old-fashioned vehicle, drawn by two horses, which be-
trayed their ordinaiy avocations much in the same way
as the coachman did, who, though dressed, as they
were, for the occasion, carried a breath of the fields
about him , which was more convincing than any con-
136 MADONNA MARY.
veutioiialism of garments. But sucli as it was, tlie
Earlston carriage was not without consideration in the
countryside. All the people about turned oixt in a lei-
surely way to lift the children into it, and shoulder the
boxes into such corners as could be found for them ā
which was an affair that demanded many counsellors ā
and at length the vehicle got under way. Twilight be-
gan to come on as they mounted up into the grey
country, by the winding grey roads fenced in witli
limestone walls. Everything grew greyer in the wan-
ing light. The ver'y trees, of which there were so fcAV,
dropped into the gathering shadows, and deepened
them without giving any livelier tint of colour to the
scene. The children dropped asleep, and the ayah
crooned and nodded over the baby; but Mary, who had
no temptation to sleep, looked out with steady eyes,
and, though she saw nothing distinctly, took in u)i
awares all the comfortless chill and monotony of the
landscape. It went to her heart and made her shiver.
Or perhaps it was only the idea of meeting Francis
Ochterlony that made her shiver. If the children, any
one of them, had only been old enough to understand
it a little, to clasp her hand or her neck with the ex-
uberance of childish sympathy! But they did not
understand, and dropped asleep, or asked with timid,
quivering little voices, how long it wovild be before
they got home. Home! no wonder Mrs. Ochterlony
was cold, and felt the chill go to her heart. Thus they
went on for six or seven weary miles, taking as many
hours, as Mary thought. Aunt Agatha had arrived at
her cottage, though it was nearly thirty miles further
on, while the comfortless party were still jogging along
in the Earlston carriage; but Mary did not think par-
MADONNA MARY. 137
ticularly of thai. She did not think at all, poor tioiil
She saw the grey hill-side gliding past her, and in a
vagne way, at the same moment, seemed to see herself,
a bride, going gaily past on the same road, and re-
hearsed all the past over again with a dull pain, and
shivered , and felt cold ā cold to her heart. This was
partly perhaps because it is chilly in Cumberland, when
one has just come from India; and partly because there
was something that affected a woman's fanciful imagina-
tion in the misty monotony of the limestone country,
and the grey waste of the hills.
Earlston, too, was grey, as was to be expected; and
the trees which suiTounded it had lost colour iii the
night. The hall was but dimly lighted, when the door
was opened ā as is but too common in country houses
of so retired a kind ā and there was nobody ready at
the instant to open the door or to receive the strangers.
To be sure , people were called and came ā the house-
keeper first, in a silk gown, which rustled excessively,
and with a certain air of patronizing affability; and
then Mr. Ochterlony, who had been sitting, as he usually
did, in his dressing-gown, and who had to get into his
coat so hurriedly that he had not recovered from it
when he shook hands with his sister-in-law; and then
by degrees servants appeared, and lifted out the sleepy,
startled children, wlio, between waking and sleeping,
worn out, frightened, and excited, were precisely in
the condition which it is most difficult to manage. And
the ayah, who could hold no Christian communication
with anybody around her, was worse than useless to
lier poor mistress. When Mr. Ochterlony led the way
into the great, solemn, dark, dining-room ā which was
the nearest room at hand ā the children, instead of
138 MADONNA MARV.
consenting to be led upstairs, clung witli one unanimous
accord to their mother. Little Wilfrid got to her arms,
notwithstanding all remonstrances, and Hugh and Islay
each seized silently a handful of her black dress, crush-
ing the crape beyond all remedy. It was thus she
entered Earlston, Avhich had been her husband's birth-
place, and was to be her son's inheritance ā or so at
least Mary thought.
"I hope you have had a pleasant journey," Mr.
Ochterlony said, shaking hands with her again. "I
daresay they are tired, poor little things ā but you have
had good weather, I hope." This he said after he had
indicated to Mary a large easy-chair in carved oak,
which stood by the side of the fireplace, and into which,
with little Wilfrid clinging to her, and Islay and Hugh
holding fast by her dress, it was not so easy to get.
The master of the house did not sit down himself, for
it was dreary and dark, and he was a man of fine per-
ceptions; but he walked to the window and looked out,
and then came back again to his sister-in-law. "I am
glad you have had such good weather ā but I am sure
you must all be tired," he said.
"Yes," said Mary, who would have liked to cry,
"very tired; but I hope we did not come too soon.
Your letter was so kind that I thought "
"Oh don't speak of it," said Mr. Ochterlony; and
then he stood before her on the dark hearth, and did
not know what more to say. The twilight was still
lingering, and there were no lights in the room, and it
was fitted up with the strictest regard to propriety,
and just as a dining-room ought to be. Weird gleams
of dull reflection out of the depths of old mahogany
lay low towards the floor, bewildering the visitor; and
MADONNA MARY. 139
tliere was not cveu the ligbt of a fire, which, for merely
conventional motives, because it was July, did not oc-
cupy its usual place; though Mary, fresh from India,
and shivering with the chill of excitement and nervous-
ness and grief, would have given anything to be within
reach of one. Neither did she know what to say to
her almost unknown brother-in-law, whose face even
she could see very imperfectly, and the children grasped
her with that tight hold which is in itself a warning,
and shows that everything is possible in the way of
childish fright and passion. But still it was indispens-
able that she should find something to say.
"My poor little boys are so young," she said,
faltering. "It was very, very good of you to ask us,
and I hope they wont be troublesome. I think I will
ask the housekeeper to show us where we are to be.
The railway tires them more than the ship did. This
is Hugh," said ^lary, swallowing as best she could the
gasp in her throat, and detaching poor little Hugh's
hand from her crape. But she had tears in her voice,
and Mr. Ochterlony had a wholesome dread of crying.
He gave his nephew a hurried pat on the head without
looking at him, and called for Mrs. Gilsland, who was
at hand among the shadows rustling with her silk
gown.
"Oh!" he said hurriedly. "A fine little fellow I
am sure; ā but you are quite right, and they must
be tired, and I will not detain you. Dinner is at
seven," said Mr. Ochterlony. What could he say? He
could not even see the faces of the woman and children
whom it was his dread but evident duty to receive.
When they went away under Mrs. Gilsland's cliarge, he
followed them to the foot of the stairs, and stood look-
140 MADONNA MAllY.
ing after them as tlie procession mounted, guided by
the rustle of the housekeeper's gown. The poor man
looked at them in a bewildered way, and then went off
to his library, where his own shaded lamp was lit, and
where everything was cosy and familiar. Arrived
there, he threw himself into his own chair with a sigh.
He was not a brute, nor a wretch, as we have said,
and the least thing he could do when he heard of his
poor brother's death was to offer a shelter ā tempo-
rarily at least ā to the widow and her children: but
perhaps a lurking hope that something might turn up
to prevent the invasion had been in his mind up to this
day. Now she was here, and what was he to do with
her? Now they were here, which was still more serious
ā three boys (even though one of them was a baby)
in a house full of everything that was daintiest and
rarest and most delicate! No wonder Mr. Ochterlony
was momentarily stupefied by their arrival; and then
he had not even seen their faces to know what they
were like. He remembered Mary of old in her bride-
days, but then she was too young, too fresh, too un-
subdued to please him. If she were as full of vigour
and energy now, wliat was to become of a quiet man
who, above all things, loved tranquillity and leisure?
This was what Francis Ochterlony was thinking as his
visitors went up-stairs.
Mrs. Ochterlony was inducted into the best rooms
in the house. Her brother-in-law was not an effusive
or sympathetic man by nature, but still he knew what
was his duty under the circumstances. Two great
rooms gleaming once more with ebon gleams out of
big wardrobes and half- visible mirrors, with beds that
looked a little like hearses, and heavy solemn hangings.
MADONXA MARV. 141
Mrs. Gilsland's silk gown rustled about everywhere,
pointing out a thousand conveniences unknown at the
station; but all Mary was thinking about was one of
those grey cottages on the road, with the fire burning
brightly, and its little homely walls lighted up with the
iitful, cheerful radiance. If she could but have had a
fire, and crept up to it, and knelt on the hearth and
held herself to the comforting warmth! There are times
when a poor creature feels all body, just as there
are times when she feels all soul. And then, to think
that dinner was at seven! just as it had been when she
came there with Hugh, a girl all confident of happiness
and life. No doubt Mr. Ochterlony would have for-
given his sister-in-law, and probably indeed would have
been as much relieved as she, if she had but sent an
apology and stayed in her room all the evening. But
]\[ary was not the kind of woman to do this. It did
not occur to her to depart from the natural routine, or
make so much talk about her own feelings or sentiments
as would be necessary even to excuse her. What did
it matter? If it had to be done, it had to be done, and
there was nothing more to be said. This was the view
her mind took of most matters; and she had always
been well, and never had any pretext to get oiit of
things she did not like, as women do who have head-
aches and handy little illnesses. She could always do
what was needful, and did always do it without stopping
to make any questions; which is a serviceable kind of
temperament in life, and yet subjects people to many
little martyrdoms Avhich otherwise they might escape
from. Though her heart was sick, she put on her best
gown all covered with crape, and her widow's cap, and
went down to dine with Francis Ochterlony in the great
142 MADONNA MAKY.
dining-room, leaving her children behind, and longing
unspeakably for that cottage with the fire.
It was not such an unbecoming dress after all, not-
withstanding what people say. Mary was worn and
sad, but she was not faded; and the dead white of the
cap that encircled her face, and the dead black of her
dress, did not do so much harm as perhaps they ought
to have done to that sweet and steadfast grace, which
had made the regiment recognise and adopt young
Stafford's fanciful title. She was still Madonna Mary
under that disfigurement; and on the whole she was
not disfigured by her dress. Francis Ochterlony lifted
his eyes with equal surprise and satisfaction to take a
second look at poor Hugh's widow. He felt by instinct
that Phidias himself could not have filled a corner in
his drawing-room, which was so full of fine things,
with a figure more fair or half so appropriate as that
of the serene woman who now took her seat there, ab-
stracted a little into the separation and remoteness of
sorrow, but with no discord in her face. He liked her
better so than with the group of children, who made
her look as if she were a Charity, and the heavy veil
hanging half over her face, which had a conventual
and uncomfortable effect; and he was very courteous
and attentive to his sister-in-law. "I hope you had
good weather," he said in his deferential way; "and I
trust, when you have been a few days at Earlston, the
fatigue will wear off. You will find everything very
quiet here."
"I hope so," said Mary; "but it is the children I
am thinking of I trust our rooms are a long distance
off, and that we will not disturb you."
" That is quite a secondary matter," said Mr. Ochter-
MADONNA MARY. 113
lony. "The question is, are you comfortable? I hope
you will let Mrs. Gilsland know if anything is wanted.
We are not ā not quite used to these sort of things,
you know; but I am sure, if anything is wanted "
"You are very kind," said Mary; "I am sure we
shall be very comfortable." And yet as she said so
her thoughts went off with a leap to that little cottage
interior, and the cheerful light that shone out of the
window, and the fire that crackled and blazed within.
Ah, if she were but there! not dining with Mr. Ochter-
lony in solemn grandeur, but putting her little boys to
bed, and preparing their supper for them, and cheating
away heavy thoughts by that dear common work for
the comfort and service of her own which a woman
loves. But this was not a sort of longing to give
expression to at Earlston, where in the evening Mr.
Ochterlony was very kind to his sister-in-law, and
showed her a great many priceless things which Mary
regarded with trembling, thinking of two small bar-
barians about to be let loose among them, not to speak
of little Wilfrid, who was old enough to dash an
Etruscan vase to the earth, or upset the rarest piece of
china, though he was still only a baby. She could not
tell how they were so much as to walk through that
drawing-room without doing some harm, and her heart
sank within her as she listened to all those loving
lingering descriptions which only a virtuoso can make.
Mr. Ochterlony retired that evening with a sense always
agj-eeable to a man, that in doing a kind thing he had
not done a foolish one, and that the children of such
a fair and gracious woman could not be the graceless
imps who had been haunting his dreams ever since he
knew they were coming home; Init Mary for her part
144 MADONNA MARY.
took no sucli flattering unction to her soul. She sighed
as she went upstairs sad and weary to the great sombre
room , in wliich a couple of candles burned like tiny
stars in a world of darkness, and looked at her sleej)-
ing boys, and wondered what they were to do in this
collection of curiosities and beauties. She was an
ignorant Avoman, and did not, alas! care anything at
all for the Venus Anadyomene. But she thought of
little Ilugh tilting that marble lady and her pedestal
over, and shook and trembled at the idea. She trem-
bled too with cold and nervous agitation, and the chill
of sorrow in her heart. In the lack of other human
sources of consolation, oh! to go to that cottage hearth,
and kneel down and feel to one's very soul the comfort
of the warm sonsoline: fire.
CHAPTER XII.
It had need to be a mind which has reached the
last stage of human sentiment which can altogether
resist the influence of a lovely summer morning, all
made of warmth, and light, and softened sounds, and
far-ofi" odours. Mrs. Ochterlony had not reached this
last stage; she was still young, and she was only at the
beginning of her loneliness, and her heart had not
sickened at life, as hearts do sometimes Avhich have
made a great many repeated efforts to live, and have
had to give in again and again. When she saw the
sunshine lying in a supreme peacefulness upon those
grey hills, and all the pale sky and blue depths of air
beaming softly with that daylight which comes from
MADONNA MAUY. 145
God, her courage came back to her in spite of herself.
She began the morning by the shedding of those silent
tears which are all the apology one can make to one's
dead, for having the heart to begin another day without
tliem; and when that moment was over, and the children
had lifted all their daylight faces in a flutter of curiosity
and excitement about this new "home" they had come
to, after so long talking of it and looking forward to
it, things did not seem so dark to JMary as on the
previous evening. For one thing, the sun Avas warm
and shone in at her Avindows, Avhicli made a great
dillerence; and with her children's voices in her ears,
and their faces fresh in the morning light, what woman
could be altogether without courage? "So long as they
are well," she said to herself ā and went down stairs
a little consoled, to pour out Mr. Ochterlony's coftee
for him, thanking heaven in her heart that her boys
Avere to have a meal Avhich had nothing calm nor
classical about it, in the old nursery where their father
had once eaten his breakfasts, and Avhich had been
hurriedly prepared for them. "The little dears must
go doAvn after dinner-, but master, ma'am ā well, he's
an old bachelor, you knoAv," said Mrs. Gilsland, while
explaining this arrangement. "Oh, tliank you; I hope
you Avill lielp me to keep them from disturbing him,"
JMary had said-, and thus it was Avith a lighter heart
that she Avent doAvn stairs.
Mr. Ochterlony came doAvn too at the same time in
an amiable frame of mind. Notwithstanding tliat he
had to put himself into a morning coat, and abjured
his dressing-gown, Avhich Avas soniCAvhat of a trial for
a man of lixcd habits, nothing could exceed the gra-
ciousness of his looks, A certain horrible notion com-
Madonv.a JIarij. I. 10
146 MADONNA MAKY.
mon to his class, that children scream all night long,
and hold an entire household liable to be called up
at any moment, had taken possession of his mind.
But his tired little guests had been swallowed up in
the silence of the house, and had neither screamed, nor
shouted, nor done anything to disturb its habitual quiet;
and the wonderful satisfaction of having done his duty,
and not having suffered for it, had entered Mr. Ochter-
lony's mind. It is in such circumstances that the sweet
sense of well-doing, which is generally supposed the
best reward of virtue, settles upon a good man's spirits.
The Squire might be premature in his self-congratulations,
but then his sense of relief was exquisite. If nothing
worse was to come of it than the presence of a fair
woman, whose figure was always in drawing, and who
never put herself into an awkward attitude ā whose
voice was soft, and her movements tranquil, Mrs. Och-
terlony felt that self-sacrifice after all was practicable.
The boys could be sent to school as all boys were, and
at intervals might be endured when there was nothing
else for it. Thus he came down in a benign condition,
willing to be pleased. As for Mary, the first thing
that disturbed her calm, was the fact that she was her-
self of no use at her brother-in-law's breakfast-table.
He made his coffee himself, and then he went into
general conversation in the kindest way, to put her at
her ease.
"That is the Farnese Hercules," he said; "I saw it
caught your eye last night. It is from a cast I had
made for the purpose, and is considered very perfect;
and that you know is the new Pallas, the Pallas
that was found in the Sestina Villa; you recollect,
perhaps?"
MADOXN'A MARV. 147
"I am afraid not," said Mary, faltering; and slie
looked at tliem, poor soul, with wistful eyes, and tried
to feel a little interest. "I have been so long- out of
the way of everything "
"To be sure," said the Squire, encouragingly, "and
my poor brother Hugh, I remember, knew very little
about it. He went early to India, and had few
advantages, poor fellow." All this Mr. Ochterlony said
while he was concocting his coffee; and Mary had
nothing to do but to sit and listen to him with her
face fully open to his inspection if he liked, and no
kindly urn before her to hide the sudden rush of tears
and indignation. A man who spent his life having
casts made, and collecting what Mary in her heart
with secret rage called "pretty things!" ā ā that he
should make a complacent contrast between himself
and his brother! The suggestion filled Mrs. Ochterlony
with a certain speechless fury which was born of her
grief.
"He knew well how to do his duty," she said, as
soon as she coxild speak; and she would not let her
tears ftill, but opened her burning eyes wide, and ab-
soi-ljed them somehow out of pride for Hugh.
"Poor fellow!" said his brother, daintily pouring
out the fragrant coffee. "I don't know if he ever could
have had much appreciation of Art; but I am sure he
made a good soldier, as you say. I was very much
moved and shocked when I heard ā but do not let
us talk of such painful subjects; another time, per-
haps ā "
And Mary sat still with her heart beating, and said
no more ā thinking through all the gentle flow of
conversation that followed of the inconceivable conceit
10*
148 MADONNA MARY.
that could for a moment class Francis Ochterlony's
dilettante life with that of her dead Hugh, who had
played a man's part in the world, and had the heart to
die for his duty's sake. And this useless Squire could
speak of the few advantages he had! It was un-
reasonable, for, to tell the truth, the Squire was much
more accomplished, much better instructed than the
Major. The Numismatic Society and the Society of
Antiquaries, and even, on certain subjects, the British
Association, would have listened to Francis Ochterlony
as if he had been a messenger from heaven. Whereas
Hugh the soldier would never have got a hearing nor
dared to open his lips in any learned presence. But
then that did not matter to his wife, who, notwith-
standing her many high qualities, was not a perfectly
reasonable woman. Those "few advantages" stood
terribly in Mary's way for that first morning. They
irritated her far more than Mr. Ochterlony could have
had the least conception or understanding of. If any-
body had given him a glass to look into her heart
with, the Squire would have been utterly confounded
by what he saw there. What had he done? And in-
deed he had done nothing that anybody (inliis senses)
could have found fault with-, he had but turned Mary's
thoughts once more with a violent longing to the road-
side cottage, where at least, if she and her children
were but safely housed, her soldier's memory would be
sln-ined, aiid his sword huug up upon the homely wall,
and his name turned into a holy thing. Whereas he
was only a younger brother who had gone away to
India, and had few advantages, in the Earlston way of
thinking. This was the uppermost thought in Mrs.
Ochterlony's mind as her brother-in-law exhibited all
MADONNA MARV. 149
liis collections to her. The drawing-room, which she
had but imperfectly seen in her weariness and pre-
occupation the previous night, was a perfect museum
of things rich and rare. There were delicate marbles,
tiny but priceless, standing out white and ethereal
against the soft, carefully chosen, toned crimson of the
curtains ; and bronzes that were worth half a year's in-
come of the lands of Earlston-, and Etruscan vases and
Pompeian relics; and hideous dishes with lizards on
them, besides plaques of dainty porcelain with Raphael's
designs; the very chau's were fantastic with inlaying
and gilding ā curious articles, some of them worth
their weight in gold; and if you but innocently looked
at an old cup and saucer on a dainty table wondering
what it did there, it turned out to be the ware of
Henri II., and priceless. To see Mary going over all
this with her attention preoccupied and wandering, and
yet a wistful interest in her eyes, was a strange sight.
All that she had in the world was her children, and
the tiny little income of a soldier's widow ā and you
may suppose perhaps that she was thinking what a help
to her and the still more valuable little human souls
she had to care for, would have been the money's-
worth of some of these fragile beauties. But that was
not what was in Mrs. Ochterlony's mind. What oc-
cupied her, on the contrary, was an indignant wonder
within herself how a man who spent his existence upon
such trifles (they looked trifles to her, from her point
of view, and in this of course she was still unreasonable)
could venture to look down with complacency upon the
real life, so honestly lived and so bravely ended, of
his brother Hugh ā poor Hugh, as he ventured to call
him. Mr. Ochterlony might die a dozen times over,
150 MADONNA MARY.
and what would liis marble Venus care, that he was so