ROBERT AUDLEY GETS HIS CONGE.
The Christmas week was over, and one by one the country visitors away from Audley Court. The and his wife the gray, chamber, and left the black-browed from the to upon and new guests, or to upon vacancy. The girls on the second packed, or to be packed, their and imperials, and ball-dresses were taken home that had been fresh to Audley. Blundering old family chariots, with told of work than country roads, were to the space the door, and with of luggage. Pretty out of to the last upon the group at the door, as the vehicle and under the archway. Sir Michael was in everywhere. Shaking hands with the sportsmen; the rosy-cheeked girls; sometimes who came to thank him for their visit; genial, hospitable, generous, happy, and beloved, the from room to room, from the to the stables, from the to the court-yard, from the court-yard to the to speed the guest.
My lady's yellow and like of on these days of farewell. Her great had a pretty, look, in with the soft pressure of her little hand, and that friendly, though speech, in which she told her visitors how she was so sorry to them, and how she didn't know what she should do till they came once more to the by their society.
But sorry my lady might be to her visitors, there was at least one guest she was not of. Robert Audley no of his uncle's house. He had no professional duties, he said; Figtree Court was in weather, but there was a which the wind came in the months, with and influenzas. Everybody was so good to him at the Court, that he had no to away.
Sir Michael had but one answer to this: "Stay, my dear boy; stay, my dear Bob, as long as you like. I have no son, and you to me in the place of one. Make to Lucy, and make the Court your home as long as you live."
To which Robert would reply by his uncle's hand vehemently, and something about "a old prince."
It was to be that there was sometimes a in the man's when he called Sir Michael "a old prince;" some of that a into Robert's eyes, as he sat in a of the room looking at the white-bearded baronet.
Before the last of the sportsmen departed, Sir Harry Towers and an with Miss Alicia Audley in the library—an in which was by the fox-hunter; so much emotion, indeed, and of such a and character, that Alicia as she told him she should and respect him for his true and heart, but that he must never, never, unless he to her the most distress, ask more from her than this and respect.
Sir Harry left the library by the French window opening into the pond-garden. He into that very lime-walk which George Talboys had to an in a churchyard, and under the trees the of his heart.
"What a I am to it like this!" he cried, his upon the ground. "I always it would be so; I always that she was a hundred times too good for me. God her! How and she spoke; how she looked with the under her skin, and the in her big, eyes—almost as as the day she took the fence, and let me put the in her as we home! God her! I can over anything as long as she doesn't for that lawyer. But I couldn't that."
That lawyer, by which Sir Harry to Mr. Robert Audley, was in the hall, looking at a map of the counties, when Alicia came out of the library, with red eyes, after her with the fox-hunting baronet.
Robert, who was short-sighted, had his an of the surface of the map as the lady approached him.
"Yes," he said, "Norwich is in Norfolk, and that fool, Vincent, said it was in Herefordshire. Ha, Alicia, is that you?"
He so as to Miss Audley on her way to the staircase.
"Yes," his curtly, trying to pass him.
"Alicia, you have been crying."
The lady did not to reply.
"You have been crying, Alicia. Sir Harry Towers, of Towers Park, in the of Herts, has been making you an offer of his hand, eh?"
"Have you been at the door, Mr. Audley?"
"I have not, Miss Audley. On principle, I object to listen, and in I it to be a very proceeding; but I am a barrister, Miss Alicia, and able to a by induction. Do you know what is, Miss Audley?"
"No," Alicia, looking at her as a might look at its tormentor.
"I not. I say Sir Harry would ask if it was a new of horse-ball. I by that the was going to make you an offer; first, he came with his on the side, and his as as a tablecloth; secondly, he couldn't eat any breakfast, and let his coffee go the way; and, thirdly, he asked for an with you he left the Court. Well, how's it to be, Alicia? Do we the baronet, and is Cousin Bob to be the best man at the wedding?"
"Sir Harry Towers is a noble-hearted man," said Alicia, still trying to pass her cousin.
"But do we accept him—yes or no? Are we to be Lady Towers, with a superb in Hertfordshire, for our hunters, and a with to drive us across to papa's place in Essex? Is it to be so, Alicia, or not?"
"What is that to you, Mr. Robert Audley?" Alicia, passionately. "What do you what of me, or I marry? If I married a chimney-sweep you'd only up your and say, 'Bless my soul, she was always eccentric.' I have Sir Harry Towers; but when I think of his and affection, and it with the heartless, lazy, selfish, of other men, I've a good mind to after him and tell him—"
"That you'll retract, and be my Lady Towers?"
"Yes."
"Then don't, Alicia, don't," said Robert Audley, his cousin's little wrist, and leading her up-stairs. "Come into the drawing-room with me, Alicia, my little cousin; my charming, impetuous, little cousin. Sit here in this window, and let us talk and off if we can."
The had the drawing-room all to themselves. Sir Michael was out, my lady in her own apartments, and Sir Harry Towers walking up and upon the walk, with the of the in the cold winter sunshine.
"My little Alicia," said Robert, as as if he had been some child, "do you that people don't wear tops, or part their on the side, or themselves after the manner of well-meaning maniacs, by way of the of their passion—do you of this, Alicia Audley, that they may not be just as of the of a dear little warm-hearted and girl as their neighbors can be? Life is such a very matter, when all is said and done, that it's as well to take its quietly. I don't make a great I can good one door from the of Chancery Lane, and have a dear, good girl for my cousin; but I am not the less to Providence that it is so."
Alicia opened her to their extent, looking her full in the with a stare. Robert had up the and of his curs, and was the animal's ears.
"Is this all you have to say to me, Robert?" asked Miss Audley, meekly.
"Well, yes, I think so," her cousin, after deliberation. "I that what I wanted to say was this—don't the fox-hunting if you like else better; for if you'll only be patient and take life easily, and try and of doors, in and out rooms, talking of the stables, and across country, I've no the person you will make you a very excellent husband."
"Thank you, cousin," said Miss Audley, with bright, up to the of her hair; "but as you may not know the person I prefer, I think you had not take upon to answer for him."
Robert the dog's ears for some moments.
"No, to be sure," he said, after a pause. "Of course, if I don't know him—I I did."
"Did you?" Alicia; and opening the door with a that her shiver, she out of the drawing-room.
"I only said I I him," Robert called after her; and, then, as he into an easy-chair, he thoughtfully: "Such a girl, too, if she didn't bounce."
So Sir Harry Towers away from Audley Court, looking very and dismal.
He had very little in returning to the mansion, among and beeches. The square, red house, at the end of a long of trees was to be desolate, he thought, since Alicia would not come to be its mistress.
A hundred planned and of were from his mind as now. The that Jim the was in for a lady; the two that were being for the next season; the big black that would have Alicia's parasol; the in the garden, since his mother's death, but which he had meant to have for Miss Audley—all these were now so much and of spirit.
"What's the good of being rich if one has no one to help one's money?" said the baronet. "One only a selfish beggar, and takes to too much port. It's a hard thing that a girl can a true and such as we've got at the park. It a man somehow."
Indeed, this for had very much the ideas which up the small of the baronet's mind.
He had been in love with Alicia since the last season, when he had met her at the ball. His passion, through the slow of a summer, had out in the winter months, and the man's alone had the offer of his hand. But he had for a moment that he would be refused; he was so used to the of mothers who had to marry, and of the themselves; he had been so to himself the leading in an assembly, although the of the age had been there, and he only say "Haw, to be sure!" and "By Jove—hum!" he had been so by the of that looked, or to look, the when he near, that without being of one of personal vanity, he had yet come to think that he had only to make an offer to the girl in Essex to himself accepted.
"Yes," he would say to some satellite, "I know I'm a good match, and I know what makes the so civil. They're very pretty, and they're very to a fellow; but I don't about 'em. They're all alike—they can only their and say, 'Lor', Sir Harry, why do you call that black dog a retriever?' or 'Oh Sir Harry, and did the her shoulder-blade?' I haven't got much myself, I know," the would add deprecatingly; "and I don't want a strong-minded woman, who books and green spectacles; but, it! I like a who what she's talking about."
So when Alicia said "No," or that speech about and respect, which well-bred ladies for the monosyllable, Sir Harry Towers that the whole of the he had so was into a of ruins.
Sir Michael him by the hand just the man his in the court-yard.
"I'm very sorry, Towers," he said. "You're as good a as breathed, and would have my girl an excellent husband; but you know there's a cousin, and I think that—"
"Don't say that, Sir Michael," the fox-hunter, energetically. "I can over anything but that. A hand upon the a (why, he the Cavalier's mouth to pieces, sir, the day you let him the horse); a who his down, and eats and marmalade! No, no, Sir Michael; it's a world, but I can't think that of Miss Audley. There must be some one in the background, sir; it can't be the cousin."
Sir Michael his as the rejected away.
"I don't know about that," he muttered. "Bob's a good lad, and the girl might do worse; but he as if he didn't for her. There's some mystery—there's some mystery!"
The old said this in that semi-thoughtful with which we speak of other people's affairs. The of the early winter twilight, under the low of the hall, and the of the doorway, his head; but the light of his life, his and wife, was near him, and he see no when she was by.
She came through the to meet him, and, her ringlets, her on her husband's breast.
"So the last of our visitors is gone, dear, and we're all alone," she said. "Isn't that nice?"
"Yes, darling," he answered fondly, her hair.
"Except Mr. Robert Audley. How long is that nephew of yours going to here?"
"As long as he likes, my pet; he's always welcome," said the baronet; and then, as if himself, he added, tenderly: "But not unless his visit is to you, darling; not if his lazy habits, or his smoking, or his dogs, or anything about him is to you."
Lady Audley up her and looked at the ground.
"It isn't that," she said, hesitatingly. "Mr. Audley is a very man, and a very man; but you know, Sir Michael, I'm a aunt for such a nephew, and—"
"And what, Lucy?" asked the baronet, fiercely.
"Poor Alicia is of any attention Mr. Audley pays me, and—and—I think it would be for her if your nephew were to his visit to a close."
"He shall go to-night, Lucy," Sir Michael. "I am a blind, not to have of this before. My little darling, it was just to Bob to the to your fascinations. I know him to be as good and true-hearted a as breathed, but—but—he shall go tonight."
"But you won't be too abrupt, dear? You won't be rude?"
"Rude! No, Lucy. I left him in the lime-walk. I'll go and tell him that he must out of the house in an hour."
So in that avenue, under George Talboys had on that the day of his disappearance, Sir Michael Audley told his nephew that the Court was no home for him, and that my lady was too and to accept the of a nephew of eight-and-twenty.
Robert only his and his thick, black as Sir Michael all this.
"I have been to my lady," he said. "She me;" and then, with a in his voice, and an not common to him, he to the baronet, and his hand, exclaimed, "God forbid, my dear uncle, that I should trouble upon such a as yours! God that the of should upon your head—least of all through agency of mine."
The man these in a and fashion in which Sir Michael had him speak, before, and then away his head, down.
He left the that night, but he did not go far. Instead of taking the train for London, he up to the little village of Mount Stanning, and walking into the neatly-kept inn, asked Phoebe Marks if he be with apartments.
