THE MEETING IN THE SCHOOL-ROOM.

Crabbe.

Frances did not look very well pleased when she saw Mr. Hall advancing; in fact turned away her head almost rudely, so that any very timid man would have taken the hint and retreated.

But Mr. Hall, however simple he looked, was not timid; he had a way of always carrying his point. That strong unflinching will of his would have subdued a much more formidable enemy than a proud, weak woman. I say weak, because when a woman gives way to or does not strive against any besetting sin, she lays herself open to attack, and is easily wounded when that most palpable fault is assailed. So it was with Frances.

Her mother and Mrs. Bennet were sisters, the first had married a rich merchant, the other a comparatively poor man, whose five daughters did not conduce to enrich him, however much they might his family fireside. Mrs. Linchmore's mother was an elder sister, she had died young leaving her only child to the care, as has been seen, of Mrs. Elrington. Frances and Mrs. Linchmore somewhat resembled one another. The same haughty look, and at times, scornful expression appeared in both, but with this difference, that the former could command hers at will almost, while the latter was either not so well versed in the art of concealment or scorned to use means to prevent its being visible.

They were both rich. Riches do not of necessity bring pride, although they in a great measure foster and increase it. They make the seeds bear fruit which otherwise would remain dormant for ever, and Frances being an only daughter had been early taught to believe she was a magnet, towards which all hearts would turn, and that wealth was necessary to happiness, while her cousins the Bennets were quoted as examples of poverty, until she thoroughly learnt to despise and pity them, believing in her ignorance that they and all must envy her and her parents wealth.

Mr. Hall, in her ideas, was a poor simpleton almost beneath her regard, and she would have taken no notice of him had it not been for his admiration of Anne. She could not bear another should receive worship while she was present. He was simply a being to be made useful, as in the instance of the skein of wool; though that little episode had in some slight measure induced her to think he was not quite such a Simon Pure as he looked, and although Mr. Hall on this occasion really exerted himself to be agreeable, the tangled mass lying in the sofa table drawer, was too recent an injury to be easily forgotten; and he only received monosyllables in reply to his remarks.

But he was not to be defeated. Anne had asked him to help her, and help her he would; so notwithstanding Frances' ungraciousness he talked on, and so engrossed her attention that he soon had the satisfaction of watching Anne's unobserved escape from the room, and of thinking that perhaps she would like him a little better for his clever management.

Alas! Anne had far too much curiosity to think of anything but gratifying that. Until that had been satisfied not a thought had she for anything else. Her inquisitiveness was as great almost as Frances' pride. There never was a plot concocted at home, or a pleasure planned as a surprise for her, but she had found out all about it before it was in a fair way of completion. Her sisters were constantly foreboding scrapes and troubles for her, but nothing as in this instance daunted her. She would not be baffled. She guessed from Frances' face that something had annoyed her; that trouble was in consequence in store for some one, and she was resolved to find out what that something was.

As she stood outside in the hall, she saw at a glance Frances' ghosts, and ever impulsive, was beside them in a moment.

"Good evening, Charles. There are at least a dozen cousins in there," and she pointed in the direction of the drawing-room, "waiting to say the same to you."

"Then let them wait, until I have warned and nerved myself to encounter such an immense array of females."

"Most men would have been roasted in less time; but you have had very pleasant company," and she glanced at Amy, "to perform your deed of martyrdom in."

"I had a cold ride," replied he drily, "and only arrived a short time ago from the Brampton Station."

"In these fast days even the clocks are somehow in the fashion, and go faster than they did formerly. I remember when I used to think half-an-hour an awful long time to wait for anybody, and I suspect Mrs. Linchmore's patience is fast evaporating."

"Nonsense! How should she know I have arrived?"

"Because all ill news travels fast."

"Do not be surprised, Miss Neville," said Charles, apologetically, "at any thing you hear fall from Miss Bennet's lips, she is—," he hesitated a moment, "rather peculiar."

Anne's laugh rang loud and clear through the hall; then coming close beside him, and standing on tiptoe, she whispered a few words in his ear, evidently by the sudden start he gave and the quick flush that succeeded it, something that annoyed him; for while Anne still laughed he wished Miss Neville good-night, and, whistling to his dog, went away upstairs.

Then Anne no longer laughed, but with a sigh turned suddenly to Miss Neville, and as she did so caught sight of Mr. Hall's face at the half-open drawing-room door.

"Is it possible!" exclaimed she, "that I caught sight of Mr. Hall's ugly phiz peeping through the door?"

"Yes; he was there not long ago; at least I saw him when you were whispering to Mr. Linchmore."

"Upon my word, I am losing all patience with that man. How I do wish Charles had been a little more cousinly; how astonished he would have been, and what a lecture he would have read me. Keep a secret, indeed! Not he. Why he is a thousand times worse that I. Good-bye, Miss Neville, I am sorry to have interrupted your cosy chat, but I could not possibly help it; you will forgive me, won't you."

Amy told her there was nothing to forgive. That she had promised the children she would take them upstairs, and was merely waiting for them.

"Then do not wait any longer," Anne said, "but take my advice, go to bed, and send Mary. You do not know Mrs. Linchmore as well as I do, she is peculiar in some things; and—now do not be angry—but I doubt if she would like your being here." And without waiting to see the effect of her speech, Anne went off.

"You cannot keep a secret, Mr. Hall," said she, stumbling upon him as she entered the drawing-room. "I have tried you, and you are not to be trusted in the very slightest."

"You forget, Miss Anne, you did not trust me, otherwise—"

"You would not have peeped," she said, finishing the sentence.

"True. I should not."

"But a secret is no secret when it is entrusted to a multitude. If you have found out mine—which, mind, I doubt—do not divulge it."

Ten minutes later Mrs. Linchmore herself left the room with the children, and Anne again enlisted Mr. Hall's services, asking him to see if Miss Neville was in the Hall. "Do not trouble to come and tell me, I do not wish it; but just shake your head, or nod as the case may be, yes or no; I shall understand you."

"I have found it all out, Mag," said she, crossing the room as Mr. Hall disappeared; and with no little pride Anne once more seated herself in the still vacant chair.

"I do not doubt you, Anne. Was it worth the trouble?"

"I should think so. There would have been a flame before now, the train was laid and the match all ready, but before it could be set fire to I dispersed it. So you see curiosity is not always a fault, but in some instances praiseworthy."

Julia laughed. "What reasoning," she said.

"It is sound, good reasoning though, Mag; and now do tell me if Mr. Hall is in the room?"

"Yes, and looking at you, Anne."

This should have satisfied her, and she should have given Mr. Hall the chance of making the promised signal; but no, she could not resist the pleasure of tormenting him a little, so went on talking to her sister and giving no heed.

Presently, a few minutes later, she again asked, "What is Mr. Hall doing Mag? Has he left off looking in this direction?"

"No, he is still looking," replied Julia, laughing.

"Oh what a wretch; and how foolish he is. I suppose he will go on looking until everybody in the room sees him," and slowly raising her eyes she received the promised shake, and really felt happy at having extricated Amy out of some trouble, though she hardly knew what. She remained where she was for the rest of the evening, expecting every moment to see her cousin Charles come in at the opposite door, but he never made his appearance. Frances' eyes were also constantly wandering in the same direction; perhaps she too expected him, but he disappointed them both. They saw no more of him until the next morning at breakfast, when approaching Anne as she stood at the window inwardly abusing the unpromising state of the weather—it was snowing fast—he asked who had told her of his arrival the evening before. "I am determined to know," said he, "so you had better make a clean breast of it at once, and tell me who acted as I am inclined to think so spitefully."

But Anne pretended not to understand him. He had been asleep and dreaming since. She had never even hinted that any one had been spiteful; it was a pure invention of his brain, and leaving him, she went to the table. There seeing Mr. Hall busy helping some cold fowl, she walked round and took a seat as far off from him as she possibly could. But what was her astonishment at seeing him, as she began cutting a piece of bread, deliberately walk round to where she was; and taking the knife from her hand, cut a slice which he put on her plate, and then seat himself beside her. She dared not look at her sister, knowing full well she was laughing, and that was sufficient to make her feel angry and indignant, so turning her face away, she vouchsafed him not one word, but listened to the conversation going on around.

"I am very glad to see you, Charles," Mrs. Linchmore was saying. "How early you must have arrived. Did you sleep at Standale? I believe the place does boast of an hotel of some kind."

"No. I arrived last night, but having indulged in a cigar as I came along, with Bob for a companion,—two of your abominations—I had to divest myself of my travelling costume lest you should detect the first; see Bob safely housed for the second, and take a glass of brandy and water for the third; and by the time I had finished that, I thought the bed looked uncommonly comfortable, so just tried it to see if it was, and suppose I was right, for I only awoke about twenty minutes ago, and have had a scramble to get down in time."

"Three very poor excuses. I did hear a whisper that you were here, but could not believe it, as I thought you would of course come and make yourself agreeable to my visitors, if not to myself and your cousins," said Mrs. Linchmore, with a slight symptom of annoyance in her tone, "however, Bob, if he was your only companion was, I have no doubt more pleasant company. By what train did you arrive?"

"By one of the late trains," replied he, catching a glimpse of Anne's face, the expression of which rather puzzled him, but he fancied it told him to be on his guard, so he added, "I was not in a fit state to be seen by any lady just from that dusty, smoky railway."

"I saw you," said Frances, quietly looking up, "but you were too busily engaged to perceive me."

"And—" Mr. Hall was on the point of adding "I—" and perhaps telling that he had seen Amy also; but before the latter word had escaped his lips Anne, turned round quickly and catching his arm whispered,

"My secret! Beware, beware!"

"Is that your secret?" asked Mr. Hall, "Remember I am still in ignorance; you only half trusted me. Pray forgive me."

Anne felt astonished and abashed. A great tall man like Mr. Hall ask her pardon so humbly; she thought she should like him a little better from that time forth. So full of wonderment was she, that she failed to notice the quick triumphant glance Charles flashed at her across the table, on hearing Frances' words.

It did not snow incessantly; some days were fine enough, and what with hunting, riding, shooting and skating, they passed pleasantly for the visitors, notwithstanding Mrs. Linchmore's fears that they were finding Brampton Hall dull and stupid.

The ball had not as yet been talked of, except in the housekeeper's room, where of course Mason carried the news, to the no small vexation of Mrs. Hopkins, who thought the place quite gay enough as it was; and sighed for the good old times, when she could walk about without being obliged to drop a courtesy at every step she took, as she encountered some fair girl, or man with fierce moustaches and whiskers; these latter she regarded as so many birds of prey, waiting for some unfortunate victim to pounce down upon and bear away in their fierce talons.

Charles Linchmore did not apparently care much for any of the gay party assembled, and often loitered away half the morning in the library, where setting the door ajar, and seating himself so that he could catch a glimpse of any one passing, he lounged impatiently until the gong sounded for luncheon. Then throwing down his book, with a gesture half of weariness, half of vexation, he either remained where he was, and took no notice of the summons, or went into the dining-room with anything but a happy or contented expression of face; feeling uncomfortably out of sorts and out of temper with himself and the whole world, and in no mood for Frances' soft smiles—who, proud as she was, could and did unbend to him—or for Anne's sharp retorts.

What had become of Miss Neville? Where was she? Did she never go out? It was an unheard-of piece of eccentricity, remaining so long shut up in the house; besides it was bad for the children. Surely a cold walk was better than none at all? These and many other questions Charles asked himself, until he grew tired and out of patience, and tried to think of other things, but it was useless; his thoughts always came back to the one starting point, Miss Neville; she was evidently uppermost in his mind; although he stood a good chance, or seemed to do so, of returning to his regiment, without even the flirtation he had threatened her with as a punishment, if he should find her at all resembling his brother's wife, or spoilt with mixing amongst the small world at Brampton.

Had he only wandered near the door leading out into the shrubbery from the flight of stairs in the wing appropriated to the children and Miss Neville, he would have seen her every day, and not wasted his mornings in vain wishes and surmises as to what had become of her.

One cold, raw day after a gallop with his cousin Frances, and almost a renewal of his old flirtation—she was a fearless horsewoman, and he could never help admiring a woman who rode well—he walked round to the stables to have a look at the horses.

As he passed in sight of the school-room window, he could not resist the temptation of looking up, and saw Amy, whom a few minutes ago he had almost forgotten, standing by the window. Scarcely knowing whether she noticed him or not, he raised his hat. She bowed slightly ere she moved away out of his sight.

Was it his fancy, or did he really detect a mocking smile on her lips? Was it possible she was glorying in having deluded him so successfully ever since the night of his arrival? The idea aroused him at once; he would no longer be inactive. The chase was becoming exciting, since she would not leave the citadel, he would storm it.

Instead of going to the stables, he turned back, and went to his own room, changed his thick, heavy riding boots, and then made for the school-room, passing Mrs. Linchmore's door on his way with a defiant, determined step; but he was uninterrupted in his journey; he met no one. He soon reached the corridor, stood before the school-room door and knocked. But the soft voice he had expected to hear in reply was silent.

Again he knocked. No reply still. He grew bolder, opened the door softly, and with Bob at his heels, walked in.

The room was tenantless. Amy and her pupils were nowhere.

So she had guessed his intention, perhaps seen him from the window turning back, and divining his motive, flown. He was angry, indignant, but his time was his own, he would wait where he was half the day; he would see her, she should not elude him thus.

Being in a bad temper, he vented it on unoffending Bob.

"How dare you follow me here, Sir?" The poor animal looked up wistfully, not knowing in what he had offended, since his master patted his head so caressingly as they stood outside the door together.

On the table was a half finished drawing, the paper still damp with the last touches, the brushes all scattered about; one had fallen on the edge of the paper; Charles took it up, carefully washed out the mark it had left, and laid it by carefully.

Amy's work-box stood invitingly open. He looked in, and turned over the contents: there was a piece of embroidery; small holes that had been cut out and sewn over, the "holy work," as he called it, that he hated so much.

Somehow this small piece appeared to have a curious interest in his eyes, he looked at it, put it down and then looked at it again. There was the needle still in the half finished flower, and a small mark as though the finger had been injured in the sewing. This decided him, and with a half frightened, guilty look he put it in his pocket, just as Bob, evidently with the view of making friends, rubbed against his legs.

"Ah! my friend," said Charles, looking down, "Your warning comes too late. The deed is done."

"What is too late?" asked Frances advancing into the room, "and what have you done?"

"You here," stammered Charles.

"Yes, why not? since Mr. Charles Linchmore designs to come."

"Then I came—, that is you forget," said he recovering himself, "I sometimes take my nieces for a walk."

"I forget nothing," replied she, "my memory serves me well."

"Why are you here?" asked he, "surely you can have no excuse for coming."

"It was chance directed my footsteps," replied she carelessly.

This was scarcely true. Ever since Frances had seen Amy talking with her cousin on the evening of his arrival, a strange fascination to speak with the governess had taken possession of her; why she hardly knew or questioned; but now at this moment, as she stood so unexpectedly face to face with Charles and marked his confusion, a jealous hatred crept slowly, yet surely over her heart, a jealousy that was to be the bane of her after life, to influence her every action, almost thought, and lead her to follow blindly all its revengeful promptings, undeterred either by the oft-times whispered voice of conscience, or the evident and consequent sufferings of others.

What woman is not jealous of the one she fears is supplanting her, or obtaining an interest in the heart of him she loves? but here Frances had barely reason for her jealousy, Charles never having given her sufficient cause to think he cared for her, beyond a cousinly regard; yet she loved him as much as her proud heart was capable of loving.

"This drawing is beautifully done," said she, advancing and examining it closely. "What have you done with the copy?"

The copy? What if she had named the "Holy Work?"

He cast a furtive glance at his pocket as he replied, "I have not seen it. I suppose Miss Neville draws without one."

"I have never heard Isabella say she was an artist."

"I suspect my 'brother's wife.'" This was a favourite term of Charles's; he generally spoke of Mrs. Linchmore as my 'brother's wife.' "I suspect my brother's wife knows very little about Miss Neville's accomplishments; she is not in her line; no two people could be more dissimilar."

"No. They are very different."

"Very."

"But you are wrong, Charles, in thinking Isabella does not trouble her head about her governess; she laughingly told me one day that she thought her rather inclined to flirt."

"Indeed!" said he, consciously. "When was that?"

"I almost forget—last month I think, she noticed it, so you see she must know something about her."

"Or next to nothing," replied he.

"I believe she thought that her only fault; and you know it did not look very well to see her come home so late with Mr. Vavasour."

"With Vavasour! When was that."

"Oh! I forget when; just a few days before you came."

"Flirting with Vavasour!" exclaimed Charles, thrown off his guard by the suddenness of the announcement. "I won't believe it!"

"You had better ask Anne, then; she can tell you all about it, as she and Mr. Hall walked home behind them, and talked about it afterwards; it made quite a stir at the time."

"I dare say. I don't doubt you," said Charles, whistling apparently quite unconcerned, when in reality he was infinitely disgusted.

"Well, if you do, you have only to come to the window," said Frances triumphantly, "and judge for yourself."

With quick, hasty footsteps he was by her side in a moment. Yes, there was Miss Neville, picking her way over the snow with Vavasour beside her, the children some few yards ahead, so that the two were alone. He had found out a way of meeting and joining her, though Charles had not; no doubt they had been carrying on this game for days, while he had been wasting his in hopeless guesses and surmises as to what had become of her, imagining her miserably dull, shut up in the school room.

Yes, the secret was out now. It was for him she had left the drawing so hastily, and all her things ruthlessly scattered about. For this he himself had waited so patiently, and had thought to wait half the day. He would have snatched the "Holy work" from his pocket and torn it into shreds if he could, but other eyes than Bob's were on him now, and without another word he strode away, passing through the door which separated these rooms from the large corridor, just as Amy's and the children's voices were heard on the stairs leading from the garden.

Frances watched his exit with a triumphant look; had she given him a bad opinion of Amy Neville? and had he believed her?

She remained where she was, still and silent, until the door opened and Amy came in, her face lighted up with smiles, and her cheeks glowing with a faint tinge of colour from her walk. Frances' face flushed hotly as she thought how beautiful she was; and passing by her with a scornful bend of the head in acknowledgment of the governess's greeting, she gained her own room, and bolted the door.

There throwing herself on her knees, she clasped her hands over her face as she murmured passionately, "I hate her! But he shall not love her! He shall not love her!"