CHAPTER III.

'True to the kindred points of heaven and home." WORDSWORTH.

IRST-CLASS, sir?"

"Yes. Jump in, Constance!" And Bertram, who, with his sister, had been paying a visit to some friends in London, and was now returning to Rookdale, assisted her into the carriage, and sprang in after her. They were only just in time, for they had arrived late at the station, and in another moment the train moved slowly off.

Constance leant back, and amused herself by examining the faces of her fellow-travellers -always a fertile source of interest to her, as to many. There were only two in the compartment besides themselves. One was a quiet little middle-aged lady, at the farther end, not very interesting in appearance. Constance's furtive glances soon wandered from her to the remaining occupant, her own vis-à-vis, a tall, dark young man, with thin aquiline features, well-shaped head, and an earnest, thoughtful cast of countenance. The pale and sallow, though sunburnt complexion, and the sunken cheeks, together with a general look of weakness and lassitude, seemed to denote ill-health. There was something in his face that irresistibly attracted Constance, and she found herself more than once looking at him, and endeavouring to discover what it was. At length her attention was drawn off by Bertram, who began grumbling in an undertone at having no newspaper.

"You should have bought one at the station,"

said Constance.

smile lurking in the corners of his mouth which Constance interpreted into amusement at the self-important tone of her brother.

"Thank you," said Bertram, in a manner intended to be polite and reserved, though it savoured far more of a certain stiff shyness. "I should be sorry to trouble you-I mean, to deprive you of it." Not at all," was the answer; "I have quite done with it. There is very little news of any importance. What an exceedingly damp, raw day it is."

"Very," said Bertram, his reserve thawing before the gentlemanly tone and manner of his fellow-traveller. "Wretched weather we have had all the last week."

"Not unusual though for England, I fancy," rejoined the other. "I have been abroad now for many years, but my boyish recollections of home certainly include a large amount of rain and damp, even in summer."

Constance could not help throwing in the remark, "Nevertheless, I don't know who would wish to change England for any other country."

"Not many, I hope," he said, turning towards her instantly. "Rainy and foggy as our country is, there is not another like it in the world, in my opinion, and in the opinion of all true Englishmen."

"Not like it, of course," said Bertram; "but there are many other countries with far finer scenery, and greater advantages." "Advantages! In what way ?" inquired the gentleman, with a slightly amused air.

Bertram hesitated, and then continued, "At any rate, the scenery in other countries is much more beautiful than in England."

"Grander and finer, if you like-not more beautiful. I have seen some most magnificent scenery during the last few years; yet many a time I would have given anything for the sight of a green English hedgerow, with fields on

each side, and blue hills in the distance. Less imposing it may be, but not less lovely, though the beauty is of a different description."

Thereupon Constance, who was an enthusiastic little patriot, made up her mind that the gentleman must be a most desirable acquaintance, and she only wished they knew him. Who was he? and who could it be that his face recalled to her so strongly? She asked herself this question repeatedly during the conversation that ensued between Bertram and their fellow-traveller, but without being able to answer it. He was evidently as well-informed in mind as he was pleasant in manners; and from listening, Constance was soon drawn on to talking, till she grew so interested that Bertram gave her a quizzical look to remind her that she was conversing with an entire stranger, which she seemed to have forgotten. Constance understood him, blushed, and sat very quiet during the rest of their journey, which was not long, for in about ten minutes more they stopped at Rookdale station. Much to her surprise, their new friend followed them out of the carriage, and she was wondering afresh who he could be, when Bertram, who had hurried away to see after the luggage, came back in a state of unusual excitement, just as the train moved slowly off.

66

66

Bertram Bertram! surely you will give him a reward ?"

Bertram shook off her hand rather impatiently, but on raising his eyes encountered those of their fellow-traveller. He was standing at a little distance, speaking to a man, but at that moment was looking in their direction, and had evidently witnessed the whole transac tion. Something there was of undisguised indignation in those grave eyes that brought the colour into Bertram's cheeks; but after a moment's deliberation he opened his purse, selected a threepenny piece, and offered it as the reward of honesty. It was laconically declined, and the man turned away. Constance, in a state of hot displeasure, walked across the platform, followed by Bertram. Her intention was undoubtedly to give him frankly her opinion of what had passed the moment

66

Consequence! I should think so,” said Bertram in great perturbation. "Ten pounds of my own in it, and the twenty-pound note that Mr. Landgrave sent to papa by me, for that institution. What is to be done?" he exclaimed, in such real distress that Constance forbore to rally him upon his carelessness, after taking charge of the note himself, on the plea that "Constance would be certain to lose it." "Are you quite sure it is not in your pocket still, Bertram ?"

'Quite! I have looked three times-turned my pockets out."

"You must have left it in the train. But I should think you had better make inquiries." Bertram went to a porter at a little distance, with a hasty query upon the subject.

"What kind of purse, sir ?" asked the man, pausing.

"Red russian leather, with several pocketscontaining ten pounds in gold and a twentypound bank-note," said Bertram rapidly; and

was frustrated by something else that drove the whole occurrence out of her head. Two or three boxes were piled up on the ground, and as she brushed past them, her gaze carelessly falling for an instant upon the direction-card affixed to the upper one, she read the words 'Captain Vivian" in a clear, bold hand, and came to a standstill.

'Bertram, just see!" she exclaimed eagerly. "Surely Leonard can't be here!"

"It looks as if he were," said Bertram. "Perhaps he has gone home, and left these to be sent after him. I'll ask about it."

But at this moment their railway friend walked up with a somewhat slow, feeble step, and desired a porter to carry the boxes to a fly outside the station. Bertram exclaimed involuntarily,

"Are these yours ?-I mean, is that your name?" pointing to the card.

"My name is Captain Vivian," was the courteous answer, contrasting with Bertram's blunt tones. "Are you old acquaintances of mine? Perhaps I ought to recognise you."

66

'Leonard, we did not know you in the least," exclaimed Constance, eagerly shaking

hands with him. "I had no idea you were coming by this train. What! don't you know us yet-Constance and Bertram!"

His grasp of her hand was warm enough now to satisfy her.

"I had not the slightest idea of it, I am ashamed to say. My little sister has grown out of all knowledge," he added, smiling. "But I see now a look in both of you that I ought to have recognised."

"And I can say the same," added Constance. "I could not imagine who you reminded me of so strongly. I see now how little you are altered-only you look older, and sunburnt, and not very well, I must say. How weak you are, Leonard!" she added, struck again by his slow, languid step. "Are you no better yet?" "Much better; only not very strong. I expect Rookdale to set me up again. Thank you," as Bertram offered him his arm. you going to walk or drive home?" 'The carriage was to be sent for us," said Constance. Yes, there it is. You must come with us, Leonard, and your boxes can be sent round after us. Bertram, will you just go and tell them to send them ?"

'Are

Bertram obeyed, and returned almost immediately. Constance asked, as they drove off, "Did you not write home to say that you were coming, Leonard ?"

"Yes; I arrived at Southampton yesterday, and I sent off a line at once to let your mother know when to expect me. Your absence of course prevented your knowing it."

"And are you glad to come home?" asked Constance.

Captain Vivian smiled.

I don't

"What a question, Constance! think it deserves any answer. How Rookdale has altered in the last few years. These houses are all new to me. I am beginning to realize now how long my absence has been. I believe I was expecting to find things almost the same as when I left. Are all quite well at home ?"

"All, when we last heard," said Constance. "And your father-has he altered at all ?" "I don't know," said Constance slowly. "I daresay he has, more than I know. I was such a child seven years ago that I hardly remember. Sometimes I think he is graver, and less bright and cheerful than I can recollect him. But he is just the same after all-just the same dear, delightful, perfect papa, and the best man that ever was," said Constance, enthusiastically.

"And now we are going to have something of the same kind again, I hope," pursued Constance. 'You said just now that you saw a great many changes; but I don't think, after all, that many people leave England for so many years, and come back to find so few alterations as you will do."

No, indeed, I am thankful to say," replied Leonard; and then there was a pause, broken by Constance.

"You haven't asked yet after your old friends the Wentworths."

'Very well. Mrs. Wentworth is just as smart as ever."

Was that her characteristic ?" inquired' Captain Vivian, rather drily. And how is Beatrice? Has she grown as much as you ?"

"As much! Why, Leonard, I am short, and Beatrice is tall-taller than Mrs. Wentworth. She is very-what shall I call her ?-not exactly pretty, I think. But she always reminds me of a queen or princess in disguise."

"What! does she go about in rags ?" Constance could not help laughing. "Leonard, it is too bad! You won't let me say a single thing without criticising."

"But I should be obliged to you to tell me the nature of the disguise," said Captain Vivian. "It is rather a startling idea."

"I only mean that she dresses very plainly -she always has the simplest and cheapest dresses she can wear."

"From principle, or from a desire to cross her mother?" inquired Leonard, provokingly. "I believe young ladies are rather independent in their tastes in these days, are they not? I should not imagine that Mrs. Wentworth would quite approve of such a style."

Leonard, I shall be quite angry with you. You ought to know Beatrice better. She dresses plainly that she may have a little money to do good with, and to give away to the poor. She has such a very small sum for her dress,

that I only wonder she can spare a penny, but she contrives to save a good deal."

"By going shabby," said Bertram. "Bertram, how can you talk such nonsense? Beatrice never looks shabby. That is just what I admire so much-that there is no parade of her generosity. She always looks perfectly ladylike and in good taste; and all her things are made nicely, for she works at them a great deal herself; but she chooses plain, inexpensive materials, and good wearing colours, and denies herself all useless extras. She always tries to please Mrs. Wentworth, too, by looking nice, because Mrs. Wentworth is particular about that, but she never buys anything merely to please herself."

"That is not much in your line," said Bertram, with a short laugh, glancing at his sister's light delicate summer dress.

"I am not so poor as Beatrice," said Constance; "and papa will always give me money for the poor if I ask him."

"Aye, and then you present it, and get the credit of being very generous," said Bertram, drawing an angry flush into Constance's

cheeks.

"Really, Bertram, you say such things-" "That no one can suppose them to be true," interposed Captain Vivian.

"Thank you," said Constance, with a grateful look.

"I never have meant for a moment to gain credit on false pretences, if I ever have done such a thing."

"No one could suppose it possible," kindly observed Leonard. "Constance, I am going to make an inquiry now after my respected cousin of Vivian Mansion. She is still alive and well, is she not?"

"Alive, but not very well, though she won't allow that anything is the matter with her. She ages very fast, and looks very feeble, and sometimes hardly leaves the house for weeks together. Poor old lady! I believe Mr. Wentworth thinks rather badly of her."

"Do you ever see her ?"

"Never, to speak to her. Occasionally very occasionally-we meet her out of doors; but I should never dream of saying a word to her. Papa calls at her door once in a way, but she is always 'engaged' when he does, and she never returns the compliment. Beatrice knows her better than anyone else does. I believe she is the only person in the world that Miss Vivian really cares for; though it seems to me that she shows her affection more by scolding and contradicting her than in any

other way. So at least I gather from Beatrice's words, though she never allows me to say so; and she bears it beautifully, I know."

"Very benevolent of her," said Bertram, with something approaching a sneer.

"It is benevolent,” replied Constance quickly. "She will never gain anything by it. And she never hesitates to tell Miss Vivian what she thinks-I mean, when Miss Vivian is arguing for anything that is wrong."

"I know she is your paragon," exclaimed Bertram.

66

'Never mind him, Constance," said Captain Vivian, with a slight smile. "You and I like paragons, don't we? But I was going to ask after Vivian Mansion. Is it as much of a wilderness as ever?"

"Much worse. In most parts you really cannot walk at all without being held fast by thorns, or stung by huge stinging-nettles almost as high as my head. And the upper windows of the house are in a most dilapidated state, Beatrice says-though the house stands too far back for us to see that from the road. Less than half a dozen rooms in the house are occupied, and the rest are all left to go to ruin. Miss Vivian won't spend a penny in repairs. What is the use, she says, when she doesn't care for a garden, and never has to look through the broken windows? She doesn't care in the least what other people think about it."

"I am afraid she is not much softened by time and age," said the Captain, thoughtfully. "Does she know of my return ?”

"She knows we expect you. Beatrice told her; but she showed no particular pleasure— rather the contrary, I am afraid. Queen Elizabeth could not endure James the Sixth of Scotland!" and Constance laughed.

"Your simile is a very incorrect one in allimportant respects. But here we are, almost at home. How little the place has changed!"

Another moment, and they were through the gate, driving round the broad carriagedrive that encircled the lawn in front of the house. Many were the recollections of former days that came thronging into Leonard's mind. as he gazed upon the low irregular building, with its rich creepers, its green lattice porch covered with jasmine, and its square unorna. mental wing, containing the drawing-room. At the door they were met by Mr. Mansfield with the warmest of welcomes. A son of his own could hardly have been received with greater affection and pleasure. Nor was Mrs.

Mansfield behindhand, though always quieter and more listless in her manner of speaking and moving.

"So Constance and Bertram found you on the way?" said Mr. Mansfield. "I was wondering if you would meet one another, when I heard from your letter this morning that you would be coming by the same train; but I thought it very doubtful whether there would be any recognition between you."

"Very, considering how Constance and Bertram are altered," said Captain Vivian, glancing up from the depths of the easy chair to which he had been consigned by unanimous consent. "If I have changed half so much, I do not wonder at our not knowing one another." 'Where did you meet ?" asked Mr. Mansfield.

66

Let me tell," said Constance. "We travelled down from London, papa, in a carriage with only one gentleman and lady besides ourselves. I took rather a fancy to the gentleman, without knowing why, except that something in his face seemed very familiar, and recalled pleasant associations. I felt almost as if I must know him, though I could not really remember seeing him before, and it never once occurred to me that he was Leonard. I had no idea of meeting him there, of course. However, he offered Bertram his paper, and Bertram answered, and gradually we found ourselves in the midst of quite a conversation."

"And Constance was almost as much at her ease as if she had known him all her life," said Bertram.

"Which I had," cried Constance triumphantly, and there was a general laugh.

you

"As

"But didn't know that," persisted Bertram. "He might have been any sort of character. How could you tell that he wasn't a pickpocket, or a swindler, or a garotter ?" Constance burst out laughing afresh. if garotters were in the habit of discussing scenery and travels with their victims before commencing operations," she cried. "Oh, Bertram, you really are too simple. Besides, you talked quite as much as I did. I believe it was a kind of instinct which made us feel at home with him-that we really recognized him without being aware of it.”

Bertram muttered, “Nonsense!” half to himself; and Mr. Mansfield remarked,

"Nevertheless, I should be rather careful about trusting to instinct in such cases, Constance. Young ladies should be cautious about making new acquaintances in railway carriages,

or, as Bertram says, they may find they have made a mistake."

Constance coloured, and he patted her cheek kindly. Then turning the subject, he asked. if they intended to starve Leonard after his journey.

"He has had lunch in London, papa, and says he would rather wait now until our regular dinner-time. Oh, there is another thing I wanted to say, Bertram: How could you treat that man in such a way at the station ?" "Treat him how?" asked Bertram. "What would you have had me do ?"

"Give him a reward, of course. It was such a shame."

"What was? I offered him something, and he would not take it."

"I should think not!" returned Constance warmly. "A paltry little threepenny-piece in return for thirty pounds! I wonder you had the face to offer it."

"You talk as if the thirty pounds belonged to him instead of to me. It was only common honesty to return it to me. I don't see what occasion there was for rewarding him at all.”

"Rather uncommon honesty I should call it," quietly remarked Captain Vivian. "Nine men out of ten in such circumstances would have been as likely as not to have kept the purse and its contents for their own use.' "Then they would have been stealing."

66

Certainly they would, but that does not alter the case, nor the fact that indirectly at least you have been doing something to-day to encourage dishonesty."

Bertram coloured up, and Constance exclaimed,

'Oh, I am so glad you think so, Leonard. I can't bear not rewarding people for honesty." "It is very wrong not to do so in such cases as this," said Captain Vivian. "I have never lost the impression made upon me by a conversation I once heard between two cabmen at a station, just before I left England. One of them was saying that he had several times discovered things left in his cab by passengers, and had restored them to their owners, usually receiving in return nothing but ‘thanks.' He was ridi. culing very much the extreme cheapness of the reward to those who bestowed it."

"I don't think anyone has a right to expect a reward for mere honesty," persisted Bertram. "I don't know about that," said Leonard gravely. "You or I ought certainly to expect nothing of the sort, were we ever in such circumstances. Indeed, it would be almost an

H