ON THE ROAD.

Miss Polehampton had, of course, written to Mr. and Mrs. Colwyn when she made up
her mind that Janetta was to be removed from school; and two or three letters had been
interchanged before that eventful day on which Margaret declared that if Janetta went
she should go too. Margaret had been purposely kept in the dark until almost the last
moment, for Miss Polehampton did not in the least wish to make a scandal, and annoyed

as she was by Miss Adair's avowed preference for Janetta, she had arranged a neat little
plan by which Miss Colwyn was to go away "for change of air," and be transferred to a
school at Worthing kept by a relation of her own at the beginning of the following term.
These plans had been upset by a foolish and ill-judged letter from Mrs. Colwyn to her
stepdaughter, which Janetta had not been able to keep from Margaret's eyes. This letter
was full of reproaches to Janetta for giving so much trouble to her friends; "for, of
course," Mrs. Colwyn wrote, "Miss Polehampton's concern for your health is all a blind
in order to get you away: and if it hadn't been for Miss Adair taking you up, she would
have been only too glad to keep you. But knowing Miss Adair's position, she sees very
clearly that it isn't fit for you to be friends with her, and so she wants to send you away."

This was in the main true, but Janetta, in the blithe confidence of youth, would never
have discovered it but for that letter. Together she and Margaret consulted over it, for
when Margaret saw Janetta crying, she almost forced the letter from her hand; and then
it was that Miss Adair vindicated her claim to social superiority. She went straight to
Miss Polehampton and demanded that Janetta should remain; and when the
schoolmistress refused to alter her decision, she calmly replied that in that case she
should go home too. Miss Polehampton was an obstinate woman, and would not
concede the point; and Lady Caroline, on learning the state of affairs, at once perceived
that it was impossible to leave Margaret at the school where open warfare had been
declared. She accordingly brought both girls away with her, arranging to send Janetta
to her own home next morning.

"You will stay to luncheon, dear, and I will drive you over to Beaminster at three
o'clock," she said to Janetta at breakfast. "No doubt you are anxious to see your own
people."

Janetta looked as if she might find it difficult to reply, but Margaret interposed a
remark—as usual at the right moment.

"We will practice our duets this morning—if Janetta likes, that is; and we can have a
walk in the garden too. Shall we have the landau, mamma?"

"The victoria, I think, dear," said Lady Caroline, placidly. "Your father wants you to
ride with him this afternoon, so I shall have the pleasure of Miss Colwyn's society in
my drive."

Margaret assented; but Janetta became suddenly aware, by a flash of keen feminine
intuition, that Lady Caroline had some reason for wishing to go with her alone, and that
she had purposely made the arrangement that she spoke of. However, there was nothing
to displease her in this, for Lady Caroline had been most kind and considerate to her, so

far, and she was innocently disposed to believe in the cordiality and sincerity of every
one who behaved with common civility.

So she spent a pleasant morning, singing with Margaret, loitering about the garden with
Mr. Adair, while Margaret and Sir Philip gathered roses, and enjoying to the full all the
sweet influences of peace, refinement, and prosperity by which she was surrounded.

Margaret left her in the afternoon with rather a hasty kiss, and an assurance that she
would see her again at dinner. Janetta tried to remind her that by that time she would
have left the Court, but Margaret did not or would not hear. The tears came into the
girl's eyes as her friend disappeared.

"Never mind, dear," said Lady Caroline, who was observing her closely, "Margaret has
forgotten at what hour you were going and I would not remind her—it would spoil her
pleasure in her ride. We will arrange for you to come to us another day when you have
seen your friends at home."

"Thank you," said Janetta. "It was only that she did not seem to remember that I was
going—I had meant to say good-bye."

"Exactly. She thinks that I am going to bring you back this afternoon. We will talk about
it as we go, dear. Suppose you were to put on your hat now. The carriage will be here
in ten minutes."

Janetta prepared for her departure in a somewhat bewildered spirit. She did not know
precisely what Lady Caroline meant. She even felt a little nervous as she took her place
in the victoria and cast a last look at the stately house in which she had spent some
nineteen or twenty pleasant hours. It was Lady Caroline who spoke first.

"We shall miss your singing to-night," she said, amiably. "Mr. Adair was looking
forward to some more duets. Another time, perhaps——"

"I am always pleased to sing," said Janetta, brightening at this address.

"Yes—ye—es," said Lady Caroline, with a doubtful little drawl. "No doubt: one always
likes to do what one can do so well; but—I confess I am not so musical as my husband
or my daughter. I must explain why dear Margaret did not say good bye to you, Miss
Colwyn. I allowed her to remain in the belief that she was to see you again to-night, in
order that she might not be depressed during her ride by the thought of parting with you.
It is always my principle to make the lives of those dear to me as happy as possible,"
said Margaret's mother, piously.

"And if Margaret had been depressed during her ride, Mr. Adair and Sir Philip might
have suffered some depression also, and that would be a great pity." "Oh, yes," said
Janetta. But she felt chilled, without knowing why.

"I must take you into my confidence," said Lady Caroline, in her softest voice. "Mr.
Adair has plans for our dear Margaret. Sir Philip Ashley's property adjoins our own: he
is of good principles, kind-hearted, and intellectual: he is well off, nice-looking, and of
a suitable age—he admires Margaret very much. I need say no more, I am sure."

Again she looked keenly at Janetta's face, but she read there nothing but interest and
surprise.

"Oh—does Margaret know?" she asked.

"She feels more than she knows," said Lady Caroline, discreetly. "She is in the first
stage of—of—emotion. I did not want the afternoon's arrangements to be interfered
with."

"Oh, no! especially on my account," said Janetta, sincerely.

"When I go home I shall talk quietly to Margaret," pursued Lady Caroline, "and tell her
that you will come back another day, that your duties called you home—they do, I am
sure, dear Miss Colwyn—and that you could not return with me when you were so much
wanted."

"I'm afraid I am not much wanted," said Janetta, with a sigh; "but I daresay it is my duty
to go home——"

"I am sure it is," Lady Caroline declared; "and duty is so high and holy a thing, dear,
that you will never regret the performance of it."

It occurred dimly to Janetta at that point that Lady Caroline's views of duty might
possibly differ from her own; but she did not venture to say so.

"And, of course, you will never repeat to Margaret——"

Lady Caroline did not complete her sentence. The coachman suddenly checked the
horses' speed: for some unknown reason he actually stopped short in the very middle of
the country road between Helmsley Court and Beaminster. His mistress uttered a little
cry of alarm.

"What is the matter, Steel?"

The footman dismounted and touched his hat.             

"I'm afraid there has been an accident, my lady," he said, as apologetically, as if he were
responsible for the accident.

"Oh! Nothing horrible, I hope!" said Lady Caroline, drawing out her smelling-bottle.
"It's a carriage accident, my lady. Leastways, a cab. The 'orse is lying right across the
road, my lady."

"Speak to the people, Steel," said her ladyship, with great dignity. "They must not be
allowed to block up the road in this way."

"May I get out?" said Janetta, eagerly. "There is a lady lying on the path, and some
people bathing her face. Now they are lifting her up—I am sure they ought not to lift
her up in that way—oh, please, I must go just for one minute!" And, without waiting
for a reply, she stepped, out of the victoria and sped to the side of the woman who had
been hurt.

"Very impulsive and undisciplined," said Lady Caroline to herself, as she leaned back
and held the smelling-bottle to her own delicate nose. "I am glad I have got her out of
the house so soon. Those men were wild about her singing. Sir Philip disapproved of
her presence, but he was charmed by her voice, I could see that; and poor, dear Reginald
was positively absurd about her voice. And dear Margaret does not sing so well—it is
no use pretending that she does—and Sir Philip is trembling on the verge—oh, yes, I
am sure that I have been very wise. What is that girl doing now?"

The victoria moved forward a little, so that Lady Caroline could obtain a clearer view
of what was going on. The vehicle which caused the obstruction—evidently a hired fly
from an inn—was uninjured, but the horse had fallen between the shafts and would
never rise again. The occupants of the fly—a lady, and a much younger man, perhaps
her son—had got out, and the lady had then turned faint, Lady Caroline heard, but was
not in any way hurt. Janetta was kneeling by the side of the lady—kneeling in the dust,
without any regard to the freshness of her cotton frock, by the way—and had already
placed her in the right position, and was ordering the half-dozen people who had
collected to stand back and give her air. Lady Caroline watched her movements and
gestures with placid amusement, and went so far as to send Steel with the offer of her
smelling salts; but as this offer was rejected she felt that nothing else could be done. So
she sat and looked on critically.

The woman—Lady Caroline was hardly inclined to call her a lady, although she did not
exactly know why—was at present of a ghastly paleness, but her features were finely
cut, and showed traces of former beauty. Her hair was grey, with rebellious waves in it,
but her eyebrows were still dark. She was dressed in black, with a good deal of lace
about her; and on her ungloved hand Lady Caroline's keen sight enabled her to

distinguish some very handsome diamond rings. The effect of the costume was a little
spoiled by a large gaudy fan, of violent rainbow hues, which hung at her side; and
perhaps it was this article of adornment which decided Lady Caroline in her opinion of
the woman's social status. But about the man she was equally positive in a different
way. He was a gentleman: there could be no doubt of that. She put up her eye-glass and
gazed at him with interest. She almost thought that she had seen him somewhere before.

A handsome man, indeed, and a gentleman; but, oh, what an ill-tempered one,
apparently! He was dark, with fine features, and black hair with a slight inclination to
wave or curl (as far at least as could be judged when the extremely well-cropped state
of his head was taken into consideration); and from these indications Lady Caroline
judged him to be "the woman's" son. He was tall, muscular, and active looking: it was
the way in which his black eyebrows were bent above his eyes which made the observer
think him ill-tempered, for his manner and his words expressed anxiety, not anger. But
that frown, which must have been habitual, gave him a distinctly ill-humored look.

At last the lady opened her eyes, and drank a little water, and sat up. Janetta rose from
her knees, and turned to the young man with a smile. "She will soon be better now," she
said. "I am afraid there is nothing else that I can do—and I think I must go on."

"I am very much obliged to you for your kind assistance," said the gentleman, but
without any abatement of the gloom of his expression. He gave Janetta a keen look—
almost a bold look—Lady Caroline thought, and then smiled a little, not very pleasantly.
"Allow me to take you to your carriage."

Janetta blushed, as if she were minded to say that it was not her carriage; but returned
to the victoria, and was handed to her seat by the young man, who then raised his hat
with an elaborate flourish which was not exactly English. Indeed, it occurred to Lady
Caroline at once that there was something French about both the travelers. The lady
with the frizzled grey hair, the black lace dress and mantel, the gaudy blue and scarlet
fan, was quite foreign in appearance; the young man with the perfectly fitting frockcoat,
the tall hat, the flower in his button-hole, was—in spite of his perfectly English accent—
foreign too. Lady Caroline was cosmopolitan enough to feel an access of greater interest
in the pair in consequence.

"They have sent to the nearest inn for a horse," said Janetta, as the carriage moved on;
"and I dare say they will not have long to wait."

"Was the lady hurt?"

"No, only shaken. She is subject to fainting fits, and the accident quite upset her nerves,
her son said."

"Her son?"

"The gentleman called her mother."

"Oh! You did not hear their name, I suppose?"

"No. There was a big B on their traveling bag."

"B—B—?" said Lady Caroline, thoughtfully. "I don't know any one in this
neighborhood whose name begins with B, except the Bevans. They must have been
merely passing through; and yet the young man's face seemed familiar to me." Janetta
shook her head. "I never saw them before," she said.

"He has a very bold and unpleasant expression," Lady Caroline remarked, decidedly.
"It spoils him entirely: otherwise he is a handsome man."

The girl made no answer. She knew, as well as Lady Caroline, that she had been stared
at in a manner that was not quite agreeable to her, and yet she did not like to endorse
that lady's condemnation of the stranger. For he was certainly very nice-looking—and
he had been so kind to his mother that he could not be entirely bad—and to her also his
face was vaguely familiar. Could he belong to Beaminster?

As she sat and meditated, the tall spires of Beaminster Cathedral came into sight, and a
few minutes brought the carriage across the grey stone bridge and down the principal
street of the quaint old place which called itself a city, but was really neither more nor
less than a quiet country town. Here Lady Caroline turned to her young guest with a
question—"You live in Gwynne Street, I believe, my dear?"

"Yes, at number ten, Gwynne Street," said Janetta, suddenly starting and feeling a little
uncomfortable. The coachman evidently knew the address already, for at that moment
he turned the horse's heads to the left, and the carriage rolled down a narrow side-street,
where the tall red brick houses had a mean and shabby aspect, and seemed as if
constructed to keep out sun and air as much as possible.

Janetta always felt the closeness and the shabbiness a little when she first came home,
even from school, but when she came from Helmsley Court they struck her with
redoubled force. She had never thought before how dull the street was, nor noticed that
the railings were broken down in front of the door with the brass-plate that bore her
father's name, nor that the window-curtains were torn and the windows sadly in need of
washing. The little flight of stone steps that led from the iron gate to the door was also
very dirty; and the servant girl, whose head appeared against the area railings as the
carriage drove up, was more untidy, more unkempt, in appearance than ever Janetta
could have expected. "We can't be rich, but we might be clean!" she said to herself in a
subdued frenzy of impatience, as she fancied (quite unjustly) that she saw a faint smile

pass over Lady Caroline's delicate, impassive face. "No wonder she thinks me an unfit
friend for dear Margaret. But—oh, there is my dear, darling father! Well, nobody can
say anything against him at any rate!" And Janetta's face beamed with sudden joy as she
saw Mr. Colwyn coming down the dirty steps to the ricketty little iron gate, and Lady
Caroline, who knew the surgeon by sight, nodded to him with friendly condescension.

"How are you, Mr. Colwyn?" she said, graciously. "I have brought your daughter home,
you see, and I hope you will not scold her for what has been my daughter's fault—not
your's."

"I am very glad to see Janetta, under any circumstances," said Mr. Colwyn, gravely, as
he raised his hat. He was a tall spare man, in a shabby coat, with a careworn aspect, and
kindly, melancholy eyes. Janetta noticed with a pang that his hair was greyer than it had
been when last she went back to school.

"We shall be glad to see her again at Helmsley Court," said Lady Caroline. "No, I won't
get out, thank you. I have to get back to tea. Your daughter's box is in front. I was to tell
you from Miss Polehampton, Mr. Colwyn, that her friend at Worthing would be glad of
Miss Colwyn's services after the holidays."

"I am much obliged to your ladyship," said Mr. Colwyn, with grave formality. "I am not
sure that I shall let my daughter go."

"Won't you? Oh, but she ought to have all possible advantages! And can you tell me,
Mr. Colwyn, by any chance, who are the people whom we passed on the road to
Beaminster—an oldish lady in black and a young man with very dark hair and eyes?
They had B on their luggage, I believe." Mr. Colwyn looked surprised.

"I think I can tell you," he said, quietly. "They were on their way from Beaminster to
Brand Hall. The young man was a cousin of my wife's: his name is Wyvis Brand, and
the lady in black was his mother. They have come home after an absence of nearly
fourand-twenty years."

Lady Caroline was too polite to say what she really felt—that she was sorry to hear it.