CHAPTER V. A HAPPY HOUR. See the mountains kiss high heaven, And the moonbeams kiss the sea; Oh, for the old true-love time, When the world was in its prime!-Croly. ANCELOT was not averse to take his father's ad vice. It agreed with the natural openness and bravery of his spirit; indeed, his acceptance of Miss Vyner's offer of mediation had sprung from the anxious self-depreciation of the lover and not from the timidity of the man. Francesca and her aunt returned to Atherton Court toward the end of January. The holiday feeling was then over, and life had settled into its usual placid routine. The squire went hunting when the weather was favorable; when it was not, he examined his accounts, wrote letters, made fishing flies, read the John Bull newspaper and the Gentleman's Magazine. He was very glad to have his sister and his daughter home again. Life had been dull and lonely without them, and the first days of their return were given over to gossiping with him on all the events which had happened at Idleholme. Very little things had a great interest to the quiet gentleman. He liked to look at Francesca's new dresses, and to read what had been said about her beauty in the local papers; and he enjoyed her descriptions of the people she had met and the lovers who had tried to win her favor. 66 But thou says nothing at all of young Squire Idle. Did thou not like him, Francesca?" "Mr. Almund Idle will not care very much whether I like him or not, father. He will go a-wooing accompanied by the family lawyer and the settlements." "Oh! he is that kind, is he?" "There is nothing new and nothing true, and it does not much signify; that is his general attitude," continued Francesca. "He told me that before he was twenty-five years old he had found out that faith in women was beyond his power, and that nothing could make him love his neighbors." "My word! Some good man ought to give such a conceited jackanapes a horse-whipping. I hope thou let him see thou had no faith in him, and that nothing could make thee think about loving him. How ever do his neighbors bear with him?" "They admire him very much. He is considered exceedingly clever, and I heard that one of the nicest girls in Yorkshire was in love with him." "Well, well! It is a wonder! But women, God bless them, do love men that not even God Almighty can put up with. Thou has spoken of riding a great deal. I wouldn't think that a man like that would ever care for a horse." "He does not. He says he shivers on horseback, and that it is folly exerting one's self to keep such an unruly animal in order-doing the work a coachman is paid to do. He likes a cushioned carriage and plenty of fur wraps, and a man to do his driving." "Dear me! What a trial he must be to his father. Well, if thou did not ride with him, whom did thou ride with?" "Very often I went alone with Peel; and very often Mr. Lancelot Leigh rode with me. He lived neighbor to Idleholme, and the families are quite friendly." The squire did not answer. In a moment or two he rose from his chair, went to the window, and looked steadily out. Loida and Francesca looked at each other. There was a quick chill and silence. No one felt able to continue the conversation, and the tick of the timepiece and the crackle of the fire were the only sounds. The garden into which the squire looked was like a girl draped for her first communion, all in white, and he had a sudden memory of the place when it was a glory of perfume and color, and Francesca stood there, scattering wheat to the pigeons. His heart was really wounded by this perversity of fate. He felt as if he had been deceived by a power which should have respected his blindness and weakness. At the mention of Lancelot's name tears sprang to his eyes-he had gone to the window to hide them. Standing there, the forlorn feeling of a man led astray by destiny assailed him. What could his love or prudence do against a fatality so pitiless? Moments are hours in such mental conflicts; he seemed to lose his foothold, and to go down and down into an abyss of unexpected sorrow. Something to lean upon was a necessity-the floor was reeling, the window receding, everything becoming dim and blank. He grasped the back of a chair, and by a peremptory exercise of will compelled himself to meet this consciousness of unavoidable suffering and disappointment. And then-so wonderful are the voices of comfort—a little brown bird on a bare spray said cheerily : "Chuck, chuck! Have you anything for me this morning? I am so hungry." And he whispered: "God bless the bird!" and went to the sideboard and got some bread-crumbs for it. He was scattering them on the window-sill when footsteps on the crisp snow made him turn his head. It was Lancelot Leigh. His youth and beauty were very remarkable in the clear winter day and against the sparkling white background. They would have been offensively so, had they not been made tolerable by the air of modesty which deprecated such offense. He bowed, in passing, to the squire, and stood upon his threshold. Now the hospitable instincts of Squire Atherton were in the depths of his nature, and they had the strength which comes from centuries of indulgence. Though the visitor was his enemy, his first thought was to open his door and say: "It is cold, come to my hearth and warm yourself!" The words were unconsciously tempered by an air of proud, courteous resignation, as if he had added: "You can take advantage of my kindness and wrong me, if you choose, but the shame will be yours, not mine.” Lancelot entered the room with an eager look at Francesca, but both she and Miss Loida were unavoidably cold and constrained. They felt as if the visit was inopportune, and Loida's instant mental query had been: "Why was he in such a hurry?" On the contrary, Lancelot thought he had been uncommonly patient. He was anxious to explain himself, and, with the selfconfidence of youth, he went at once to the purport of his visit. "I wish to speak to you privately, squire," he said, "on a very personal matter.” "Sir?" answered the squire. "You can have nothing private or personal with me. What you have got to say, say now and here. Sit still, Francesca! Sit still, Loida! The gentleman can have nothing to say to me you may not both listen to." Lancelot looked at Francesca, and hesitated. Her face-red as a rose-was bent over her lace-work, but she felt his glance and answered it with one encouraging and affirmative. Then he spoke out frankly, with a kind of bold respect: "Squire Atherton, I have come to ask your permission to love your daughter." "I cannot prevent your loving my daughter, sir. But I will not give a welcome to my shame and sorrow." "I am sure there is at least no 'shame' in my love. I give Miss Atherton the honest affection of an honest heart. My name is unstained. My family, though not noble, has its own record of bravery and integrity." "There has never been a trader, sir, among the Athertons. We are landed gentlemen, all of us. Miss Atherton will be Lady of the Manor of Atherton. I think it is an impertinence for a cotton-spinner to lift his desire |