xt7pg44hn36d https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7pg44hn36d/data/mets.xml Wood, Henry, Mrs., 1814-1887. 1870  books b92-179-30418290 English T.B. Peterson, : Philadelphia : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. George Canterbury's will  / by Mrs. Henry Wood. text George Canterbury's will  / by Mrs. Henry Wood. 1870 2002 true xt7pg44hn36d section xt7pg44hn36d 






Mnrited from the author's Manuscript and advanced Proof-sheets, purchased
    by us from Mrs. Henry Wood, and issued here simultaneously
           with the publication of the work in Europe.




           Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by
              T. B. PETERSON  BROTHERS,
   In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the
                   Eastern District of Pennsylvania.


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 Chapter                                           Page
    I.-IN  THE EVENING LIGHT ......................................... 21
    II.-DOWN AT CHILLING .............................................. 29
    III.-WITH    LADY KAGE ................................................ 33
    IV.-lKEZIAH     DAWKES .................................................       38
    V.-CALLED UP BY TELEGRAM ...................................... 45
    VI.-UNDER THE        MOONLIT SKY ...................................... .50
  VII.-ENTERING ON A NEW           HOME ..................................... 58
  VIII.-A TERRIBLE FEAR ................................................. 64
  IX.-SUNHINE GONE OUT FOREVER ................................. 72
  X.-COMING HOME ..............................            ................... so
  XI.-IN   THE EVENING PAPER ......................................... 87
  XII.-THE SHADOW         OF THE FUTURE .................................. 93
  XIII.-.AT THE ROCK .................................................            103
  XIV.-A    SOLEMN WARNING ............................................ 109
  XV.-DISINHERITED .................................................             117
  XVL-SPRING ROUIND AGAIN .......................................... 122
  XVI.-LOVE AT         LAST .................................................      127
XVIII-THE FUNERAL.................................................133
  XIX.-MOREVIGOROUS THAN EVER................................... 138
  XX.-.A PAINFUL INTERVIEW ......................................... 144
  XXI.-CAPTAIN        DAWKES IN TOWN .................................... 152
  XXII.-PLAYING FOR HIGH STAKES  ..................... 156
  XXIII.-BREAKING THE NEWS TO BELLE .     .................. 162
  XXIV.-AT MRS. RICHARD DUNN'S  ....................... 167
  XXV.-AT THE FESTIVE BOARD    ....................... 172
  XXVI.-MRS. GARSTON'S PURCHASE  ...................... 178
XXVIL-NOT QUITE HEARTLESS ......................................... 183
XXVIII.-A FEW       WHISPERED WORDS ..................................... 18
XXX2-AN OLD WARNING RECALLED.    .................................. 195
7KX3XL-VERY UNSATISFACTORY ........................................ 200


20                        CONTENTS.
  Chapter                                               PAge
  XXXII.-MRS. DAWXES AT HOME.........................................203
  XXXIII.-AFLOOD OF GOLDEN SUNLIGHT...............................210
  XXXIV.-"DIEDIN A FIT...........................................213
  X XV.-ENSHROUDED  INMYSTERY .....................................219
  XXXVI.-THE POSTERN DOOR...........................................226
XXXVI.-IN THE SOUTH WING..........................................232
XXXVIII.-ONTHE WATCH ..................................................239
XX IX2-SEARCHING FOR FE-CING-STICKS..............................246
    XL.-THELAWYER'S SECRET VISIT..................................252
    XLI-THE LAST AND FINAL WILL....... ...........................257



           CHAPTER I.
  NOTHING could be more beautiful.
The sun was sinking in the west, cast-
ing direct rays on the long line of blue
water, in a flood of golden brightness.
It shone on the white sails of the pleas-
ure-boats, on the fishitig-craft putting
out for their night's work; it brought
into clearer distinctness the fine vessels
passing far away on their course; it
played on the chain of mountains that
terminated the land prospect to the right,
stretching their undulating outline miles
on in the distance. Calm, soothing, still.
The turbulent sea-waves were unseen
this evening; the froth and foam rose
not. All the world seemed to be at rest
from its troubles and its turmoil, its sin-
ful passions and petty strifes, as if it
would impart to men's hearts a foretaste
of that peace which shall be realized
only in heaven.
  The place, Little Bay, was a small
quiet Welsh watering-place, where the
bathing was good, the air salubrious, and
the sea-view of vast extent. Little fre-
quented in those earlier days, it was of
meek pretension and very reasonable, en-
tertaining no prevision of the fashiona-
ble resort it was destined afterwards to
  Within a large open bow-window,
partly looking out on the scene that
one of them. so loved, partly listening to
the desultory talk of a gentleman who
stood outside and leaned his arms on its
frame, were two girls. She who was

next to him, answering his repartees be-
fore they were well spoken, was richly
dressed in charming blue silk and lace-
a young, fair, bright girl of seventeen,
in appearance almost a child; her laugh-
ing eyes of a purple blue, her hair dark
brown and luxuriant, her cheeks rival-
ing the hue of the damask rose-alto-
gether as lovely a vision of beauty as
ever enthralled the senses of man: The
other was very nice-looking also, but of
quieter aspect. A gentle girl, she, just
nineteen, with large shy hazel eyes, hair
of a lighter shade of brown, a complex-
ion fair and rather pale a soft sweet
face that was pleasant to look upon.
She was taller than her companion, and
yet not more than of middle height;
her dress was a simple muslin, costing
at most but a few shillings. You can-
not judge by dress of the ways and
means of its wearer, as all the world
knows. The richly-dressed girl in her
blue silk and its costly Honiton lace-
Caroline Kage-had been straitened in
means all her life, and never expected to
be lifted out of the straits except by
some fortunate marriage; the other
would probably inherit at least a hun-
dred thousand pounds, for she was one
of the daughters of the rich Mr. Can-
terbury. of Chilling.
  And he who talked to them-Thomas
Kage He was a barrister by profes-
sion, and had to work hard for his liv-
ing, not expecting to be helped by so
much as a shilling from anybody in the
world. A slight-made man, appearing
from his slenderness almost of middle



height, but not so in reality. His hair
and eyes were dark; his face, nothing
to boast of, was honest, genial, true.
People called Thomas Kage "plain,"
and plain he was, judging him by the
lines of severe beauty; but the coun-
tenance was a good countenance, carry-
ing its own index straight to the hearts
of discerning men.
  It was the third week in September;
thev had gone to the seaside the third
week in August; so that for a month
now he and these two girls had been
daily and almost hourly companions.
The result was one that is not rare.
Which of the two had learnt to love him
most, it would be difficult to say. Mil-
licent Canterbury had never met him in
her life before; Caroline Kage had,
though not frequently: he and she were
cousins several degrees removed.
  " Why are you so serious, Miss Can-
terbury  " he suddenly asked, bending
his head more forward to look at her
where she sat, a little back from the
  "'Am  I serious " she returned, a
pink blush mantling in her smooth
cheek at his words, and she bent her
too-conscious face to hide it.
  " At least, you are silent."
  "I was listening to you and Caroline."
  "I think you generally prefer listen-
ing to talking,." he said, a smile of rare
sweetness breaking over his lips. That
smile was the one sole beauty of Thomas
Rage's face, redeeming it from its re-
proach while it lasted.
  "Do I"
  Do I! Carelessly though the answer-
ing words were given, Millicent Canter-
bury knew that the charge was widely
true, and the pink blush increased to
crimson. When in his presence, she
could no more have been free of tongue
than a mute: her love for him was ear-
nest, real, passionate; and this same
love, as most of us know, chains the lips
when in the presence of its idol.
  " And do you agree with Caroline or
with me"
  "W With you," Millicent was obliged to
confess, for she was of a straight-forward
nature, knowing nothing of evasion;
but the avowal caused the crimson to
become as a very spot of fire; " for I feel
sure Mrs. Kage will not allow us to go."
  They had been discussing a projected
sail for the morrow, these two girls, with

Miss Annesley as companion, who was
staying with them, and Mr. Kage as
protector. Caroline spoke of it as an
event sure and decided; he had quietly
declared it would turn out "all moon-
  " You will see," continued Miss Rage.
-"Leta, what in the world are your
cheeks so scarlet for -And I think it
is exceedingly wicked of you, Thomas, to
throw cold water on what I propose."
  Thomas Kage laughed.
  " Cold water! Ah, Caroline, if you
only knew how hot the water I would
throw, if that might bring the sail to
fruition!" he pursued in a tone of grav-
er meaning. "The prospect of taking
you is delightful, but it will not be real-
ized. As Miss Canterbury says, your
mother would not permit it."
  " It is so stupid of her to be afraid of
the water," said Caroline hastily. " As
if people got drowned in a calm sea! "
  He made no reply, only glanced at her,
and something like emotion passed over
her lovely face. She was conscious, and
he was conscious, that Mrs. Kage's veto
would not be laid upon the expedition on
account of any danger they might incur,
although it was true that she was a cow-
ard in regard to the water, but because
she was beginning to dread this frequent
and close companionship.
  " Mrs. Rage regards the sea as a
treacherous ogre, waiting always to swal-
low up the unwary who may venture on
it, you know, Caroline," he remarked in-
differently, as he opened a book he held
and turned over its pages.
  "What will you say to me to-morrow
morning if I meet you with the news
that I have persuaded mamma into con-
senting  "
  "I shall say you are the dearest cous-
in in the world-"
  " That's easily said when you have no
other," she petulantly interrupted."
  " And the most clever of diplomatists,"
he continued. "You should let a man
finish, Caroline. I wish you success, but
I have no expectation that the wish will
be realised."
  " What kind of wish do you call that,
pray  "
  " A faithless one, I suppose."
  "Just so. And I will convict you of
shame when I bring you mamma's con-
  " So be it, Caroline," he answered.-




I"And you, Miss Canterbury You have
not said you will go. Will you  "
   "Yes, I-I think so," was the reply,
given with some hesitation. "I don't
care much to go on the sea."
   " Why, I have heard you say that you
love the sea."
   " I love to look at it. Seeing it as we
do from these windows, I cannot imagine
anything in the world more beautiful. I
could look at it for ever, and not be tir-
ed: watching its changing colors; spec-
ulating on the large vessels that pass;
seeing what they do in the little boats
cruising off the land. My love for the
sea is something strange. But on it I
am nearly as great a coward as Mrs.
Kage: and in rough weather I am so
sea-sick ! "
  He laughed at the wind-up. Caroline
Kage spoke rather testily.
  "There's no particular necessity for
your going into raptures over the sea,
Leta, if you do love it."
  "No," said Leta in a meek tone, "of
course not."
  They called her "Leta " almost always.
When a little child, before she was able
to speak plain, she had so pronounced
her own name Millicent; the appellation
had never left her, and never would.
  The sun went down in a blaze of gold.
The clear and beautiful opal tints, seen
only in the north-western sky, succeeded
to it; and still Thomas Kage stood on.
  Suddenly, ass if prompted by some mo-
mentary recollection, he removed his
arms from the window to look at his
watch; and Caroline saw the movement
with a jealous eye and failing heart. It
seemed to foreshadow his departure; and
she would willingly have kept him by
her side for ever.
  " Why do you not come in, Thomas
The idea of having stayed outside all
this while!"
  " I cannot come in now. I promised
my mother to be with her for tea."
  "How many more evenings will you
tell us that Your mother is very ex-
  '"Never was there a mother less so," he
rejoined emphatically, a glow on his hon-
est face. "' But she likes to have me with
her at tea; and I have been keeping her
waiting for it. Tiresome sirens, both of
xou, to enchain a fellow so, and cause
him to forget the hour-glass! Farewell,
and better manners to you."

RBURY'S      WILL.                 23

   He turned down fhie gravel path with
 a quick step-the house stood back in a
 garden-passed through the gate, and
 nodded gaily as he raised his hat. It
 was as if a shadow had fallen on the
 hearts of both; and they listened in si-
 lence and sadness to the echo of his fleet
   He had set off to run as though he
 were a school-boy. Turning a bend of
 the road, a lady came in view, and he
 had to slacken speed. It was Miss An-
 nesley; she had come to Little Bay with
 Mrs. Kage.
   " Are you bound for Mrs. Garston's 
 she stopped to ask.
   "Not now. I am hastening home to
 mya mother."
   '; That is well," returned Miss Annes-
ley quaintly. " Had you been going to
Mrs. Garston, I should have said, don't
go. She is cross this evening; cross
with you."
   " I know I ought to have gone there,"
he confessed, a smile breaking over his
face. " That's it, I suppose  "
   " That is it. And I was charged to tell
you, if we by chance met, that she would
not receive you now until to-morrow.
She means it, Mr. Kage."
   "Very well. I'll go and make my
peace with her then. Thank you. Fare-
well for the present."
   Resuming his quick pace, he gained
the door of a pretty cottage, also facing
the sea. A staid, hard woman of fifty,
as tall as a lighthouse, admitted him.
   "1 You have kept your mother waiting
a long while, Mr. Thomas," was the
greeting he received, delivered with a
severe countenance. " She'd not let the
tea be made till you came in."
   " I am very sorry, Dorothy," he an-
swered, never thinking, as most men at
his age would, that it was nearly time
Dorothy left off her lectures to him.
She had nursed bim when a baby, and
been his mother's ever-faithful atten.-
dant since, through good and ill, for
eight - and - twenty years. "I did not
happen to look at my watch, and the
time slipped on."
   " I think I'd leave the coming home to
meals an open question, if I were you,
sir, while we are here. My lady ought
to have had her tea early this evening,
for she's got a fearful bad headache come
   The keeping the "m meals " waiting by



so much as five minutes was amidst the
catalogue of Dorothy's cardinal sins;
and Thomas Kage was aware he bad not
been strictly punctual of late.
  "A headache ! -' he repeated in some
surprise; for Lady Kage was not sub-
ject to the malady.
  "Yes, she have," said Dorothy, as
Thomas went in.
  At the open window of the sitting-
room sat Lady Rage-a gentle, thought-
ful woman, with a countenance as good
as his own, and a voice as sweet. She
had but reached the age which women
are apt to call middle life; hut she was
in ill health, and her delicate face looked
  "My darling mother! " he said, kiss-
ing her fondly; " I am so sorry."
  "Sorry for what, Thomas  "
  "For keeping you waiting tea. Why
did you not take it  Dorothy says
your head is bad."
Shekept his hand in hers; and her eyes,
looking up to his, were full of smiles.
  "Dorothy has been talking, I see."
  "That she has, giving it me well.
But you ought to have had your tea,
mother dear.  You don't know how
these things pain me."
  "They need not, Thomas."
  "They do, though, and bring home to
me all my selfish ingratitude. If I
were wanting my tea, and you out, I
should be sure to order it without
thought of you."
  " That you would not, if you expected
me to come home; no, though your head
were splitting for want of it, which
mine is not."
  " I don't know how I came to let the
time slip on unheeded. I was talking
with Miss Canterbury and Caroline.
What can have given you the headache,
  " I think I walked too far this morn-
ing. I mean to have a whole day's rest
to-morrow indoors."
  It mav almost be said that Lady
Kage answered mechanically; for her
thoughts, as she spoke, were far away.
The time had slipped on unheeded,
"talking with Miss Canterbury and
  Mr. Kage's apologies of late had
been so entirely similar to this present
one, that the suspicion hovering in his
mother's mind grew greater and greater.

That he must be learning to love one
of those two young ladies she felt as
sure of as though she could look into
his heart and read it. Which of them
was it 
  Dorothy brought in the tea-tray, and
placed it on the side of the table farthest
from her mistress.
  " Mr. Thomas can pour it out this eve-
ning, as you feel ill, my lady," decided
she, with the privileged authority of one
used to have her way. -"It's quite
ready, sir."
  He laughed as he sat down, saying
he hoped he should not put the cream
and sugar into the tea-pot instead of
the cups.
  Thomas Kage had not roughed it in
chambers or lodgings as three-fourths
of the young men have: his mother's
home in London was his home, and his
mother indulgently did all things for
him.  The world guessed little how
very simple the home was, or how
entirely happy they were in it. Mother
and son have rarely been so bound in
heart together.
  Awkwardly as most unaccustomed
men, Thomas Rage served his mother
with her tea first, and then poured out
his owII. He was quite unconscious
that his cup was consequently the
stronger of the two. He would have
given her every good at his own expense
that this world can bestow, and thought
it no sacrifice.
  " You say you have been with the two
young ladies this evening" observed
Lady Kage.
  "Are you sure I have put enough
cream and sugar-Yes, I have been
with them."
  "As usual-as usual, Thomas. Are
you drifting into love for either of
them  "
  " Mother!"
  It was all very well to say " Mother !
and to say it with a start; but Lady
Kage could not avoid seeing one thing,
-that her son's face grew red and con-
scious as a girl's. She knew now that
she was not mistaken. He upset some
water on the tea-tray, in a sudden effort
to drown the tea-pot.
  " Which of the two is it, Thomas "
she quietly asked.
  By this time he was recovering his
self- possession and equanimity.  He




looked at his mother in the twilight,
and -then, pausing sent his good, dark,
candid eyes rather far out to sea
through the open window.
   " Mother, I think you are mistaken;
I hope you are. The maddest thing I
could do would be to fall in love with
any girl, no matter whom she might be.
It may be years-years and years-be-
fore my circumstances enable me to
think of a wife, if they ever do."
  "That is just it, Thomas.  Other-
  "Otherwise I might be at liberty to
fall in love to-morrow," he said with a
laugh. " Ah, yes; we all have to bend
to circumstances."
  Lady Kage did not dismiss her
opinion, but would not seem to pursue
  "W hich of the two (if either) would
your choice have fallen upon, Thomas 
Miss Canterbury "
  "MBliss Canterbury!" be echoed in
surprise so genuine that something like
a chill struck across his mother's heart,
and destroyed a vision that had been
rearing itself in fondness before her
mind. " You must be dreaming, moth-
er dear. Miss Canterbury will count
her money by scores of thousands, per-
haps by hundreds of thousands. Old
Canterbury may be worth a million."
  ' If Millicent Canterbury is rich in
wealth, you are rich in worth, Thomas.
A union between you would not be un-
  He smiled and shook his head at the
thought of his mother's partiality; but
his answer was given in a tone of firm
  "'It would be so unequal, mother
dear, that I should never attempt to en-
tertain it for a moment-no, not though
I were dying of love for her. But the
thought of loving Millicent Canterbury
has never entered my head; so be at
  " I could not have wished a better wife
for you than Millicent Canterbury; I
never met a sweeter airl," spoke Lady
Kage. " As to Caroline, Millicent is
worth a thousand of her."
  "Caroline is as poor as I am; and
therefore, to speak of marriage in con-
nection with her, would be talking fruit-
less nonsense," returned Mr. Kage, an
embarrassment in his tone that his

mother did not like to hear, for it be-
trayed too surely where his affections
lay. And then ensued a silence.
   Thomas broke it. Lifting his head,
after a pause of thought, he looked full
at his mother in the deepening twilight
as if he deemed it well to set the matter
at rest, for himself as well as her.
   " I was twenty-seven last July, moth-
er, as you know; and I am earning so
little at my profession, as you also know,
getting on so slowly in it-not at all, in
fact-that the chances are I may attain
to forty years of age without being able
to keep a wife as I should like to keep
her. Believe me, therefore, there is no
danger, no hope, that I can or shall fall
in love to any purpose. I may cast a
fancy here, I may cast it there, but
nothing is likely to result from it."
  "I should not wish you to get into
hopeless love," spoke Lady Kage in a
low tone.
  "Nor I. But if I did, I could bear
  The beautiful opal tints in the clear
north-western sky grew less distinct in
the fadinrg light. Lady Kage, her head
growing more painful, went up to bed;
and Thomas sat alone, with his own re-
  No, there might be no thought of
marriage for him. As to this pleasant
dream he had been lately falling into,
why, let him dream on while he might;
it would not be for so very long. In
October the sea-side party would dis-
perse, he and his mother for London,
the others for their far- away home.
And then  Then would come for him
the old working life again, during which
he should forget-forget, or pretend at
it. And she-
  " Ain't there no lights wanted here "
  The interruption came from Dorothy.
She had opened the door, crusty still, to
ask; and Thomas Kage awoke out of
himself to find it was as dark as it
would be that night.
  No, no lights yet. The clock was
striking eight, and he put on his hat and
went out.
  Calm, warm, light, and lovely was the
night. The clear sky was luminous, the
lights from the different vessels on the
sea twinkled like stars. Passing down a
turning, he came to a house that, in com-
parison with the cottage rented by his




mother, looked like a mansion. A foot-
man answered his knock.
  " Has Mrs. Garston retired to her
room "
   "No, sir, not yet."
   "Say to her, then, that I send in my
kind regards, and will come to see her
after breakfast in the morning."
  Regard for the very old lady prompted
him to come and say this. Mrs. Gars-
ton was eighty years of age. Never had
living man a kinder heart than Thomas
Kage, and he was grieved to have failed
in his customary visit to her. And he
departed on his way again.
  On the lawn before Mrs. Kage's house,
flitting about in freedom, were the two
girls. Mr. Kage joined them. Now
they stood together at the railings, watch-
ing the aforesaid lights, and'trackiDg the
vessels on their gentle course; now they
paced the walks, now rested on the green
bench under the mulberry-tree. But the
same low, unconsciously tender inter-
change of converse was ever there. The
companionship, becoming all too sweet,
was not interrupted. Every minute,
every hour, as they went by, did but add
strength to the linksof the chain by which
Fate was binding the three hearts togeth-
er; indissolubly, but in a cross and con-
trary 1.ashion, as it is in the nature of fate
to do.
Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it In his
    glowing hands;
Every inoment, lightly shaken, ran itself In golden
  They would have lingered on until
midnight, but at nearly ten o'clock out
came Miss Annesley. She was a good
and true young woman, wanting some
years of thirty, amiable, prudent, sensi-
ble, and calm of temperament; as it is
only right the daughter of an earnest
clergyman should be.
  " Mrs. Kage is so vexed that you
should be out of doors. She wishes you
to come in at once."
  " Oh, mamma has woke up at last, has
she  " responded Caroline carelessly.
" A little the worse in temper for her
long sleep, I suppose."
  "You must know, Caroline, that it is
high time you did come in," said Miss
  "There, don't preach, Sarah; we are
coming."  And Millicent was the first to
hasten in.

  Years and years before-say thirty-
an officer who had risen rapidly in India,
Colonel Sir Charles Kage, K. C. B. came
home on a three years' leave, with his wife
and little daughter. He was without
connections in the sense that the word is
generally understood, only possessing a
few plain relatives. But a K. C. B. is
sure to find friends in plenty; and Sir
Charles's London residence was soon
overflowing with them. Amidst others,
frequenting it, was a peer who had nearly
come to the end of his available income
-his children having considerably assis-
ted in its disposal-and consequently le
put off a small portion of his superfluous
pride: Lord Gunse.
  The object which had chiefly brought
Sir Charles Kage home was the ill-health
of his wife. Just for a few weeks she
rallied, but only to sink again; and in
less than six months from the day of
their landing in England, she died.
The little girl, Charlotte, was six years
old then, and Sir Charles immediately
took a young lady into his house as her
governess. She was a Miss Carr, a gen-
tle, retiring, unpretending girl, who kept
herself in all humility out of the way of
Sir Charles's guests, and learnt to love
the little Charlotte. If the guests by
chance saw her, they took no notice of
her. Lord Gunse and Lady Gunse and
the Honorable Misses Gunse quite ignor-
ed her. In point of fact, those aristo-
cratic people, had they condescended to
think of the nursery governess at all,
would have classed her as a domestic.
She was of no family; perhaps had
never had as much as a father and
  Lady Gunse and the Misses Gunse
were at that time much at Sir Charles
Kage's house, consoling the bereaved
widower. It was thought by the mnaid-
servants (who are generally shrewd ob-
servers) that their master might have
had any one of the three honorable
young ladies for the asking. A fine man
of only five-and-forty, a K. C. B. already,
and with plenty of service before himn,
would be a prize undoubtedly in the mat-
rimonial market.
  What, then, must have been the shock-
ed indignation of this noble family to
awake one morning to the news of Sir
Charles Kage's marriage  Just twelve
months after the death of his wife he




quietly led to church the nursery govern-
ess, saying nothing to anybody. When
taxed with his crime by Lord Gunse (out
of pure regard for Sir Charles, of course,
and his blighted interests), the brave sol-
dier wrung the peer's hand, and avowed
that the good qualities of Maria Carr had
won his esteem and love, and that he
could not have given the little Charlotte
a more loving and admirable mother had
he taken the whole world to pick and
choose from. Of course she was young;
he did not deny that; but every year as
it vent by would remedy the defect.
  " She is of no family," groaned the
wrathful peer.
  "No family!" repeated Sir Charles.
"My dear lord, she is of as good a fam-
ily as my own."
  And thus the patient, humble govern-
ess, Maria Carr, had become the second
Lady Kage.
  Poor young wife! A child was born
to her in due course, a little boy, who
was named Thomas Charles Carr, and
she was the happiest of the happy. Sir
Charles waited for the christening, and
then went back to India, for his leave
was up. Lady Kage did not accompany
him. He was tender of her, as though
she were some rare and precious plant,
and he knew she was scarcely yet strong
enough to bear the fatigue of travel. In
the course of the year she and Charlotte
and the boy-baby should come out to
him, he said; and so they parted. Part-
ed to meet no more in this world, for
Sir Charles Kage died very soon after
regaining India.
  Upon her slender pension, which
would die with her, Lady Kage had
lived since, devoting herself to the two
children, her step-daughter and son, with
equal care and love. None save herself
and Dorothy, and perhaps her dutiful,
thoughtful boy, knew how she had man-
aged, and cut and contrived her income,
so as to educate them well and to give
him his terms at college.  Dorothy -
faithful to her young mistress, stern to
everybody else, eating ever the bread of
carefulness, and seeing that the rest ate
it, doing the work of ten-making a boast
of waiting on her lady as efficien