CHAPTER XXIX.-AS IRON ENTERING INTO

THE SOUL.

The

THE Earl of Oakburn was in a bustle. earl was one of those people who always are in a bustle when starting upon a journey, be it ever so short a one. He was going on a visit to Sir James Marden at Chesney Oaks, and he was putting himself in a commotion over it.

To Jane's surprise he had announced an intention not to take Pompey. Jane wondered how he would get on without that faithful and brow-beaten follower, if only in the light of an object to roar at; and when she asked the earl the reason for not taking him, he had civilly replied that it was no business of hers. Jane felt sorry for the decision, for she believed Pompey to be essential to her father's comforts; and she knew the earl, with all his temper, liked the old servant, and was glad to have him about him; but otherwise Jane attached no importance to the matter. So the earl was driven to the Paddington station, and Pompey, after seeing his master and his carpet-bag safely in an express train, returned with the carriage to Portland Place.

Jane Chesney was a little busy on her own score just now, for she was seeking a governess to replace Miss Lethwait; one who should prove to be a more desirable inmate than that lady had been. Jane blamed herself greatly for not having inquired more minutely into Miss Lethwait's antecedents; she had been, as she thought now, too much prepossessed in her favour at first sight, had taken her too entirely upon trust. That Jane would not err again on that score, her present occupation was proving-that of searching out the smallest details in connection with the lady now recommended to her, a Miss Snow.

Not many days yet had Miss Lethwait quitted the house, but Jane had forcibly put her out of remembrance. Never, willingly, would she think again upon one, whose conduct in that one particular, the episode to which Jane had been a witness the night of the party, had been so entirely obnoxious.

Lord Oakburn was whirled along that desirable line for travellers, the Great Western. In the opposite corner of the comfortable carriage there happened to be another old naval commander sitting, and the terms that the two got upon were so good, that his lordship could not believe his eyes when he saw the well

known station at Pembury, or believe that they had already reached it.

He had, however, to part with his new acquaintance, for Pembury station was his alighting point. He found Sir James Marden's carriage waiting for him, a sort of mail phaeton, Sir James himself, a little man with a yellow face, seated in the box seat. The earl and his carpet-bag were duly installed in it, and Sir James drove out of the station.

As they were proceeding up the street to take the avenue for Chesney Oaks,—the pleasant avenue, less green now than it had been in spring, which wound through the park to the house,—a small carriage, drawn by a pair of beautiful ponies, came rapidly down upon them. Not more beautiful in their way, those ponies, than were the ladies seated in the carriage. Two gay, lovely ladies, laughing and talking with each other, their veils and their streamers and their other furbelows, flying behind them in the wind. The one, driving, was Colonel Marden's wife, and she was about to rein in and greet Sir James, when her companion, with a half-smothered cry and a sudden paleness displacing the rich bloom on her cheeks, seized the reins and sent the ponies onward at a gallop. It was Lady Laura

Carlton.

"Holloa!" exclaimed Sir James, "what was that for?"

Lord Oakburn, in his surprise, had started up in the phaeton. About the last person he had been thinking of was Laura, and Pembury was about the last place he would have expected to see her in. The fact was, Laura had recently met Mrs. Marden at a friend's house near Great Wennock; the two ladies had struck up a sudden friendship, and Laura had come back with her for a few days' visit.

"She was evidently scared at the sight of one of us, and I'm sure I never met her before to my knowledge," cried Sir James, alluding to the lady seated with Mrs. Marden. "Do you know her, Lord Oakburn ?"

"Know her!" repeated the earl, rather explosively. "I'm sorry to say I do know her, sir. She is an ungrateful daughter of mine, who ran away from her home to be married to a fellow, and never asked my leave."

"It must be Lady Laura Carlton!" quickly exclaimed Sir James Marden.

"You'll have to forgive her, I suppose. What a handsome girl she is!"

"No, I shan't have to forgive her," returned the earl, much offended at the suggestion. "I don't intend to forgive her."

Brave words, no doubt. But who knows what might have come of the interview had that pony carriage been allowed to stop? It might have been a turning point in Laura's life, might have led to a reconciliation-for Lord Oakburn's bark was worse than his bite, and he did love his children. But Laura Carlton, in her startled fear at seeing him so close to her, had herself given the check and the impetus, and the opportunity was gone by for ever.

"What brings her at Pembury?" growled the earl, as they drove through the park.

"I can't tell," replied Sir James. "I conclude she must be visiting at my brother's."

"I didn't know she knew them," was the comment of the earl. "Forgive a clandestine marriage! No, never!"

Brave words again of the Earl of Oakburn's. Clandestine marriages are not good in themselves, and they often work incalculable ill, entailing embarrassing consequences on more than one generation. But the condemnation would have come with better grace from another than Lord Oakburn, seeing that he was contemplating something of the sort on his own account.

He slept one night at Chesney Oaks, and then he concluded his visit. Sir James Marden was surprised and vexed at the abrupt termination. He set it down to the unwelcome presence of the earl's rebellious daughter at Pembury, and he pressed Lord Oakburn's hand at parting, and begged him to come again shortly, at a more convenient period.

But most likely Lord Oakburn had never intended a longer stay. The probabilities were -it's hard, you know, to have to write it of a middle-aged earl, a member of the sedate and honourable Upper House-that he had only taken Chesney Oaks as a blind to his daughters on his way to Miss Lethwait. For his real visit was to her.

Chesney Oaks was situated in quite an opposite part of the kingdom to Twifford vicarage, but by taking advantage of cross rails, Lord Oakburn contrived to reach Twifford late that same night. He did not intrude on them until the following morning. The house, a low one, covered with ivy, was small and unpretending, but exceedingly picturesque; its garden was beautiful, and the birds made their nests and sang in the

In features they were very much alike, but in figure no two could be much more dissimilar than the father and daughter. The vicar was a little shruken man, particularly timid in manner; his daughter magnificent as a queen. If she had looked queenly in the handsomely proportioned rooms of the earl's town house, how much more so did she look in the miniature little parlour of the vicarage.

Lord Oakburn entered upon his business in his usual blunt fashion. He had come down, he said, to make acquaintance with Mr. Lethwait, and to know when the wedding was to be.

The vicar replied by stating that Eliza had told him all. And he, the father, was deeply sensible of the honour done her by the Earl of Oakburn, and that he himself should be proud and pleased to see her his wife; but that he felt a scruple upon the point, as did Eliza. He felt that her entrance into the family might be very objectionable to the earl's daughters.

And, knowing what you do know of the earl, you may be sure that that speech was the signal for an outburst. He poured forth a torrent of angry eloquence in his peculiar manner, so completely annihilating every argument but his own, that the timid clergyman never dared to utter another word of objection. The earl must have it his own way as it had been pretty sure from the first he would have it.

"Eliza has been a good and dutiful daughter, my lord," said the vicar, who in his retired life, his humble home, had hardly ever been brought into contact with one of the earl's social degree. "My living has been very small, and my expenses have been inevitably large-that is, large for one in my position. The last years of my wife's life were years of illness; she suffered from a complaint that required constant medical attendance and expensive nourishment, and Eliza was to us throughout almost as a guardian angel. Every penny she could spare from her own absolute expenses, she sent to us. She has put up with undesirable places where the discomforts were great, the insults hard to be borne, and would not throw herself out, lest we might suffer. She has been a good daughter," he emphatically added; "she will, I hesitate not to say it, make a good wife. And if only your lordship's daughters will——”

Another interrupting burst from his lordship his daughters had nothing to do with it, and he did not intend that they should have. And the vicar was finally silenced.

The earl did things like nobody else. He had spent the best part of his life at sea, and shore ideas and proprieties were still almost to him as a closed book. In discussing the arrangements of the marriage with Miss Lethwait for he compelled her to discuss them, and he did it in a perfectly matter-of-fact manner, just as he might have discussed a debate in the Lords-she found herself obliged to hint, as he did not, that a tour, long or short, inland or foreign, as might be convenient, was usually deemed eligible on that auspicious occasion. The earl could not be brought to see it; did not understand it. What on earth was the matter with his house at home that they could not proceed direct to it on their wedding day? he demanded. Were there a brig convenient they might enjoy a month's cruize in her, and he'd say something to it, or even a well-built yacht; but he hated land travelling, and was not going to encounter it.

Miss Lethwait thought of the horrors of sea-sickness, and left the brig and the yacht to drop into abeyance. Neither dared she, in the timidity of her new position, urge the tour further upon him; but she did shrink from being taken home to the midst of his daughters on the marriage day.

On the following day the earl went back to town, Miss Lethwait having succeeded in postponing the period of the marriage until October.

September was a busy month with Jane Chesney. The term for which they had engaged their present furnished residence was expiring, and Lord Oakburn took on lease one of the neighbouring houses in Portland Place.

Jane was in her element. Choosing furniture and planning out arrangements for their new home was welcome work, all being done with one primary object-the comfort of her father. The best rooms were appropriated to him, the best things were placed in them. Jane thought how happy they should be together, she and her father, in this settled homestead. They did not intend to go out of town that year: why should they? they had but a few months entered it. Custom Fashion? The earl did not understand custom, and fashion was as a foreign ship to him. Jane only cared for what he cared.

They moved into the house the last week in September, Jane anxious with loving cares still. But for the mysterious and prolonged absence of Clarice, she would have been thoroughly and completely happy. Miss Snow was proving an efficient governess for Lucy, and Jane had leisure on her hands. The unpleasant episode in the reign of the last

governess, Eliza Lethwait, had nearly faded from Jane Chesney's memory, and she no more dreamt of connecting that condemned lady with certain occasional short absences of the earl in the country, than she dreamt of attributing them to visits paid to the Great Mogul.

The first week in October came in, and the evenings were getting wintry. Lord Oakburn had been away from home three days, and Jane, who had just got the house into nice condition, and was resting from her labours, had leisure to feel ill. Not actually ill, perhaps ; but anything but well. She had felt so all day, a sick shivery feeling that she could not account for, a low-spirited sensation, as of some approaching evil. Do coming events thus cast their shadows before ? There are those who tell us that they do. Not in that way, however, was Jane Chesney superstitious, or did she think of attributing her sensations to any such mystical cause. "felt out of sorts" she said to Lucy's governess, and supposed she had caught cold.

She

Causing a fire to be lighted in her dressingroom, a little snuggery on the second floor adjoining her bed-room, she resolved to make herself comfortable there for the evening. She ordered the tea-tray to be brought up, and sent a message for Miss Snow and Lucy.

Miss Snow, a little, lively, warm-mannered woman, the very reverse of the dignified Miss Lethwait, was full of trifling cares for Lady Jane. She threw a warm shawl on her shoulders, she insisted on wrapping her feet in flannel as they rested on the footstool before the fire, and she asked permission to make and pour out the tea.

Judith was at that moment bringing in the tea-tray. Judith-I'm sure I forget whether this has been mentioned before-had taken the place of own maid to Jane and Lucy when the change occurred in their fortunes. Jane valued her greatly, and the girl was deserving of it.

"A gentleman has called to inquire when the earl will be at home, my lady,” she said, as she put down the tray. "He wishes very particularly to see him."

"I'm sure I don't know," said Jane, rather listlessly. "Who is it?"

"It is that same gentleman who has been here occasionally on Sir James Marden's business," replied Judith. "I heard him say to Wilson as I came through the hall that he had had a communication from Chesney Oaks which he wished the earl to see as soon as possible. Wilson asked me if I'd bring the message to your ladyship."

Jane turned her head in some slight sur

Oaks?" she repeated. "But papa is at Chesney Oaks. You can tell the gentleman so, Judith."

"No, Jane, papa's not at Chesney Oaks," interposed Lucy, who was dancing about the room with her usual restlessness. "If he had been going to Chesney Oaks he would have gone from the Paddington Station, wouldn't he ?"

"Well?" said Jane.

"Well, he went to the King's Cross Station."

"How do you know?" asked Jane. Lucy gave a deprecatory glance at Miss Snow ere she entered on her confession. She had run out to her papa after he was in the carriage for a last last kiss, and heard Pompey give the order to the coachman, "The King's Cross Station."

Jane shook her head. "You must have been mistaken, Lucy," she said. "I asked papa whether he was going to Chesney Oaks, and he-he-" Jane stopped a moment in recollection" he nodded his head in the affirmative. It must have meant the affirmative," she added, slowly, as if debating the point with herself. "I am sure he is at Chesney Oaks."

were riveted to what was going on in the hall below. The governess administered a sharp reprimand and ordered her to come away. But Lucy was absorbed, and altogether ignored both Miss Snow and the mandate.

"Do you hear me speak to you, Lady Lucy? Must I come for you, then?"

Lucy drew away now, but not, as it appeared, in obedience to the governess. Her face wore a puzzled look of surprise, and she went back to the room on tiptoe.

"Jane," said she, scarcely above her breath, "Jane what do you think? It is papa and Miss Lethwait."

Jane turned round on her chair. nonsense, Lucy! Miss Lethwait!

"What

"It is indeed, Jane. It looks just as though papa had brought her on a visit, and there's some luggage coming into the hall. Miss Lethwait

"It cannot be Miss Lethwait," sharply interrupted Lady Jane, her tone betraying annoyance at the very mistake.

"Yes it is Miss Lethwait," persisted Lucy. "She is dressed so well!-in a rich damask dress and a white bonnet, and an Indian shawl with a gold border. It is just like that Indian shawl of mamma's that you never remove from

Yes, do," replied Jane. "And you can tell the gentleman, Sir James Marden's agent, that I shall expect Lord Oakburn home daily until I see him. He seldom remains away above three days."

Judith went down on her errand, and came up again. Lucy was right. The coachman had driven his master to the King's Cross Station: the coachman further said that it was to the King's Cross Station that he had driven his master on his recent absences. Jane wondered. She was not aware that Lord Oakburn knew any one on that line. time he had taken Pompey with him.

This

Miss Snow busied herself with the tea; Lucy talked; Jane sat in listless idleness. And thus the time went on until a loud knock and ring resounded through the house. Jane lifted her eyes to the clock on the mantelpiece, and saw that it wanted ten minutes to nine.

"Visitors to-night!" she exclaimed, with vexation.

"Don't admit them, Lady Jane," spoke up Miss Snow impulsively, in her sympathy for Lady Jane. "You are not well enough."

Lucy had escaped from the room, and Miss Snow caught her at the dignified pastime of listening. Stretched over the balustrades as

puts you too much in mind of her."

"He ordered me to come up to you, my lady, and ask whether there was nobody to receive him and-and-Lady Oakburn."

"Bade you ask WHAT?" demanded Jane, bending her haughty eyelids on the servant.

"My lady," returned the man, thinking he would give the words as they were given to him, and then perhaps he should escape anger, "what his lordship said was this: "Go up and see where they are, and ask what's the reason that nobody is about, to receive Lady Oakburn.' They were the exact words, my lady."

"Is it my aunt, the Dowager Lady Oakburn?" asked Jane in her wonder.

"It is Miss Lethwait, my lady. That is to say, she as was Miss Lethwait when she lived here."

Lucy was right, then! A ghastly hue overspread the face of Jane Chesney. Not at the unhappy fact-which as yet, strange to say,

had not daw.ed on her mind-but at the insult offered to her by this re-entrance of the governess into their house. Who was she, this Eliza Lethwait, that she should come again, and beard her in her home? Had he, her father, brought her-brought her on a visit, as surmised by Lucy?

The footman had already gone down stairs again. Jane flung aside Miss Snow's wrapperings and prepared to descend. The governess had stood in a state of puzzled amazement, wondering what it all meant. On the stairs Jane encountered Judith. The girl was paler than usual, and very grave.

"My lady," she whispered, arresting Jane's progress, "do you know what has occurred?" "I know that that person whom I turned from my house has dared to intrude into it again," answered Lady Jane in her wrath, speaking far more openly than it was her custom to speak before a servant. "But she shall not stop in it; no, not for an hour. Let me pass, Judith."

"Oh, my lady, hear the worst before you go in; before you enter upon a contest with her that perhaps she'd gain,” implored Judith, in her eager sympathy for her mistress. lord has married her, and has brought her home."

"My

Jane fell against the wall and looked at Judith, a pitiable expression of helplessness on her face. The girl resumed.

to Jane's heart perhaps the keenest pang of all. The earl was striding the room; his stick, suspiciously restless, coming down loudly with cach step. He confronted his two daughters.

"So! here you are at last! And nothing ready, that I see, in the shape of welcome. Not so much as the tea laid! What's the reason, Lady Jane?"

"We did not expect you," replied Jane in a low tone, her back turned on the ex-governess. "You got my letter. Wasn't it plain enough?"

"I have not received any letter."

"Not received any letter! By Jove! I'll prosecute the post-office! Girls," with a flourish of his hand towards his wife-"here's your new mother, Lady Oakburn. You don't want a letter to welcome her."

It seemed that Jane, at any rate, wanted something, if not a letter. She persistently ignored the presence of the lady, keeping her face turned to her father. But when she tried to address him, no sound issued from her white and quivering lips. The new countess came forward, and humbly, deprecatingly, held out her hand to Jane.

"Lady Jane, I implore you, let there be peace between us. Suffer me to sue for it. It has pleased Lord Oakburn to make me his wife; but indeed I have not come here to interfere with his daughters' privileges or to sow dissension in their home. Try and like me, Lady Jane! It will not be difficult to me to love you."

Jane wheeled round, her white lips trembling, her face ablaze with scorn.

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Utterly sick and faint was she, and but for Judith's help she would have fallen. She sunk down on the friendly stairs, and let her head rest on them until the faintness had passed. Then she rose, staggering, and went on with what feeble strength was left her.

"I must know the worst," she moaned. must know the worst."

"Like you!" she repeated, her voice, in her terrible emotion, rising to a hiss. "Like you!