of a sentence, and stared before her with wild eyes and a haggard look. And Phil was there any one so coolly, provokingly self-possessed? What cared he? It was a delight to Constance, stifle the feeling as best she might, to see the tall, straight young fellow take his seat opposite. Wild, care-for-nothing, as folks said he was, she knew, and so did Lady Arabella, that there was a huge, weak spot in Phil's heart, and that was always occupied by his mother, his home, and - Constance. He brightened again at the sight of her now. "You here, too, Con! Why, it's just heavenly to be at home, mother!" "Do you call it home, to be riding_behind the horses?" said Blanche, with a little sneer. "Yes, my dear, I do," replied the mocking, good-humored voice of the prodigal. "And it's uncommonly like it to me, I can tell you. It's the lap of luxury; and when you've not been sitting in it for a bit, you get to know what it feels like when you get hold of it again." "The colonies have not improved you," remarked Blanche, in disgust, tossing her He stood on the foot-path, in broad day-little head with its wavy mass of soft light, at the fashionable hour when Monk- brown hair. ton took its airing, and waved with complacent hardihood to the old coachman to stop. Lady Arabella did not care three halfpence for the opinion - good, bad, or indifferent of Monkton. That was not why she looked haggard and wild about the eyes. It was the sight of Phil that did it; that and the idea that he had returned after all. Blanche, opposite, sent a flying thought after the beautiful new portmanteaux, and the pile of "lovely clothing" that had been young Phil's endowment. Truth to tell, he himself forced the thought into her mind, by reason of his appearance. Blanche had not a soul above externals; and oh! Phil was deplorable at that modesperately, heart-rendingly de ment plorable! Phil looked down gloomily. "Perhaps not," he said gravely. "But," and he looked up with his old look of triumphant glee, "I have improved the colonies, I flatter myself." "You-how?" "By leaving them two splendid, new portmanteaux, one good hat-box with a brand-new Lincoln and Bennett' in it, and sundry articles of equally new and unworn wearing apparel.' He laughed aloud. "My dear mother, you fitted me out as if for a a - wedding;" he glanced slily at Con, and had the satisfaction of seeing her redden. "But, I contrived to turn all the things to account. I found a young fellow who was really about to be married, and he took the whole stock off my hands at a valuation." "6 My dear Phil!" "Phil!" Two voices chimed in concert over the delinquencies. "Well, what was I to do? Would you have liked it if you had read this"-he drew his finger down on an imaginary page "Terrible sufferings and death "Somewhat like a heathen Chinee! of a young man! Deceased was supposed to be the son of Lady Arabella Monkton That's philosophy, my dear mother; and of Monkton, County Blankshire, England, if dad likes to pay the piper, and prefers who arrived in this country a few weeks to receive me smartly attired, I am cerago; and met his death in a miserable tainly not the man to deny him such a manner!"" simple pleasure. To the tailors, by all means, let us go." "What nonsense!" broke in Blanche abruptly. "All who can work will find work in Australia." "My dear Wise-acre, all who answer to that description are not compelled to desert their native land, where men are so much needed." Miss Monkton's face crimsoned. "You are always impertinent, Phil," she said angrily. "I don't think father will tolerate your presence at home." "Dear old dad!" ejaculated the scapegrace with fervor, "and how is he?" No one smiled, no one felt the necessity to do so. Lady Arabella sighed. Few people knew what a trouble life was to her; nor did they understand that it could be an almost daily prayer, "Save me from my friends." Between Sir Edward and Phil- as between two stools Lady Arabella was forever falling to the ground. And now the complications would be worse than ever! No wonder Lady Arabella sighed. Picking up one of Constance's hands which lay on the outside of the thick opossum rug, he held it in his with unblushing coolness. "Nice little hands, Con!" he said approvingly. "Very neat, well-gloved, too. Like to see a woman neat and nice, and all that sort of thing. It's pretty in a woman - hateful in a man. Don't glower at me, Blanche. I know what I am saying." "It's the first time in your life, then," she retorted sharply. "I wonder how you can encourage him, Con!" "One must kill the fatted calf-somehow," murmured that young lady, with an odd, hysterical catch in her voice and a quick glance at Lady Arabella. Blanche's head went up higher. "There is no need to disturb one's self so far, I'm sure," she began, when Lady Arabella herself made an interrup tion. "And pick up any odd thing he may have," suggested his sister amiably. "Yes, if you like; I am quite agreeable. I am a man of very simple tastes; very little pleases me. I say, mother, if you had only seen me out there what a figure I cut! It was in the bush, and they thought me no end of a swell. Some day I'll dress up like it, and you can ask your friends to the show, Blanche. will be a little treat for them, poor dears." Blanche was very angry. A hot spot glowed in the middle of each cheek, and she was highly indignant. It "You appear very simple, Phil," she retorted, "but my own impression is, that you are just as bad as any one else.” "Thank you, Blanche dear. Just as bad! why, how grateful I am! I thought I was a great deal worse. Ah, well, we never see ourselves as others see us, do we?" "Happily not," said Lady Arabella, awaking from her own reverie in time to hear the last sentence. "Happily not!" Her son looked at her with the sweetest of smiles. "Dear old mother!" he said warmly, "I'm a terrible thorn, I know. Never mind, we grow to love our afflictions, don't we?" Wild horses would not draw from Phil the confessions which he occasionally made unasked to Lady Arabella. And now she leaned back in the carriage and smiled at him, although her heart was full of misgiving, and the certainty that sooner or later there was Sir Edward to be squared. Lady Arabella was always squaring the circle. It is a difficult task. CHAPTER II. THERE was a dinner at the Hall that evening. In the first blush of meeting Phil, Lady Arabella had forgotten all about it; but when she returned home it came back to her memory. The ClarkWinters were to dine with them, also the Stantons rather smart, new people, with any amount of money, who had taken the Grange, and done it up in luxurious style. The old rector was coming-thank goodness! — and those young people, the new doctor and his wife; Phil would get on with these. But the Clark-Winters Lady Arabella shuddered. Phil and she were sitting together in her morning-room after lunch. Lady Arabella looked absurdly young to be the mother of that great tall young fellow opposite; she was as slim as a girl herself, and had a refined, intelligent face and a clever, capable look about the eyes and mouth. In her dress of grey tweed, with the little twist of lace on her head for a cap, she had a strong look of Blanche, but with it greater sweetness than that young woman had ever displayed. She turned the huge turquoise ring round and round on her finger; then she looked up at Phil, who was seated in a low cane chair, over which a striped Spanish manta was flung. "Phil," she said abruptly; and it was not at all what she had meant to say, for she had intended a lecture both improving and reproving. Phil, the Clark-Winters dine here to day." 66 Phil was the second son, who would "take" to nothing, and who only understood the noble art of spending. Generous, open-handed, impulsive Phil was the one who would make ducks and drakes of wealth-if he had it; therefore, Sir Edward had decided that he should not have it. Luckily, the future baronet, Mr. Monkton, was as penurious as Sir Edward, and a perfect model of the proprieties. He had an excellent diplomatic appointment abroad, and might eventually, if he lived long enough, succeed in becoming H. B. M Ambassador at some foreign court. All the good things fell to the share of Edward Monkton junior-all the good things, except looks. Edward Monkton was like all his fore-elders on his father's side — a remarkably plain young man. He lived a very precise kind of life, in spite of the gaiety into which he was continually thrown; and no one living was more sensitive on the score of appearances. Phil inherited his mother's beauty; she had been a handsome young girl; she was now, with hair softening into grey, and the little fading look that was slowly creeping over her a very lovely woman. Nothing is more wearing than the continual living with a person who possesses a mean side. There is perpetual irritation, incessant rasping, and unending friction. It says much for Lady Arabella that, although a person of very strong will and decision, she was yet able to keep a temper so thoroughly amiable and unspoilt. Perhaps although it might make Phil vain to know this—perhaps it was owing, in some measure, to Phil himself. She was like him, he was like ber. The same characteristics came out in both. The same tendencies kept both young, and tender, and friends. It is a grand thing when a man has as bis best and truest friend - his mother. Sir Edward wanted Phil to work - but only in his way. Phil would have been glad enough to work also in his own It was her turn to be monosyllabic now. way. The two colliding, Phil had gone off "Shall I tell you?" on the spur of the moment to Australia; and had not liked it. He missed his home, he missed his irate old father missed his mother. So he came home. he Nothing could be more simple. Nothing lay in a smaller nutshell. But very few accepted this version of the story. The country people had, each and all, separate legends to account for Phil's absence, which would become historic in time. As years rolled on Phil might even "Yes, I know. It is not I. It is the Pater." have become a ghost to haunt Monkton |tion de novo? I cannot, and I will not. Hall. These privileges of futurity were, You know that, mother." however, unknown to the delinquent. Probably he never reflected that it is only the naughty folks who are dignified into revenants. The good ones are so uninteresting that we bury them and have done with them thankfully. The others we seem loth to lose. Phil was not a very bad sort of creature, after all; only some people made him into a bogie-man, and were resolved that he should keep up the reputation. Lady Arabella turned her gaze from the fire to her son. "What shall you wear?" she asked at last, as if that had been the one thought of her mind. Phil laughed. "I thought you were thinking over all the things that had ever been," he said gaily, hitting, in his ignorance, much nearer the mark than he imagined. "I have my clothes here, you know." "Clothes?" 'Why, yes. My things, you know; of course I never took any of my dressthings with me, why should I? I had gone out to till the land, had I not?" "Then your boxes were very badly packed." 66 Packed them myself. No, they were not. I only took what was wanted." "Phil, how will you meet the ClarkWinters? They represent gossip up and down the country." 666 "And needs must,' etc. Well, I am not going to be sacrificed for any needs,' so please bear that in mind." "Is it the old story, Phil?" she asked anxiously. "Has Australia not cured that?" "Neither Australia, nor anything, nor anybody else!" he returned shortly. Then he added in a lighter tone: "Is it not time you went to dress, mother dear? The girls went up some moments ago. And even I must pay some attention to the outer man to-night, if I am to propi. tiate the powers that be." Lady Arabella rose and laid her hand firmly on his arm. "You must, Phil; bear that in mind! You must, if Ned is not to carry all before him." She spoke earnestly; her carefully modulated voice letting each accent fall with wonderful clearness on his ear. But from Phil's mind all deeper meaning was far enough away. "Ned!" he cried lightly. "Bless him! He can carry' all, and welcome, dear old boy! I wish he were at home also." Then he kissed his mother tenderly on both cheeks, and went off happily to dress. Lady Arabella did not move. She merely raised her dress from force of habit, to prevent its burning, as her foot rested on the fender. And in the evening they will return, grin like a dog, and run about the city,' quoted Phil, absently poking the fire with "Ah, Phil, Phil!" she mused, lingering the point of his mother's dainty umbrella. lovingly on the syllable. "If all the "I shall meet the dear Detestables with world were like you, how happy we might sweet emphasis. Never fear, mother, I be! But, Sir Edward- and Ned! Litwill be as delightful as you please. Itle do you know those two. Little do know numbers of new songs, and any you know with whom you are dealing!" amount of stories; you can call upon me to any extent." Lady Arabella sighed. There was a tap at the door, and her maid entered. "Miladi, it is late. Will miladi not very massive, very fortress-like. It has probably stood a great many sieges in its day, and has been used on the defensive more than once, if legends are to be believed. The upper rooms were the keep; the lower ones were used as cattle shelters in the old foray-days; their ancient character still clings to them. This Lady Arabella has turned into her receptionroom. It is long and low, with a vaulted ceiling, and walls eight feet thick. It is quite a "show" room, and a goodly one in which to entertain guests. At the upper end a bright fire burnt, casting a ruddy light all over the walls and the arched roof on the oak and on the pictures and above all, on the tall and elegant figure of Lady Arabella, and the more robust and rotund one of Sir Edward, as they stood together to receive their guests. Over and over again did Lady Arabella's eyes turn to the door. She dreaded Phil's appearance, and yet she did not know what she could do to soften the shock his entry would be. Sir Edward trotted to and fro about the room, chatting with the nice-looking people. If he had a weakness it was for good looks; as a rule, we do care most for what we are deficient in. Sir Edward liked handsome women, and tall, straight men; and he liked to be seen with them. Lady Arabella could not offend him more than to fill her rooms with plain and dowdy persons. Blanche, who was just then talking to old Mr. Stanton, looked very fresh and pretty in the lovely dress that acted as a foil to her complexion. Its folds swept the ground around her slight figure, making her look even younger than her years, while the tender faint peach-color, and the coil of pearls round the fair white neck, made her an indescribably charming pic ture. Sir Edward's eyes had noted his daughter's appearance; and he was pleased. But when he glanced at Lady Arabella, he felt proud. Scarcely another woman in the country-side could hold her own against that queenly grace and manner. She wore a dress of golden velvet, toned down by the dusky hue of some priceless antique lace, an heirloom in the Monkton family; while on her neck and arms she wore the famous diamonds that were the envy of all who beheld them; and in her hair sparkled the dark blood-red coils of Eastern rubies. "'Pon my word!" said Sir Edward, "miladi is splendid to-night. Must say something nice to her beats any woman here. Jove! she's inconveniently like that scapegrace, Phil." Then he looked thoughtful and sad. "Wish the lad were. a little bit nearer, at any rate. The other side of the world is a long way off. Hullo, Con!" he added aloud, "you're looking very nice, my dear. That's a smart gown, ain't it?" He put up his glasses to see it the better. He liked this niece to do honor to the family, although she was poor and dependent in a way upon him, his brotherin-law, the parson, being far too heavily burdened to keep his girls decently at home. Sir Edward always felt an intolerant contempt for this brother-in-law, and, indirectly, for his sister. But he was glad when Lady Arabella brought Constance Selwyn home, and cared for her, and made much of her, even as she did of her own child. When he noted her dress just now, Con laughed. It was pleasant to have it admired, for she knew she looked well in it. The dress was very simple, but therein lay its chief charm; it was a work of deepest art. Simplicity itself is an art nowadays. We pay heavily for it. Made of some pure white fabric, with a knot of crimson roses, and a large red feather fan, she looked exceedingly well; and she smiled back at Sir Edward. "Yes; Aunt Arab gave me this dress. It is smart," she said, in high good humor. Then the door was flung open - wide open, in the frankest manner possible — and a tall figure entered. For a moment the room danced before the eyes of two widely different people in it-Sir Edward and Constance. Then Sir Edward mechanically put on his glasses. "It is you, is it, Phil?" he asked doubtfully, as the young fellow came quickly across the room to him; and Constance Selwyn wondered what would happen next. Then, to every one's intense surprise, Phil bent his handsome head, and, stooping down, kissed his father gravely on his round old face. The movement was so sudden, and so unexpected, that Sir Edward, used as he was to "Phil's ways," forgot to say a word, and could only hold his son's hand in his, and gaze up into the grand young face above him so wonderfully like his mother's, he felt- - without remembering in the least that he ought to feel extremely angry. |
