If Keziah had been present-little as Keziah would have understood it, and unsuitable as she would have been for a confidante-Rose felt that she must have told her all. But even Keziah was not within her reach. She tried to settle to something, to read, to do some of her fancy-work. For a moment she thought that to 'practise-a duty which in her emancipation she had much neglected-might soothe her; but she could only practise by going to the sitting-room where the piano was, where her mother usually sat, and where Anne most likely would be at that hour. Her book was a novel, but she could not read it. Even novels, though they are a wonderful resource in the vigils of life, lose their interest at the moments when the reader's own story is at, or approaching, a crisis. When she sat down to read, one of the phrases in Cosmo's letter would suddenly dart upon her mind like a winged insect and give her a sting: or the more serious words of the other letter-the secret of the dead which she had violated-would flit across her, till her brain could stand it no longer. She rose up with a start and fling, in a kind of childish desperation. She could not, would not bear it! all alone in that little dark cell of herself, with no rays of light penetrating it except the most unconsolatory rays, which were not light at all, but spurts as of evil gases, and bad little savage suggestions, such as to make another raid upon Anne's despatch box, and get the letter again and burn it, and make an end of it coming into her mind against her will. But then, even if she were so wicked as to do that, how did she know there was not another? indeed, Rose was almost sure that Anne had told her there was another-the result of which would be that she would only have the excitement of doing something very wrong without getting any good from it. She sat with her book in her hand, and went over a page or two without understanding a word. And then she jumped up and stamped her little feet and clenched her hands, and made faces in the glass at Cosmo and fate. Then, in utter impatience, feeling herself like a hunted creature, pursued by something, she knew not what, Rose seized her hat and went out, stealing softly down the stairs that nobody might see her. She said to herself that there was a bit of ribbon to buy. There are always bits of ribbon to buy for a young lady's toilette. She would save the maid the trouble and get it for herself. The tranquil little old-fashioned High Street of a country town on an August morning is as tranquillising a place as it is possible to imagine. It was more quiet, more retired, and what Rose called dull, than the open fields. All the irregular roofs-here a high-peaked gable, there an overhanging upper storey, the red pediment of the Queen Anne house which was Mr. Loseby's office and dwelling, the clustered chimneys of the almshouses-how they stood out upon the serene blueness of the sky and brilliancy of the sunshine! And underneath how shady it was, how cool on the shady side; in what a depth of soft shelter, contrasting with the blaze on the opposite pave show in the shop windows, where one mild wayfarer in muslin was gazing in, making the quiet more apparent. A boy in blue, with a butcher's tray upon his head, was crossing the street; two little children in sun-bonnets were going along with a basket between them; and in the extreme distance was a costermonger's cart with fruit and vegetables, which had drawn some women to their doors. Of itself the cry of the man who was selling these provisions was not melodious, but it was so softened by the delight of the still, sweet, morning air, in which there was still a whiff of dew, that it toned down into the general harmony, adding a not unpleasant sense of common affairs, the leisurely bargain, the innocent acquisition, the daily necessary traffic which keeps homes and tables supplied. The buying and selling of the rosy-cheeked apples and green cabbages belonged to the quiet ease of living in such a softened, silent place. Rose did not enter into the sentiment of the scene; she was herself a discord in it. In noisy London she would have been more at home; and yet the quiet soothed her, though she interrupted and broke it up with the sharp pat of her high-heeled boot and the crackle of her French muslin. She was not disposed towards the limp untidy draperies that are the fashion.' Her dress neither swept the pavement nor was huddled up about her knees like the curtains of a shabby room, but billowed about her in crisp puffs, with enough of starch; and her footstep, which was never languid, struck the pavement more sharply than ever in the energy of her discomposure. The butcher in the vacant open shop, from which fortunately most of its contents had been removed, came out to the door bewildered to see who it could be; and one of Mr. Loseby's clerks poked out of a window in his shirt-sleeves, but drew back again much confused and abashed when he caught the young lady's eye. The clerks in Mr. Loseby's office were not, it may be supposed, of an order to hope from any notice from a Miss Mountford of Mount; yet in the twenties both boys and girls have their delusions on that point. Rose, however, noticed the young clerk no more than if he had been a costermonger, or one of the cabbages that worthy was selling: yet the sight of him gave her a new idea. Mr. Loseby! any Mountford of Mount had a right to speak to Mr. Loseby, whatever trouble he or she might be in. And Rose knew the way into his private room as well as if she had been a child of the house. She obeyed her sudden impulse, with a great many calculations equally sudden springing up spontaneously in her bosom. It would be well to see what Mr. Loseby knew; and then he might be able to think of some way of punishing Cosmo: and then-in any case it would be a relief to her mind. The young clerk in his shirt-sleeves, yawning over his desk, heard the pat of her high heels coming up the steps at the door, and could not believe his ears. He addressed himself to his work with an earnestness which was almost solemn. Was she coming to complain of his stare at her from the window? or was it to ask Mr. Loseby, perhaps, who was that nice-looking young Mr. Loseby's room was apt to look dusty in the summer, though it was in fact kept in admirable order. But the Turkey carpet was very old and penetrated by the sweeping of generations, and the fireplace always had a tinge of ashes about it. To-day the windows were open, the Venetian blinds down, and there was a sort of green dimness in the room, in which Rose, dazzled by the sunshine out of doors, could for the moment distinguish nothing. She was startled by Mr. Loseby's exclamation of her name. She thought for the moment that he had found her out internally as well as externally, and surprised her secret as well as herself. "Why, little Rose!' he said. He was sitting in a coat made of yellow Indian grass-silk which did not accord sɔ well as his usual shining blackness with the glistening of his little round bald head, and his eyes and spectacles. His table was covered with papers done up in bundles with all kinds of red tape and bands. 'This is a sight for sore eyes,' he said. 'You are like summer itself stepping into an old man's dusty den; come and sit near me and let me look at you, my summer Rose! I don't know which is the freshest and the prettiest!' said the old lawyer, waving his hand towards a beautiful luxurious blossom of 'La France' which was on his table in a Venetian glass. He had a fancy for pretty things. Oh! I was passing, and I thought I would come in-and see you,' Rose said. Mr. Loseby had taken her appearance very quietly, as a matter of course; but when she began to explain he was startled. He pushed his spectacles up upon his forehead and looked at her curiously. Ah !' he said, 'that was kind of you-to come with no other object than to see an old man.' 'Oh!' cried Rose, confused, 'I did not say I had no other object, Mr. Loseby. I want you to tell me-is-is-Anne likely to settle upon the Dower-house? I do so want to know.' 'My dear child, your mother has as much to do with it as Anne has. You will hear from her better than from me.' 'To be sure, that is true,' said Rose; and then, after a pause, "Oh, Mr. Loseby, is it really, really true that Cosmo Douglas is not going to marry Anne? isn't it shameful? to bring her into such trouble and then to forsake her. Couldn't he be made to marry her? I think it is a horrid shame that a man should behave like that and get no punishment at all.' Mr. Loseby pushed his spectacles higher and higher; he peered at her through the partial light with a very close scrutiny. Then he rose and half drew up one of the blinds. But even this did not satisfy him. Do you think then,' he said at last, that it would be a punishment to a man to marry Anne?' 6 'It would depend upon what his feelings were,' said Rose with much force of reason; if he wanted, for example, to marry-some "Say Rose-instead of Anne,' said the acute old lawyer, with a grin which was very much like a grimace. I am sure I never said that!' cried Rose. 'I never, never said it, nor so much as hinted at it. He may say what he pleases, but I never, never said it! you always thought the worst of me, Mr. Loseby, Anne was always your favourite; but you need not be unjust. Haven't I come here express to ask you? Couldn't he be made to marry her? Why, they were engaged! everybody has talked of them as engaged. And if it is broken off, think how awkward for Anne.' Mr. Loseby took off his spectacles, which had been twinkling and glittering upon his forehead like a second pair of eyes; this was a very strong step denoting unusual excitement: and wiped them deliberately while he looked at Rose. He had the idea, which was not a just idea, that either Rose had been exercising her fascinations upon her sister's lover, or that she had been in her turn fascinated by him. You saw a good deal of Mr. Douglas in town?' he said, looking at her keenly, always polishing his spectacles; but Rose sustained the gaze without shrinking. 'Oh, a great deal,' she said, he went everywhere with us. He was very nice to mamma and me. Still I do not care a bit about him if he behaves badly to Anne; but he ought not to be let off-he ought to be made to marry her. I told him-what I was quite ready to do——' And what are you quite ready to do, if one might know?' Mr. Loseby was savage. His grin at her was full of malice and all uncharitableness. 'Oh, you know very well!' cried Rose, it was you first who said— Will you tell me one thing, Mr. Loseby,' she ran on, her countenance changing; what does it mean by the will of 1868?' What does what mean?' The old lawyer was roused instantly. It was not that he divined anything, but his quick instinct forestalled suspicion, and there suddenly gleamed over him a consciousness that there was something to divine. 'Oh !—I mean,' said Rose, correcting herself quickly, 'what is meant by the will of 1868? I think I ought to know.' Mr. Loseby eyed her more and more closely. I wonder,' he said, how you know that there was a will of 1868?' But there was nothing in his aspect to put Rose on her guard. 'I think I ought to know,' she said, but I am always treated like a child. And if things were to turn round again, and everything to go back, and me never to have any good of it, I wonder what would be the use at all of having made any change.' Mr. Loseby put on his spectacles again. He wore a still more familiar aspect when he had his two spare eyes pushed up from his forehead, ready for use at a moment's notice. He was on the verge of a discovery, but he did not know as yet what that discovery would be. Mr. Loseby's room was apt to look dusty in the summer, though it was in fact kept in admirable order. But the Turkey carpet was very old and penetrated by the sweeping of generations, and the fireplace always had a tinge of ashes about it. To-day the windows were open, the Venetian blinds down, and there was a sort of green dimness in the room, in which Rose, dazzled by the sunshine out of doors, could for the moment distinguish nothing. She was startled by Mr. Loseby's exclamation of her name. She thought for the moment that he had found her out internally as well as externally, and surprised her secret as well as herself. Why, little Rose!' he said. He was sitting in a coat made of yellow Indian grass-silk which did not accord so well as his usual shining blackness with the glistening of his little round bald head, and his eyes and spectacles. His table was covered with papers done up in bundles with all kinds of red tape and bands. This is a sight for sore eyes,' he said. 'You are like summer itself stepping into an old man's dusty den; come and sit near me and let me look at you, my summer Rose! I don't know which is the freshest and the prettiest!' said the old lawyer, waving his hand towards a beautiful luxurious blossom of 'La France' which was on his table in a Venetian glass. He had a fancy for pretty things. Oh! I was passing, and I thought I would come in-and see you,' Rose said. Mr. Loseby had taken her appearance very quietly, as a matter of course; but when she began to explain he was startled. He pushed his spectacles up upon his forehead and looked at her curiously. Ah!' he said, 'that was kind of you-to come with no other object than to see an old man.' 'Oh!' cried Rose, confused, 'I did not say I had no other object, Mr. Loseby. I want you to tell me-is-is-Anne likely to settle upon the Dower-house? I do so want to know.' 'My dear child, your mother has as much to do with it as Anne has. You will hear from her better than from me.' To be sure, that is true,' said Rose; and then, after a pause, 'Oh, Mr. Loseby, is it really, really true that Cosmo Douglas is not going to marry Anne? isn't it shameful? to bring her into such trouble and then to forsake her. Couldn't he be made to marry her? I think it is a horrid shame that a man should behave like that and get no punishment at all.' Mr. Loseby pushed his spectacles higher and higher; he peered at her through the partial light with a very close scrutiny. Then he rose and half drew up one of the blinds. But even this did not satisfy him. Do you think then,' he said at last, that it would be a punishment to a man to marry Anne?' 'It would depend upon what his feelings were,' said Rose with much force of reason; if he wanted, for example, to marry-some |