The spell only lasted for a few moments before the carriage went on, and with a low hysterical cry, Julia caught at her sister's hand to whisper hoa.r.s.ely--

"Oh, Cynthia, that dreadful man again!"

End of Volume One.

PART ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY.

JOCK MORRISON'S THREAT.

The visit to town was but a flying one upon this occasion. The poverty at the rectory did not seem to be extreme, for the horses and carriage were sent up for the fortnight's stay, and Mrs Mallow had her interview with the new specialist, who talked to her as some specialists do talk, and then she returned to the house taken for the short stay, and her girls had the use of the carriage.

It was a curious thing, and at first it had pa.s.sed almost unnoticed, but just before the Mallows left the rectory, undergoing a process of smoking out, Frank and Cyril being the smoke producers, Jock Morrison, whose three months had been over now for some time, appeared once more in the neighbourhood of Lawford.

Julia and Cynthia met him one day by Tom Morrison's cottage, leaning against the doorpost and talking to little Polly.

He had stared hard at them and then slouched away, Polly apologising for his presence.

"You see, Miss Julia, Miss Cynthia, he's my husband's own brother, and we don't want him to feel that we turn our backs upon him."

"No, of course not," said Cynthia, "but I wish he would keep away;" and then they had a long chat with the little wife. She looked very pretty and pathetic in her deep mourning, and they parted very tenderly, Julia's heart bleeding for the stricken woman.

"I'd have given anything to have asked her to show me where they buried poor baby," said Cynthia, "but I dare not even allude to it."

"No, of course not," said Julia, with a shiver. "It was very sad; I can't bear to think of it at all. Keep close to me, Cynthy," she whispered.

They had suddenly come upon Jock Morrison, smoking his pipe as he sat upon a stile by the side of the lane, and as they pa.s.sed he stared hard at Julia and laughed in a half-mocking way.

"How dare he stare at us like that!" said Cynthia haughtily, and then she began chatting about Polly Morrison's trouble, and wishing that papa had not been so strict, and the meeting was forgotten till, three days later, when they reached London, and as they got out of the train, Julia started, for there, leaning against a barrier with his hands in his pockets, was Jock Morrison again.

The next day she saw him staring up at the house, and day after day afterwards she was sure to encounter his bold fierce gaze somewhere or another, till she grew quite nervous, telling her sister that she was certain that the mail was meditating some form of revenge against their father for sending him to prison.

"Nonsense!" cried Cynthia. "Papa is a magistrate, and he would not dare."

Back at Lawford, and they were free of the incubus, in fact Jock Morrison pa.s.sed out of mind; for in spite of his breathing out threatenings of poverty, the Reverend Eli Mallow, now that he found his eldest son had not come to him for money, had opened the rectory doors to receive visitors.

"We must entertain a little while we are down here, my dear, for the girls' sake. Perhaps it is as well too for the boys."

"Yes, dear," said Mrs Mallow, looking up from her sofa with her customary patient smile; and the company arrived, and was entertained in a manner that made Fullerton hope that no one would suffer for it, that was all he could say.

Among the guests who had been staying at the rectory were the Perry-Mortons--_the_ Perry-Mortons in society meaning Mr Perry-Morton and his two sisters, for though it was believed that they had, or had had, a father and mother, the seniors were never even heard of, much less seen. Ill-natured people said that Perry-Morton the elder had been a p.a.w.nbroker who had made money largely. Be that as it may, Perry-Morton the younger was very rich, and never mentioned any relatives but his sisters.

Lord Artingale was there from Gatton every day, but his friend and companion, James Magnus, was in the North sketching, so the young man, having no restraining arm on which to lean, fell more in love as fast as he could with little Cynthia.

Claudine Perry-Morton--by the way, there was a good deal of familiar nicknaming at the house of the Perry-Mortons, Mr Perry-Morton having been known to call Claudine--Bessy, and the younger sister--Faustine Judy. But that was in the privacy of their home life, and showed the simplicity and deep affection of their natures.

Claudine Perry-Morton had made a dead set at the young n.o.bleman, but finding at once that her chance was _nil_, she graciously made way for her sister, who sang "Jock of Hazeldine" at him, in a very deep contralto voice, and with a graceful stoop over the piano; but Faustine Perry-Morton was woman of the world enough to see that Lord Artingale's thoughts ran in quite another direction, so she also resigned herself to circ.u.mstances, and thought him a man of exceedingly low tastes.

So all the smiles and sweetness of the sisters were lavished upon the rectory girls for their brother's sake. Nothing particular was said, but it soon became evident that Perry-Morton found favour with the Rector, and it was quite understood that the wealthy visitor would, sooner or later, propose for his elder daughter's hand.

She was nearly as bright at this time as her sister, and Artingale declared that she was the dearest girl he knew, not from any amiable pa.s.sages between them, but because she laughingly helped him to pleasant little _tete-a-tetes_ with her sister, especially when they were out riding; horse exercise and good long gallops being a great deal in vogue, when the weather was mild and clear.

Lord Artingale would canter over from Gatton, sending two or three or more horses by his grooms, an arrangement highly approved of by Frank and Cyril Mallow, who were very civil to him, though in private they compared notes, and said that he would be an awful fool if he had not borne a t.i.tle and kept such good cigars.

Sometimes the Rector joined the equestrian parties upon a quiet cob, but he generally turned homeward after two or three miles, either to make a call or two at the outlying farms, or to meet the carriage. Then, to make things pleasant, poor Julia talked art on horseback with Mr Perry-Morton, while her sister and Lord Artingale had a brisk canter over some heath, and the groom behind sat and grinned.

"Talk about the guv'nor," said the last-named individual, as he returned to the stables with the horses, and compared notes with Lord Artingale's man, "he is a sight on horseback. That there old cob holds him on almost. But if you want to see riding you should go behind that there Perry-Morton."

This was in the midst of a chorus of hissing from the helpers, who were rubbing down the horses after one of the morning rides.

"He do look a rum un," said one of the men.

"Look!" said the groom; "he _is_ a rum un. He gets them little thin legs of his one on each side of the horse, and keeps yer altering his sterrups for ever so long. Now they're too long, and now they're too short, and when we starts he holds his reins one in each hand, and bends forward so that if his horse didn't have on a martingale he'd always be finding his nose between its ears."

"Can't he ride, then?"

"Ride! Yes; like a sack o' sharps on a miller's pony. It's freezing work going out with him, worse than with the guv'nor, for he keeps his 'oss at a walk the whole time. Lor', I'd give something to see him on his lordship's _Mad Sal_."

But the groom was not destined to see Mr Perry-Morton upon that greyhound-framed hunter, which was full of fire and fidget with every one but Cynthia, who could have curbed her with a silken thread, for that gentleman was an admirer of repose even on horseback, and would only ride the quietest horse he could hire at the King's Head, although Lord Artingale offered him the pick of his little stud.

Repose, too, gave him so many excellent opportunities for putting forward his suit with Julia, upon whom he beamed in a mezzo-tinto style, the lady hardly realising his meaning, only thinking him very absurd, and laughingly telling her sister that she owed her a long debt of grat.i.tude for giving her so many opportunities for a long canter--one of those delightful long canters from which Cynthia used to come back with a delicious glow upon her cheeks, and with eyes that literally sparkled with health and pleasure combined.

"Looking like a wild gal," Mr Jabez Fullerton said, as he stood at his shop door. "I declare it's immoral, that's what it is; a parson's daughter gadding about like a jockey, Smithson; it's disgusting."

"Yes," said Mr Smithson, who was calculating how many yards, at how much a yard, were in Cynthia's well-fitting riding-habit.

"There's a horse--look at it--for a young gal to ride! Well, all I can say is that I hope his lordship means to marry her. I never saw such goings on."

"That there habit do fit well though, I must say that," said Smithson.

"Fit?" said Fullerton. "Hah! The rectory's a disgrace!"

But it so happened that riding was not always the order of the day.

Long brisk walks were taken at times, much to the bemiring of Mr Perry-Morton's patent leather shoes; and upon one of these occasions it had been arranged that Julia and Cynthia were to make a call or two upon some of the poor cottagers, who had been rather neglected during the past two weeks. Lord Artingale was going to ride over, and he and Mr Perry-Morton were to bring forward the ladies to meet them, if the Misses Perry-Morton could walk so far.

"Why, Julie, it's quite a treat to be alone once more," said Cynthia, merrily, as they walked briskly along the sandy lanes, calling at first one cottage and then another.

"Treat!" said her sister, smiling, "I thought--"

"Hush! I won't be teased. But, Julie dear, I won't be a hypocrite to you. I do tease him and laugh at him, but he _is_ nice, and I think I'm beginning to like him ever so."

"I like him very, very much," said Julia, naively. "He's a very pleasant, manly fellow."

"Yes, isn't he, dear? But, Julie, it's too bad, I know, of me to leave you so long with that dreadful bore. What does he say to you?"

"Say!" said Julia, with a smile; "really I hardly know. Talks about art and nature's colour, and asks me if I do not find a want of thoroughness in our daily life."