ENGAGED.

If a comparison were made between the results of well and ill considered ventures, which would prove the most uniformly successful? Not certainly those undertakings which have been most carefully weighed and prudently determined on. Just as frequently the rash and precipitate venture is crowned with success as that which has been wisely considered; and just as often the latter proves a failure, and falsifies every expectation. Nature, Fate, whatever it be that rules our destinies, rules them crookedly, and, with mischief, upsets all our calculations. We build our card-houses, and she fillips a marble into them and brings them down. Why do we invariably stop every hole except that by which the sea rolls through our dyke? Why do we always forget to lock the stable door till the nag has been stolen?

The old myth is false which tells of Prometheus as bound and torn and devoured by the eagle; Pro-metheus is free and unrent, it is Epi-metheus who is in chains, and writhing, and looks back on the irrevocable past, and curses itself and is corroded with remorse.

What is the fate of Forethought but to be flouted by capricious Destiny, to be ever proved a fool and blind, to be shown that it were just as well had it never existed?

Eve hung back as Barbara led her to her father’s door. Mr. Coyshe was in there, and though she had said she would take him she did not mean it. She certainly did not want to have to make her decision then. Her face became a little pale, some of the bright colour had gone from it when her temper subsided and she had begun to play at making rabbits. Now more left her cheeks, and she held back as Barbara tried to draw her on. But Barbara was very determined, and though Eve was wayward, she would not take the trouble to be obstinate. ‘I can but say no,’ she said to herself, ‘if the creature does ask me.’ Then she whispered into Barbara’s ear, ‘Bab, I won’t have a scene before all the parish.’

‘All the parish, dear!’ remonstrated the elder, ‘there is no one there but papa and the doctor; and if the latter means to speak he will ask to have a word with you in private, and you can go into the drawing-room.’

‘But I don’t want to see him.’

Barbara threw open the door.

Mr. Jordan was propped up in his bed on pillows. He was much worse, and a feverish fire burned in his eyes and cheeks. He saw Eve at once and called her to him.

Then her ill-humour returned, she pouted and looked away from Mr. Coyshe so as not to see him. He bowed and smiled, and pushed forward extending his hand, but she brushed past with her eyes fixed on her father. She was angry with Barbara for having brought her down.

‘Eve,’ said Mr. Jordan, ‘I am very ill. The doctor has warned me that I have been much hurt by what has happened. It was your doing, Eve. You were foolish last night. You forgot what was proper to your station. Your want of consideration is the cause of my being so much worse, and of that scoundrel’s escape.’

‘O papa, I am very sorry I hurt you, but as for his getting off—I am glad! He had stolen my money, so I have a right to forgive him, and that I do freely.’

‘Eve!’ exclaimed her father, ‘you do not know what you say. Come nearer to me, child.’

‘If I am to be scolded, papa,’ said Eve, sullenly, ‘I’d like not to have it done in public.’ She looked round the room, everywhere but at Mr. Coyshe. Her sister watched her anxiously.

‘Eve,’ said the old man, ‘I am very ill and am not likely to be strong again. I cannot be always with you. I am not any more capable to act as your protector, and Barbara has the cares of the house, and lacks the authority to govern and lead you.’

‘I don’t want any governing and leading, papa,’ said Eve, studying the bed cover. ‘Papa,’ after a moment, ‘whilst you lie in bed, don’t you think all those little tufts on the counterpane look like poplars? I often do, and imagine gardens and walks and pleasure-grounds among them.’

‘Eve,’ said her father, ‘I am not going to be put off what I have to say by such poor artifices as this. I am going to send you back to Lanherne.’

‘Lanherne!’ echoed Eve, springing back. ‘I can’t go there, papa; indeed I can’t. It is dull enough here, but it is ten thousand times duller there. I have just said so to Barbara. I can’t go, I won’t go to Lanherne. I don’t see why I should be forced. I’m not going to be a nun. My education has been completed under Barbara. I know where Cape Guardafui is, and the Straits of Malacca, and the Coromandel Coast. I know Mangnall’s questions and answers right through—that is, I know the questions and some of the answers. I can read “TÉlÉmaque.” What more is wanted of any girl? I don’t desire any more learning. I hate Lanherne. I fell ill last time I was there. Those nuns look like hobgoblins, and not like angels. I shall run away. Besides, it was eternally semolina pudding there, and, papa, I hate semolina. Always semolina on fast days, and the puddings sometimes burnt. There now, my education is incomplete. I do not know whence semolina comes. Is it vegetable, papa? Mr. Coyshe, you are scientific, tell us the whole history of the production of this detestable article of commerce.’

‘Semolina——’ began Mr. Coyshe.

‘Never mind about semolina,’ interrupted Barbara, who saw through her sister’s tricks. ‘We will turn up the word in the encyclopÆdia afterwards. We are considering Lanherne now.’

‘I don’t mind the large-grained semolina so much, said Eve, with a face of childlike simplicity; ‘that is almost as good as tapioca.’

Her father caught her wrist and drew her hand upon the bed. He clutched it so tightly that she exclaimed that he hurt her.

‘Eve,’ he said, ‘it is necessary for you to go.’

Her face became dull and stubborn again.

‘Is Mr. Coyshe here to examine my chest, and see if I am strong enough to endure confinement? Because I was the means, according to you, papa, of poor—of the prisoner escaping last night, therefore I am to be sent to prison myself to-morrow.’

‘I am not sending you to prison,’ said her father, ‘I am placing you under wise and pious guardians. You are not to be trusted alone any more. Barbara has been——’

‘There! there!’ exclaimed Eve, flashing an angry glance at her sister, and bursting into tears; ‘was there ever a poor girl so badly treated? I am scolded, and threatened with jail. My sister, who should love me and take my part, is my chief tormentor, and instigates you, papa, against me. She is rightly called Barbara—she is a savage. I know so much Latin as to understand that.’

Barbara touched Mr. Coyshe, and signed to him to leave the room with her.

Eve watched them out of the room with satisfaction. She could manage her father, she thought, if left alone with him. But her father was thoroughly alarmed. He had been told that she had met Martin on the rock. Barbara had told him this to exculpate Jasper. Her conduct on the preceding night had, moreover, filled him with uneasiness.

‘Papa,’ said Eve, looking at her little foot and shoe, ‘don’t you think Mr. Coyshe’s ears stick out very much? I suppose his mother was not particular with him to put them under the rim of his cap.’

‘I have not noticed.’

‘And, papa, what eager, staring eyes he has got! I think he straps his cravat too tight.’

‘Possibly.’

‘Do you know, dear papa, there is a little hole just over the mantelshelf in my room, and the other day I saw something hanging down from it. I thought it was a bit of string, and I went up to it and pulled it. Then there came a little squeak, and I screamed. What do you suppose I had laid hold of? It was a mouse’s tail. Was that not an odd thing, papa, for the wee mouse to sit in its run and let its tail hang down outside?’

‘Yes, very odd.’

‘Papa, how did all those beautiful things come into the house which I found in the chest upstairs? And why were you so cross with me for putting them on?’

The old man’s face changed at once, the wild look came back into his eye, and his hand which clasped her wrist clutched it so convulsively, that she felt his nails cut her tender skin.

‘Eve!’ he said, and his voice quivered, ‘never touch them again. Never speak of them again. My God!’ he put his hand to his brow and wiped the drops which suddenly started over it, ‘my God! I fear, I fear for her.’

Then he turned his agitated face eagerly to her, and said—

‘Eve! you must take him. I wish it. I shall have no peace till I know you are in his hands. He is so wise and so assured. I cannot die and leave you alone. I wake up in the night bathed in a sweat of fear, thinking of you, fearing for you. I imagine all sorts of things. Do you not wish to go to Lanherne? Then take Mr. Coyshe. He will make you a good husband. I shall be at ease when you are provided for. I cannot die—and I believe I am nearer death than you or Barbara, or even the doctor, supposes—I cannot die, and leave you here alone, unprotected. O Eve! if you love me do as I ask. You must either go to Lanherne or take Mr. Coyshe. It must be one or the other. What is that?’ he asked suddenly, drawing back in the bed, and staring wildly at her, and pointing at her forehead with a white quivering finger. ‘What is there? A stain—a spot. One of my black spots, very big. No, it is red. It is blood! It came there when I was wounded by the scythe, and every now and then it breaks out again. I see it now.’

‘Papa!’ said Eve, shuddering, ‘don’t point at me in that way, and look so strange; you frighten me. There is nothing there. Barbie washed it off long ago.’

Then he wavered in his bed, passing one hand over the other, as washing—’It cannot wash off,’ he said, despairingly. ‘It eats its way in, farther, farther, till it reaches the very core of the heart, and then——’ he cast himself back and moaned.

‘It was very odd of the mouse,’ said Eve, ‘to sit with her little back to the room, looking into the dark, and her tail hanging out into the chamber.’ She thought to divert her father’s thoughts from his fancies.

‘Eve!’ he said in a hoarse voice, and turned sharply round on her, ‘let me see your mother’s ring again. To-day you shall put it on. Hitherto you have worn it hung round your neck. To-day you shall bear it on your finger, in token that you are engaged.’

‘Oh, papa, dear! I don’t——’

‘Which is it to be, Lanherne or Mr. Coyshe?’

‘I won’t indeed go to Lanherne.’

‘Very well; then you will take Mr. Coyshe. He will make you happy. He will not always live here; he talks of a practice in London. He tells me that he has found favour with the Duke. If he goes to London——’

‘Oh, papa! Is he really going to London?’

‘Yes, child!’

‘Where all the theatres are! Oh, papa! I should like to live in a town, I do not like being mewed up in the country. Will he have a carriage?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Oh, papa! and a tiger in buttons and a gold band?’

‘I do not know.’

‘I am sure he will, papa! I’d rather have that than go to Lanherne.’

Mr. Jordan knocked with his stick against the wall. Eve was frightened.

‘Papa, don’t be too hasty. I only meant that I hate Lanherne!’

In fact, she was alarmed by his mention of the ring, and following her usual simple tactics had diverted the current of his thoughts into another direction.

Barbara and Mr. Coyshe came in.

‘She consents,’ said Mr. Jordan. ‘Eve, give him your hand. Where is the ring?’

She drew back.

‘I want the ring,’ he said again, impatiently.

‘Papa, I have not got it—that is—I have mislaid it.’

‘What!’ he exclaimed, trying to sit up, and becoming excited. ‘The ring—not lost! Mislaid! It must be found. I will have it. Your mother’s ring! I will never, never forgive if that is lost. Produce it at once.’

‘I cannot, papa. I don’t know—— O—Mr. Coyshe, quick, give me your hand. There! I consent. Do not be excited, dear papa. I’ll find the ring to-morrow.’