TEMPLE BAR.

WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED “BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.".

DECEMBER 1887.

Loyalty George.

BY MRS. PARR.

AUTHOR OF ADAM AND EVE,' 'DOROTHY Fox,' ETC.

THE

CHAPTER XXI.

The

HE day which had been so trying to Roger had not been without its difficulties to Loyalty. She had wandered about unable to settle to anything, undertaking a dozen odd jobs, to commence and give them up again. Now her young strength would be tested by pulling up a heavy anchor, taking the boat to land, and running it high and dry ashore. heavy nets spread out on the sloping grass above she would drag along to a spot where they might dry better. The crab pots, stored away in winter-some needing repairs, others remakingthese she got out with the stock of withy ready to do them; but to sit quiet did not suit her, and she would jump up in quest of some more stirring occupation.

Some business had taken her grandfather to Boro Island-he had set off early, so that Loyalty's time was her own, to dispose of as best suited her. During the morning she had found opportunity to go over to the ferry, hoping that Dunchy might have picked up some news; but the expedition he had taken at her bidding had failed signally. "I went out to wance," he told her, "so soon as ever you was gone, but 'twas Saltash luck with me, a good wettin' and no fish." Loyalty sighed. "I wonder," she said, "if any of 'em has said anything; and if so, what th' others thinks and says."

"What, 'bout a man havin' a good skinful o' liquor inside un? Why, says as I do-a good job for he."

"Oh, but you don't understand, Dunchy."

VOL. LXXXI.

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"No, not in that ways; I habn't often got the chance to. I doant find folks so free. It 'ud be different, I s'pose, if I was a smart young chap agen; then I should go sweetheartin', and be thought to be made o' sugarstick.”

"Would 'ee come sweetheartin' to me, Dunchy ?"

“Awh, I doant doubt but I should be as big a fule as the rest be."

“You wasn't never married, was 'ee?"

"Well, not to say ezactly-No-I've had the woman in me eye, and the ring bought to fit her finger, but it never went no further-whether 'twas she didn't come up to the scratch, or whether 'twas me, has now slipped my mind; but it happen'd for the best, I des'say, for her was Nickie Glubb's sister, and as handy with her two fistes as he was with his'n.”

Loyalty smiled. “It din't break neither o' your hearts, then?” "Hearts! No-nor she didn't break my head, which was a good deal more in her way. You take my word for 't, Loyalty," and Dunchy nodded his head sagaciously, "hearts ain't broke so easy; it takes more than love to bust they."

"Not if the love's true it don't. There's a plenty in songs, and in story-books, too, 'bout maidens havin' hung their heads and died'”—Loyalty was making a quotation from a melancholy ditty she sung-" and all because of men's deceivin"."

"Iss, there's a good bit sot down to the men that would equal apply as well to the women. If

'Boy's love is maiden's ruin,

Half of it's their own doin'."

With which sage saw Dunchy nodded her "Farewell "—a passenger was hailing him with "Over," and he pushed off his boat to fetch his fare.

Loyalty had been seized with the wish to cross with him, but before she could decide he had gone. At another time she would have waited or wandered on to Rowton, but the fear that she might meet Roger made her hesitate. She did not want to see him in, perhaps, the presence of others until they had had a meeting when no one was near. All the day she had been combating with hope and fear-hope, that he had meant what he said; fear, that he might fancy she would think so. would not for the world that he should feel bound by any promise given under the circumstances he was last night in—and so far as she could she had entreated some, and laughed others, into a promise of silence. Her hardest task had been with Ned Hockaday; for though she could not return his love, she had a tender

She

feeling for the young fellow who was his mother's darling, and Loyalty was very fond of Mrs. Hockaday.

Too much her slave to hold out long against any request she made of him, Ned had finally consented to see Roger safely home, and also to keep silent as to his rivals's visit to the 'Cot,' and what he had said there; but he added a rider to these concessions, which was, that seeing now for himself that Roger Coode was preferred before him, he should delay no longer, but at once put into execution his long-made threat of running away to sea.

This going to sea had been the bugbear of his poor mother's life-the nightmare to all her dreams of happiness, which centred themselves on the hope that he would settle down, get married, and have children who would cluster round her knees and draw her from her fatal temptation. This liking of her son for Loyalty was in no way displeasing to Mrs. Hockaday; Loyalty was in all respects the very wife she would have chosen for him, and she summed her up as "Loving in her ways, handsome in her looks, with a voice as sweet as a singing bird." Who could keep a husband home if such as Loyalty failed?—it would have been Mrs. Hockaday's pride to give welcome to such a daughter-in-law. Bound to keep silence by the fear of "angering" her son, the fond mother could only push on the suit by affording constant opportunities for Ned and Loyalty to meet; and in the midst of this one-sided wooing Mrs. Hockaday was struck down by her fatal illness, which made her more than ever anxious to speed on the match.

Knowing her son's emotional temperament, she had hitherto attributed the ups and downs of his spirits to the fact that the course of true love never did run smooth; but after the task poor Ned had of seeing Roger Coode home, he had presented himself in such a terrible state of despair, that the mother at once detected this must be consequent on a much more serious affair than usual; and questioning him closely, Ned, only too ready to share his burden of trouble, revealed the crushing fact that he had made the discovery of the existence of a rival. Who this was Ned would not tell, but plainly some one who lived in the place, because he, as a motive for leaving his sick mother, declared it impossible he should stay and see them with one another.

Sworn to keep silent on the subject to Loyalty, woman-like, Mrs. Hockaday set her wits at work to discover how she might temporise, so as to serve her son; and Miss Anne coming in during the afternoon to visit her, she confided to her her distress, and implored her aid.

Miss Anne, whose heart was ever in sympathy with despondent love, raised Mrs. Hockaday to the seventh heaven by offering her

self as mediator in the cause. Loyalty herself?" she said.

"Would you like me to speak to

"Oh, Miss!" was sighed out in reply. It was to Mrs. Hockaday as if an angel had made her the offer. With her heart brimming over with gratitude to this beneficent being who had never permitted her to suspect that she was aware of her many failings-although the poor sinner knew well they had been repeated to her, every one-Mrs. Hockaday felt sure Miss Anne's pleading would be irresistible.

"I'll do so," said Miss Anne. "I wonder how I could catch her, and where?"

"I sent our boy Johnny to tell her to come here, as I wanted to speak to her very partickler."

"Well, and did she say she'd come?"

"Yes, he brought back word she'd start almost directly after he. He was here—well, it couldn't ha' bin ten minutes afore you comed, Miss."

"Then the best thing would be that I should try and meet her. Which is her usual way?"

"Oh, Miss Anne, it don't seem possible that I can so far presume as to worrit you-I feel, in, so much as even makin' mention of what's troublin' me, I'm forgettin' myself in your presence." Miss Anne gently smoothed the puffed-up hand that lay nearest to her on the quilt. My poor sufferer," she said, "I think you know that to give ease to your mind in any way would be a real pleasure to me; besides which, then I shall find, perhaps, some favour you can do for me. One good turn deserves another '-eh,

isn't it so ?"

The tears which came welling up into Mrs. Hockaday's eyes

were her only answer.

"Come now," said Miss Anne, rising; we must lose no more time. You tell me how she is likely to come, and I'll set off in search of her. It's not at all a task to me; I always enjoy having a good look at Loyalty. I'm a very great admirer of beauty."

With Miss Anne's knowledge of the country Mrs. Hockaday had no difficulty in indicating the road by which in all probability Loyalty would come. No such road would be found now; the farmer cultivating his crops, the landowner preserving his game, have given the face of the land an aspect very different from that in which nature moulded it. To get from Fairstoke to Fairstoke Bay there are roads to drive by, lanes to walk through; but the zig-zag path by which Miss Anne reached the vast hummock of fern and furze, stretching out then to that bold bluff against which the mighty waves of the Atlantic still beat and

break, has vanished, and the yellow gorse is replaced by golden grain, and the sea birds' cry hushed by the ploughman's whistle.

Miss Anne's progress, as we know, was a little retarded by her meeting with Mrs. Coode. After she had bade the old lady goodbye she began to walk more briskly on. The hedged-in road of the village with its low white houses scattered along was soon left behind, and then came the narrow path fringed with brambles that grew out from jagged rocks half hidden by a network of moss and small fern. The bracken shorn of its summer glory made great brown patches, which looked darker further up, because there the grass grew more green.

The top reached, Anne paused and drew a long breath-not that her respiration was at fault, but because of an emotion natural to her-the heritage of her sailor father-an exceeding great love for the boundless sea. Its sight filled her with gladness, made her spirits rise so that her walk was almost turned into a run, so buoyantly did she move along. Lost in a hundred fancies, she had walked some considerable distance before she recollected how far she had come-much farther than she intended-and recalling the motive which had brought her, she concluded she must have missed Loyalty.

"Let me see," she said, consulting her watch-" past four. Oh, an hour will get me back again. It isn't often I am this way; I'll go on a little further-well, just as far as there," and she fixed on what looked like a grass-covered projection of rock. Coming nearer, she saw that a figure was leaning looking over it; nearer still, that the figure was a girl; and the girl, she whom she had come in search of, Loyalty George. Miss Anne was close to her before Loyalty seemed aware that any one was approaching; then she slowly turned her head round, and, recognising it was Miss Anne, she sprang down, and stood standing as if surprise had made her dumb.

"Why, Loyalty, I believe I startled you!-did I?" Now she had found her, Miss Anne began to think how should she open her mission. Before, it had seemed so easy; now she felt a difficulty. Looking more fixedly, she noticed the girl's eyes were moist; her cheeks, too, were wet with tears. Her kindly heart at once prompted sympathy.

You've been crying.

"My poor girl, what is the matter? You're not in any trouble, are you? Tell me."

The soft tone touched Loyalty; there was a fear that her tears would begin to fall again. To master this weakness she gave her head a determined shake.

"No, Miss, not any."