But here they were in Kingcombe streets--very quiet, sleepy streets, which seemed to have taken an undisturbed doze for a few centuries, to atone for the terrible excitements there created successively by Danish, Roman, Saxon, and baronial ruffians. The poor little town seemed determined to spend its old age in peace and solitude, for you might have planted a cannonade at the market-place, and swept down East Street, West Street, North Street, and South Street, without laying more than a dozen official murders on your soul. There was indeed great reason for Mrs. Harper's innocent inquiry--"Where are all the people gone to?"

"Except on market-days, we rarely see more street pa.s.sengers than now in Kingcombe," Aline Valery answered, smiling. "You will get accustomed to that and many other things when you are a country lady. Now, shall we drive to the Dugdales, or look first at the two houses I told you of?"

Mr. Harper preferred the latter course, under fear, his wife merrily declared, of being circ.u.mvented by Mrs. Dugdale. The brother and sister, she had already discovered, seemed on as pleasant terms as fire and water, since, as Harrie punningly averred, one invariably "put out"

the other. They did not squabble--Nathanael Harper never squabbled--but they always met with a gentle hissing, like water sprinkled on coals.

Agatha, who was quite new to these harmless fraternalities, always occurring in large families, was mightily amused thereat.

The first house the little party looked over was, as Emma Th.o.r.n.ycroft would have phrased it, "a love of a place!" Dining-room, drawing-rooms, conservatory, gardens--quite a gentleman's mansion. Agatha set her heart upon it at once, and it blotted out even her lingering regret over the lost home in the Regent's Park. She ran over the rooms with the glee of a child, and only came back to her husband to urge him to take it, giving her this thing and that thing necessary to its beautification.

He patted her cheek with a pleased yet sad look.

"Dear, I will give you all I can; be quite sure of that. But"--

"Nay, no buts; I must have this house. Besides, Miss Valery says it is the only house to let in Kingcombe."

"Except the one I showed you as we pa.s.sed."

"Oh, that mean little cottage--impossible. We could never think of living there."

"Nevertheless, let us look at it. You know we are but just beginning the world, and 'small beginnings make great endings' as Uncle Brian would sagely observe. Come along, my little wife."

She tried to slip from his hand and appeal to Miss Valery, but Anne had moved forward, and left them alone. There was no resource; and even while Agatha's spirit was rather restive under the coercion, she could not but acknowledge the pleasantness with which it was enforced.

"Well, I'll go with you, but I hereby declare rebellion. I will not have that miserable nutsh.e.l.l of a house," said she, laughing.

Yet it was a pretty nutsh.e.l.l--quite after the "love in a cottage"

fashion--though adorned and perfected by the late Mr. Wilson, an old bachelor.

"Did he die here?" asked Agatha.

"No; in Cornwall," Anne answered. "He had gone over to look at some property I have lately bought there. The people on it, miners thrown out of work, gave him more anxiety than he could bear, for he was not strong. He said their misery broke his heart."

Miss Valery spoke softly, but the words caught Nathanael's ear. He looked greatly shocked--and said, in a low tone, "Anne, don't talk of this. If I live, the wrong shall be atoned for."

Agatha wondered for the moment what wrong there was which made her husband look so pained and humbled. But she forbore to ask questions, and again turned her attention to the house.

"It must have been a charming nest for an old bachelor, and I would have liked it very much myself had I been an old maid. But it would never do for _us_, you know."

Nathanael smiled, so loth to contradict her, or thwart her pretty ways.

"Don't you see, Miss Valery;" Agatha continued, gathering apprehensions from his silence, smiling though it was--"Don't you see how different the cases are? This little house might do very well for Mr. Wilson, but then if my husband takes his place as your steward, it is only for amus.e.m.e.nt. We are rich people, you know."

"My poor child!" began Anne Valery, looking regretfully, nay, reproachfully at Mr. Harper. But he whispered as he pa.s.sed:

"Not yet, Anne--for my father's sake--the whole family's--nay, her own.

Not just yet!"

Such was his earnestness, such his air of command, that, for the second time, Anne, looking in his face and reading the old likeness there--obeyed him.

Agatha, wondering, uncomfortable, recommenced what she jestingly called "her little rebellion." "I see, Mr. Harper, your heart is inclining to this place, though why or wherefore I cannot tell. But do incline it back again! We must have the other house--that delicious Honeywood."

"My dear little wife! n.o.body could live at Honeywood under a thousand a year."

"Well, and have we not that? I am sure I thought I had more money than ever I could do with. How much have I?"

He hesitated--she fancied it was at the thoughtless "I," and generously changed the expression.

"How much have _we?_"

"Enough--I will make it enough--to keep you from wanting anything, and give you all the luxuries to which you were born. But not enough to warrant us in living at Honeywood. I cannot do it--not even for your sake, Agatha."

"I do not see the matter as you do."

"You cannot, dear! I know that. But in this one thing--when, on various accounts, I can judge better than she can--will not my wife trust me?"

And Anne Valery's glance seemed to echo, "Trust him."

Agatha, tried to the utmost of her small stock of patience, grew more bitter than she could have believed it possible to be with her husband and Anne Valery.

"You expect too much," she said, sharply. "I cannot trust, even though I may be compelled to obey."

Mr. Harper turned round anxiously. "Agatha, what must--what can I do? No," he muttered to himself, "I can do nothing." He walked to the window, and stood looking out mutely on the little garden--tiny, but so pretty, with its green verandah, its semicircle of arbutus trees serving as a frame to the hilly landscape beyond, its one wavy acacia, woodbine-clasped, at the foot of which a robin-redbreast was hopping and singing over the few fallen leaves.

While they all thus stood, there came a light foot and a flutter of draperies to the door.

"My patience! what are you all doing here? So, Agatha--Anne! How d'ye do, my worthy brother? Why didn't you all come to our house?"

"We were coming directly," Agatha said. "But how did you find out we were at Kingcombe?"

"You little London-lady! As if anybody, especially the much-beloved Anne Valery (saving her presence) and the much-wondered-at Mr. and Mrs. Locke Harper, could drive through Kingcombe without the fact being speedily circulated throughout the whole town? Why, my dear, if you must know, the grocer told Mrs. Edwards' nursemaid, and Mrs. Edwards' nursemaid told it to Mrs. Jones at the Library, and Mrs. Jones told Miss Trenchard, who was coming to call on me; so I asked Duke to give the children their dinner, and off I started, tracking you as cleverly as one of Nathanael's Red Indians. And here I am."

She stopped, breathless, her flounces, veil, and shawl flying abroad in all directions. But she looked so hearty, natural, and good-humoured, that her entrance was quite a relief to Agatha--more especially as, for a great wonder, she asked no questions.

"So, I hear you have been showing Honeywood to Mrs. Harper. Pretty place, isn't it! A pity it's not on your property, Anne, or you would not let it go to ruin unlet. And here is poor Mr. Wilson's old house, with all the furniture just as it was. How melancholy!"

She said "How melancholy!" just in the tone that she would have said "How entertaining!" From circ.u.mstances, or from natural peculiarity--that light easy temper which dances like a feather over the troubled waters of life--she had evidently never learnt the meaning of the word sorrow.

"But now," Harriet continued, "what I come for, is to carry you all off to lunch--the children's dinner. My dear, you must see my boys, your nephews."

Agatha stood aghast at the idea of having nephews!

"And such boys!" Miss Valery added, interposing. "'The Missus' has good right to be proud of them. If there is one thing in which Harrie succeeds better than another, it is in the management of her children."

"Bah! they manage themselves; I just leave them to nature," cried Mrs.

Dugdale; but her eye--the mother's eye--twinkled with pleasure all the time, which greatly improved its expression, Agatha thought. She walked off gaily with her sister-in-law, Nathanael following. Anne stayed behind, conversing with the old woman who showed the house. She and Mr.

Harper had pointedly avoided any private speech with one another.

"I declare there is Duke!" cried Mrs. Dugdale suddenly. "Just look at him, meandering up and down the town." (Agatha laughed at the word; "meandering" seemed so perfectly expressive of Duke Dugdale.) "But my husband always turns up everywhere, except where he's wanted. Does yours? I beg your pardon--since you are watching him as if you thought he were running away. Nonsense, Agatha--(I always call everybody by their Christian names)--Nonsense! He's only shaking hands with his brother-in-law, both looking as pleased as ever they can look."