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"You don't think he is well enough to-night," says Frank. am very sorry. He is fortunate in having you to take care of him. Shall I be in the way here?"

“Oh, not at all. A room has been prepared for you. instructed me to ask you to make yourself quite at home."

The Canon

"Thanks," said Frank. "I'll tell Laurence to send for my luggage. It is not much. How terribly cold the weather is !"

"Let me order you something, Mr. Noel," said Miss Wilkinson. "Well," replied Frank, "if you'll make me a cup of tea, and put some brandy in it with those fair hands, I shall feel happy."

And as Frank Noel said made her think him a fool. She was quite wrong. advertises in the Lectern she will admit her error.

this, he gave the Minx a look which

Next time she

Miss Gertrude Wilkinson ordered tea, and a mutton cutlet, and some anchovy toast, and made Mr. Frank Noel extremely cozy. The old quaint room that he knew so well, with the Canon's favourite oil paintings on the wall, warmed into beauty by the flickering fire, which danced on the Claudes and Rembrandts, and lighted up the bright silver and rare old Dresden china of the tea service, and gave a kind of attractiveness even to the Minx. This young lady had resolved to be attractive in one way or the other, there was a rather piquant combination in her of the heavenly with the earthly. When she talked of Canon Lovelace it was as if he were the most seraphic of parsons, and she the devoutest creature that ever enjoyed archidiaconal patronage and canonical comfort. When she poured out the tea and carved the cutlets, her undeniably handsome arms and shoulders came into splendid play. Frank was a little puzzled by her, but not so puzzled as he would have been had he not known Elinor. The best safeguard against being inveigled by men and women who are false, is to know those who are true. I fear I have more than once quoted that divine saying of Steele's concerning a lady, that "to love her was a liberal education;" but I doubt whether it can be quoted too often. To know a lady is to love her,—is to learn from her,-is to be refined by her; and I am not at all afraid of my wife's being jealous when I say that I love every lady I know. How they differ, these sparkling gems of ladyhood! . . . and yet are all alike in being pure gems, the true pelluciduli lapides. One is a ruby of passion and power; another a sapphire of skytinted purity; another an emerald of poetic quietude; another a diamond of brilliancy and wit. All true gems. Now Frank had

found his gem, and had learnt much thereby. Elinor was the simplest child in the world, but with all the purity and sparkle of a running stream. From such a girl Methuselah himself might learn, though he had passed his nine-hundredth year. Balzac has somewhere said, that it is not remarkable that men cannot understand women, since their Creator failed to do so. As against this ferocious

French criticism I venture on the mild profanity, that if it were possible for God to learn a lesson it would be from one of His loveliest creations.

Frank had, sometime or other, learnt a great deal in a short time from Elinor. For ever she was in his mind's eye. Not for the millionth of a moment could he forget that lovely girl, so unsuspicious, independent, guileless, gay, tender, thoughtful. The lovely music of her voice dwelt in his ears; the lovely light of her eyes was always before him. The melody of a bird, the shining of the twinkling stars, were his perennial possession; but beyond them lay the influence of a serene and happy and radiant spirit, the very essence of life and light and love. This girl Elinor had unconsciously taught Frank much that he learnt as unconsciously, and her sweet fair form was always in his imagination; therefore it is not remarkable that he remained unfascinated by Miss Gertrude Wilkinson, the Minx. She tried her best faith-this nephew was the very subject whereon she desired to experiment. Six feet of him or so, well knit, well dressed, not too clever . . . why he ought to be as soft as clay in the hands of

...

Our Lady, the Minx

(to use the neoteric poetaster's method of putting it). It is probable that Frank Noel would have been a mere baby in the hands of this politic young person, if he had never seen Elinor. But he had seen Elinor. He had known beauty and truth. He detected, with all his dullness, the ugliness of falsehood. Still, he ate his cutlets, drank his tea, and admired Miss Gertrude's coquetries.

She was not chary of them. She assured him that he had better not disturb his uncle that night; and herein she was supported by the doctor, who came in rather late, and found the dear old Canon in a sound sleep, and recommended that his sleep should be unbroken. Frank, finding this the case, and slightly tired with the Minx's agaceries, went off to smoke a cigar in the Close, and to see if Sarum had much changed since last he perambulated there.

It suddenly occurred to him that he would call on Mr. Pinniger, On his way to do so he dropped in for a moment at the White Hart, ecclesiastic hostelry, famous for eels, and there, by good hap, met Pinniger himself. The lawyer was amazed at the sudden rencontre. "Why, Frank," he cried, come down to see your uncle?"

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"Yes," he answered. "I have not yet seen him, though; for the doctor says he is not well enough. I only got down this evening. There's a young woman on the premises I don't much admire."

"Ah," said Pinniger, taking a long breath, "come in and have a glass of brown sherry, Frank. The brown sherry is as good as it used to be."

They went into a private room, where a pleasant fire was burning. Over the sherry the lawyer said

"I don't like that young woman, Frank; she is too pious for me, though I am the Bishop's and Dean's attorney. She is, I fear, a humbug. What is her little game I cannot guess; but she wants to get something out of the Canon, and is doing her best to prevent any one from approaching him. Now you are the right person to put a stop to this, and I'll help you. I am right glad you have come down just now. We heard you had married and gone to Australia." "Not a bit of it," said Frank. "Old Laurence has already told me about this girl. He calls her the Minx."

"Capital!" said Pinniger. "Minx she is, every inch. Take care of her; she'll make love to you, I'll swear. She's one of those sensuously spiritual young women who are half deaconess, half prostitute. The clergy get taken in by them terribly, for a good clergyman like your uncle naturally thinks no evil. By Jove, Noel, I'd have such women publicly flogged."

"I thought this evening she seemed very much inclined to be rather familiar," quoth Frank, "which is chiefly why I turned out for a stroll. Can't you help me to get her out of the house? I don't like the idea of such a woman near my dear old uncle."

"I'll try," said the lawyer. "Come down to my office about twelve to-morrow; you will have seen the Canon by that time." Frank, wishing Pinniger good night, walked quietly home. rence admitted him. Laurence whispered,

Lau

"She's about, Mr. Frank. Don't you look at her if she comes

near you. She's a bad lot, I'll swear."

But Frank went straight to his room, and dreamt of Elinor.

CHAPTER XXVI.

FROM ELINOR AND RAFFAELLA.

"O little love, whose lightest line is beautiful ...
The brightest dewdrop on the rose that's ruddiest!"
The Comedy of Dreams.

TRINITY in unity (I write unprofanely) is the law of the world.
Everywhere there are triads. The greatest triad of all is

The life of man is

and woman with him.

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utterly empty, unless he has God above him This is the very first lesson that should be never taught at all. Frank Noel had unconsciously learned it in lonely wanderings and ponderings he had realised the Deity, and he had seen Elinor.

taught too often it is

These two facts kept

him safe from the allurements of the most alluring Minx in the world.

When Frank next morning awoke in a quaint old-fashioned chamber, which looked out upon the great cathedral, it took him some little time to remember where he was, and why. He had seen so many people in so short a time, that his brain was in a kind of cyclone. The dreams of morning left him perplexed. The Canon, whom he had not seen, and the Minx, and butler, and attorney, whom he had, were mixed up in an odd way with the dramatis personæ of Delamere.

Boyhood is imaginative; and Frank, whose growth had been slow, was even now no more than a manly boy. Slow-growing folk are the best. Boys and girls who too rapidly approach the verge of manhood and womanhood, seldom develop into fair proportions of mind and body. They are dwarfs-stunted creatures, usually short-lived. The man who is to live to a hundred is a boy at forty. As to women, well-questions of age are not polite in reference to them; but you may meet a woman of forty who is younger than a girl of eighteen. It is the difference between the ripe and the rotten-between the lady and the Minx.

The Minx, as Frank Noel opened his eyes that morning and looked through the ivy-framed casement of his chamber, was a portion of his dreams. It was rather late. The sunshine threw the shadow of the unrivalled spire across the quiet Close. The bells were ringing for service. When Frank got out of bed and went to the window, he saw the orderly and demure old maids of Sarum, trooping to church. He wondered whether he, a lad, ought to go to church. There is a time in the life of every young fellow to whom God has given imagination when the problems of life perplex and trouble him. Frank Noel, slow in growth, had as yet concerned himself little about life's problems; but when he looked through his casement at the folk going to church, he could not help wondering why there were about fifty women to one man, minor canons and choristers included.

However, he had private problems of his own to solve, so he lay in bed after the cathedral bells had ended their sacred summons, and thought over his own position and his uncle's. As to his own-did Elinor, that creature of pure natural charms, care anything about him? Frank thought so; yet was uncertain. A more precocious youngster would at an earlier date have discovered the actual truth. Frank's courage was greater anywhere than in the presence of the girl he loved. He might have been too audacious, perchance, to a girl he cared nothing about; but I hope not.

Morning service was over by the time laży Frank Noel had arranged his dreams. When he took his next look at the Close, the demure virgins of Sarum were going home to lunch. He began to

think it was time to ring his bell; when he did so Laurence appeared.

"Letter for you, Mr. Frank," says the butler. "Thought I'd better take charge of it."

That letter bore the Carlisle postmark, and was sealed with the crest of the Caringtons-a goshawk, with the motto, Frank and Free: and, indeed, it was addressed in that curious old-fashioned handwriting which was common to men of Mr. Carington's time-a scrawl, that looked careless, yet was perfectly legible. In these days men write carefully, and are perfectly illegible.

However, Frank's epistle did not come from Carington, and I don't know that Frank cared much about that. Pity the boy could not have seen how it was written, for Elinor was in the daintiest disorder of dress at the time, and the Marchesa was lazily lying in bed, wondering what Number One thought of the position of affairs. Carington had said to Elinor,—

Mr.

"Write Frank Noel a little letter; he will be lonely down at Salisbury by himself."

Elinor, in the lightest attire, that afternoon remembered the mandate, and sat down to obey. You see, she was acting as gaoler, and she was going to dress for dinner; and her prisoner was dreaming the hours away with that superb depth of indolence which always belongs to the highly excitable temperament. The maddest people are ever

the laziest.

"To whom are you writing?" asks the little Marchesa, a smaller creature amid the bed-clothes than in her favourite white furs. "Come, Elinor, tell me ; is it a lover? Of course, it must be, or you would not be so anxious about it."

The Ravioli, though she had known Elinor so few hours, talked to her as if she were her sister, calling her by newly invented names, and chaffing her quite merrily. She was only a conspirator out of sheer fun, and because she loved the swift movement of life. There was no real wickedness in her, but a curious lack of conscience, and a strong delight in intense excitement. She was the very Ariel of conspiracy.

"I am writing a note by Mr. Carington's request," says that little hypocrite Elinor. Of course, it was quite true, this statement.

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'Now, may I see it when you have done?" asked the Ravioli ; "and may I add a postscript? Of course, I mean if it is to a gentleIf it is to a lady, I am not in the least interested."

man.

"You shall see the letter, if you like, and you shall write a postscript," said Elinor; "and I hope that will stop you from trying to teaze me."

"O dear no, it won't. I must have some one to teaze. I am a prisoner, and you are my warder, and I shall revenge myself by plaguing you."

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