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  'And poor Lily wearing herself to a shadow, in vain attempts to mend matters,' said Claude.

  'If Lily was the eldest, things would be very different,' said Mr. Mohun.

  'Or even if she had been as wise last year as she is now,' said Claude, 'she would have kept Emily in order then, but now it is too late.'

  'This year is, on many accounts, much to be regretted,' said Mr. Mohun, 'but I think it has brought out Lily's character.'

  'And a very fine character it is,' said Claude.

  'Very. She has been, and is, more childish than Eleanor ever was, but she is her superior in most points. She has been your pupil, Claude, and she does you credit.'

  'Thereby hangs a tale which does me no credit,' muttered Claude, as he remembered how foolishly he had roused her spirit of contradiction, besides the original mischief of naming Eleanor the duenna; 'but we will not enter into that now. I see this governess is their best chance. Have you heard of one?'

  'Of several; but the only one who seems likely to suit us is out of reach for the present, and I do not regret it, for I shall not decide till Eleanor comes.'

  'Emily will not be much pleased,' said Claude. 'It has long been her great dread that Aunt Rotherwood should recommend one.'

  'Ay, Emily's objections and your aunt's recommendations are what I would gladly avoid,' said Mr. Mohun.

  'But Lily!' said Claude, returning to the subject on which he was most anxious. 'She is already what Ada calls a monotony, and there will be nothing left of her by the time Eleanor comes, if matters go on in their present fashion.'

  'I have a plan for her. A little change will set her to rights, and we will take her to London when we go next week to meet Eleanor. She deserves a little extra pleasure; you must take her under your protection, and lionise her well.'

  'Trust me for that,' said Claude. 'It is the best news I have heard for a long time.'

  'Well, I am glad that one of my remedies meets with your approbation,' said his father, smiling. 'For the other, you are much inclined to pronounce the cure as bad as the disease.'

  'Not for Lily,' said Claude, laughing.

  'And,' said Mr. Mohun, 'I think I can promise you that a remedy will be found for all the other grievances by Michaelmas.'

  Claude looked surprised, but as Mr. Mohun explained no further, only observing upon the potatoes, through which they were walking, he only said, 'Then it is next week that you go to London.'

  'There is much to do, both for Rotherwood and for Eleanor; I shall go as soon as I can, but I do not think it will be while this fever is so prevalent. I had rather not be from home-I do not like Robert's looks.'

  CHAPTER XIX: THE RECTOR'S ILLNESS

  'Thou drooping sick man, bless the guide

  That checked, or turned thy headstrong youth.'

  The thought of her brother's kindness, and the effect of his consolation, made Lilias awake that morning in more cheerful spirits; but it was not long before grief and anxiety again took possession of her.

  The first sound that she heard on opening the schoolroom window was the tolling of the church bell, giving notice of the death of another of those to whom she felt bound by the ties of neighbourhood.

  At church she saw that Mr. Devereux was looking more ill than he yet had done, and it was plainly with very great exertion that he succeeded in finishing the service. The Mohun party waited, as usual, to speak to him afterwards, for since his attendance upon Naylor had begun he had not thought it safe to come to the New Court as usual, lest he should bring the infection to them. He was very pale, and walked wearily, but he spoke cheerfully, as he told them that Naylor was now quite out of danger.

  'Then I hope you did not stay there all last night,' said Mr. Mohun.

  'No, I did not, I was so tired when I came back from poor John Ray's funeral, that I thought I would take a holiday, and sleep at home.'

  'I am afraid you have not profited by your night's rest,' said Emily, 'you look as if you had a horrible headache.'

  'Now,' said Mr. Mohun, 'I prescribe for you that you go home and lie down. I am going to Raynham, and I will tell your friend there that you want help for the evening service. Do not think of moving again to-day. I shall send Claude home with you to see that you obey my prescription.'

  Claude went home with his cousin, and his sisters saw him no more till late in the day, when he came to tell them that Mr. Mohun had brought back Dr. Leslie from Raynham with him, that Dr. Leslie had seen Mr. Devereux, and had pronounced that he had certainly caught the fever.

  Lily had made up her mind to this for some time, but still it seemed almost as great a blow as if it had come without any preparation. The next day was the first Sunday that Mr. Devereux had not read the service since he had been Rector of Beechcroft. The villagers looked sadly at the stranger who appeared in his place, and many tears were shed when the prayers of the congregation were desired for Robert Devereux, and Thomas and Martha Naylor. It was announced that the daily service would be discontinued for the present, and Lily felt as if all the blessings which she had misused were to be taken from her.

  For some time Mr. Devereux continued very ill, and Dr. Leslie gave little hope of his improvement. Mr. Mohun and Claude were his constant attendants-an additional cause of anxiety to the Miss Mohuns. Emily was listless and melancholy, talking in a maundering, dismal way, not calculated to brace her spirits or those of her sisters. Jane was not without serious thoughts, but whether they would benefit her depended on herself; for, as we have seen by the events of the autumn, sorrow and suffering do not necessarily produce good effects, though some effects they always produce.

  Thus it was with Lilias. Grief and anxiety aided her in subduing her will and learning resignation. She did not neglect her daily duties, but was more exact in their fulfilment; and low as her spirits had been before, she now had an inward spring which enabled her to be the support of the rest. She was useful to her father, always ready to talk to Claude, or walk with him in the intervals when he was sent out of the sickroom to rest and breathe the fresh air. She was cheerful and patient with Emily, and devoid of petulance when annoyed by the spirits of the younger ones rising higher than accorded with the sad and anxious hearts of their elders. Her most painful feeling was, that it was possible that she might be punished through her cousin, as she had already been through Agnes; that her follies might have brought this distress upon every one, and that this was the price at which the child's baptism was to be bought. Yet Lily would not have changed her present thoughts for any of her varying frames of mind since that fatal Whitsuntide. Better feelings were springing up within her than she had then known; the church service and Sunday were infinitely more to her, and she was beginning to obtain peace of mind independent of external things.

  She could not help rejoicing to see how many evidences of affection to the Rector were called forth by this illness; presents of fruit poured in from all quarters, from Lord Rotherwood's choice hothouse grapes, to poor little Kezia Grey's wood-strawberries; inquiries were continual, and the stillness of the village was wonderful. There was no cricket on the hill, no talking in the street, no hallooing in the hay-field, and no burst of noise when the children were let out of school. Many of the people were themselves in grief for the loss of their own relations; and when on Sunday the Miss Mohuns saw how many were dressed in black, they thought with a pang how soon they themselves might be mourning for one whose influence they had crippled, and whose plans they had thwarted during the three short years of his ministry.

  During this time it was hard to say whether Lord Rotherwood was more of a comfort or a torment. He was attached to his cousin with all the ardour of his affectionate disposition, and not one day passed without his appearing at Beechcroft. At first it was always in the parlour at the parsonage that he took up his station, and waited till he could find some means of getting at Claude or his uncle, to hear the last report from them, and if possible to make Claude come out for a walk or ride with him. And once Mr. Moh
un caught him standing just outside Mr. Devereux's door, waiting for an opportunity to make an entrance. He could not, or would not see why Mr. Mohun should allow Claude to run the risk of infection rather than himself, and thus he kept his mother in continual anxiety, and even his uncle could not feel by any means certain that he would not do something imprudent. At last a promise was extracted from him that he would not again enter the parsonage, but he would not gratify Lady Rotherwood so far as to abstain from going to Beechcroft, a place which she began to regard with horror. He now was almost constantly at the New Court, talking over the reports, and quite provoking Emily by never desponding, and never choosing to perceive how bad things really were. Every day which was worse than the last was supposed to be the crisis, and every restless sleep that they heard of he interpreted into the beginning of recovery. At last, however, after ten days of suspense, the report began to improve, and Claude came to the New Court with a more cheerful face, to say that his cousin was munch better. The world seemed immediately to grow brighter, people went about with joyful looks, Lord Rotherwood declared that from the first he had known all would be well, and Lily began to hope that now she had been spared so heavy a punishment, it was a kind of earnest that other things would mend, that she had suffered enough. The future no longer hung before her in such dark colours as before Mr. Devereux's illness, though still the New Court was in no satisfactory state, and still she had reason to expect that her father and Eleanor would be disappointed and grieved. Thankfulness that Mr. Devereux was recovering, and that Claude had escaped the infection, made her once more hopeful and cheerful; she let the morrow take thought for the things of itself, rejoicing that it was not her business to make arrangements.

  CHAPTER XX: THE LITTLE NEPHEW

  'You must be father, mother, both,

  And uncle, all in one.'

  Mr. Mohun had much business to transact in London which he could not leave undone, and as soon as his nephew began to recover he thought of setting off to meet Mr. and Mrs. Hawkesworth, who had already been a week at Lady Rotherwood's house in Grosvenor Square, which she had lent to them for the occasion. Claude had intended to stay at home, as his cousin was not yet well enough to leave the room; but just at this time a college friend of the Rector's, hearing of his illness, wrote to propose to come and stay with him for a month or six weeks, and help him in serving his church. Mr. Devereux was particularly glad to accept this kind offer, as it left him no longer dependent on Mr. Stephens and the Raynham curates, and set Claude at liberty for the London expedition. All was settled in the short space of one day. The very next they were to set off, and in great haste; Lily did all she could for the regulation of the house, packed up her goods, and received the commissions of her sisters.

  Ada gave her six shillings, with orders to buy either a doll or a book-the former if Eleanor did not say it was silly; and Phyllis put into her hands a weighty crown piece, begging for as many things as it could buy. Jane's wants and wishes were moderate and sensible, and she gave Lily the money for them. With Emily there was more difficulty. All Lily's efforts had not availed to prevent her from contracting two debts at Raynham. More than four pounds she owed to Lily, and this she offered to pay her, giving her at the same time a list of commissions sufficient to swallow up double her quarter's allowance. Lily, though really in want of the money for her own use, thought the debts at Raynham so serious, that she begged Emily to let her wait for payment till it was convenient, and to pay the shoemaker and dressmaker immediately.

  Emily thanked her, and promised to do so as soon as she could go to Raynham, and Lily next attempted to reduce her list of London commissions to something more reasonable. In part she succeeded, but it remained a matter of speculation how all the necessary articles which she had to buy for herself, and all Emily's various orders, were to come out of her own means, reduced as they were by former loans.

  The next day Lilias was on her way to London; feeling, as she left Beechcroft, that it was a great relief that the schoolroom and storeroom could not follow her. She was sorry that she should miss seeing Alethea Weston, who was to come home the next day, but she left various messages for her, and an affectionate note, and had received a promise from her sisters that the copy of the music should be given to her the first day that they saw her. Her journey afforded her much amusement, and it was not till towards the end of the day that she had much time for thinking, when, her companions being sleepily inclined, she was left to her own meditations and to a dull country. She began to revolve her own feelings towards Eleanor, and as she remembered the contempt and ingratitude she had once expressed, she shrank from the meeting with shame and dread, and knew that she should feel reproached by Eleanor's wonted calmness of manner. And as she mused upon all that Eleanor had endured, and all that she had done, such a reverence for suffering and sacrifice took possession of her mind that she was ready to look up to her sister with awe. She began to recollect old reproofs, and found herself sitting more upright, and examining the sit of the folds of her dress with some uneasiness at the thought of Eleanor's preciseness. In the midst of her meditations her two companions were roused by the slackening speed of the train, and starting up, informed her that they were arriving at their journey's end. The next minute she heard her father consigning her and the umbrellas to Mr. Hawkesworth's care, and all was bewilderment till she found herself in the hall of her aunt's house, receiving as warm and affectionate a greeting from Eleanor as Emily herself could have bestowed.

  'And the baby, Eleanor?'

  'Asleep, but you shall see him; and how is Ada? and all of them? why, Claude, how well you look! Papa, let me help you to take off your greatcoat-you are cold-will you have a fire?'

  Never had Lily heard Eleanor say so much in a breath, or seen her eye so bright, or her smile so ready, yet, when she entered the drawing-room, she saw that Mrs. Hawkesworth was still the Eleanor of old. In contrast with the splendid furniture of the apartments, a pile of shirts was on the table, Eleanor's well-known work-basket on the floor, and the ceaseless knitting close at hand.

  Much news was exchanged in the few minutes that elapsed before Eleanor carried off her sister to her room, indulging her by the way with a peep at little Harry, and one kiss to his round red cheek as he lay asleep in his little bed. It was not Eleanor's fault that she did not entirely dress Lily, and unpack her wardrobe; but Lilias liked to show that she could manage for herself; and Eleanor's praise of her neat arrangements gave her as much pleasure as in days of yore.

  The evening passed very happily. Eleanor's heart was open, she was full of enjoyment at meeting those she loved, and the two sisters sat long together in the twilight, talking over numerous subjects, all ending in Beechcroft or the baby.

  Yet when Lily awoke the next morning her awe of Eleanor began to return, and she felt like a child just returned to school. She was, however, mistaken; Eleanor assumed no authority, she treated Lily as her equal, and thus made her feel more like a woman than she had ever done before. Lily thought either that Eleanor was much altered, or that in her folly she must have fancied her far more cold and grave than she really was. She had, however, no time for studying her character; shopping and sight-seeing filled up most of her time, and the remainder was spent in resting, and in playing with little Henry.

  One evening, when Mr. Mohun and Claude were dining out, Lilias was left alone with Mr. and Mrs. Hawkesworth. Lily was very tired, but she worked steadily at marking Eleanor's pocket-handkerchiefs, until her sister, seeing how weary she was, made her lie down on the sofa.

  'Here is a gentleman who is tired too,' said Eleanor, dancing the baby; 'we will carry you off, sir, and leave Aunt Lily to go to sleep.'

  'Aunt Lily is not so tired as that,' said Lily; 'pray keep him.'

  'It is quite bedtime,' said Eleanor, in her decided tone, and she carried him off.

  Lilias took up the knitting which she had laid down, and began to study the stitches. 'I should like this feathery pattern,' said she, '(if
it did not remind me so much of the fever); but, by the bye, Frank, have you completed Master Henry's outfit? I looked forward to helping to choose his pretty little things, but I see no preparation but of stockings.'

  'Why, Lily, did not you know that he was to stay in England?'

  'To stay in England? No, I never thought of that-how sorry you must be.'

  At this moment Eleanor returned, and Mr. Hawkesworth told her he had been surprised to find Lily did not know their intentions with regard to the baby.

  'If we had any certain intentions we should have told her,' said Eleanor; 'I did not wish to speak to her about it till we had made up our minds.'

  'Well, I know no use in mysteries,' said Mr. Hawkesworth, 'especially when Lily may help us to decide.'

  'On his going or staying?' exclaimed Lily, eagerly looking to Mr. Hawkesworth, who was evidently more disposed to speak than his wife.

  'Not on his going or staying-I am sorry to say that point was settled long ago-but where we shall leave him.'

  Lily's heart beat high, but she did not speak.

  'The truth is,' proceeded Mr. Hawkesworth, 'that this young gentleman has, as perhaps you know, a grandpapa, a grandmamma, and also six or seven aunts. With his grandmamma he cannot be left, for sundry reasons, unnecessary to mention. Now, one of his aunts is a staid matronly lady, and his godmother besides, and in all respects the person to take charge of him,-only she lives in a small house in a town, and has plenty of babies of her own, without being troubled with other people's. Master Henry's other five aunts live in one great house, in a delightful country, with nothing to do but make much of him all day long, yet it is averred that these said aunts are a parcel of giddy young colts, amongst whom, if Henry escapes being demolished as a baby he will infallibly be spoilt as he grows up. Now, how are we to decide?'

  'You have heard the true state of the case, Lily,' said Mrs. Hawkesworth. 'I did not wish to harass papa by speaking to him till something was settled; you are certainly old enough to have an opinion.'