CHAPTER III.

LADY ELINOR'S TURRET.

"Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons."ACTS X. 34.

"Dear Marian, of one clay God made us all,

And though men push and poke and paddle in 't,

(As children play at fashioning dirt-pies);

Assuming difference, lordship, privilege,

Where all's plain dirt, they come back to it at last ;
The first grave-digger proves it with a spade

And pats it all even."

ELIZABETH BARRET BROWNING.

"Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,
From yon blue heavens above us bent
The grand old gardener and his wife
Smile at the claims of long descent.
Howe'er it be, it seems to me
'Tis only noble to be good;

Kind hearts are more than coronets,

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And simple faith than Norman blood."-TENNYSON.

THE Turret-Room, as it was called, was a pretty old-fashioned boudoir; just a place for all manner of quaint fancies and dreamy musings. Its dark-carved panelling, its one choice piece of tapestry, its exquisite Guido

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and Raphael, its deep, low casement with late roses peeping in, its odd little turret, containing a winding stair, which led down into a balustraded flower-garden, had just the old-world appearance in which its mistress so much delighted. Over and above there was a ghost-not a mushroom "revenante" that nobody knew anything about— but a real, antique, aristocratic ghostess, the pride of Lady Elinor's heart, "walking" in high-heeled shoes and a rustling silk brocade, which must originally have been warranted to "wear well," for the ghost and her gown were known to be four hundred years old.

From the garden went up a rude stair to the gallery of the old tilt-yard; and as Lady Elinor flitted about, sometimes among her roses, sometimes singing an old troubadour ditty to her guitar half-way up the stair, sometimes looking down from the top of the turret upon the whilom scene of knights, and barbs, and guerdons, and fair ladies, she looked exceedingly picturesque though not beautiful. Lady Elinor knew

this right well, and it had been a sorrow to her, for she possessed a keen appreciation of beauty, and it might be said that she longed to see it in herself æsthetically as well as selfishly. Her want of this gift was a blot upon all her fair thought-pictures, of which she always wished to be the centre figure. tery is ever more dangerous than to any other; professions of admiration take away the haunting consciousness of deficiency and want of external harmony with the beautiful. Thus Lady Elinor was prone not so much to self-worship her inner vision was too clear for that but to prize highly the external adulation paid to her and her position."

To such a mind flat

It was strange the understanding there was between the exclusive, unpractical, uneducated mind of this young girl, and the quaint, uncompromising mind of Dr. Brown, gnarled, it is true, with rough places like the oak, but also like the oak having strength and beauty for its chief characteristics. If nobody else had ever spoken to her such un

palatable truths, neither had any one else ever "understood" Lady Elinor: her stately, kind-hearted, commonplace father never could make out what people meant by understanding other people; her succession of governesses were quite intent on understanding themselves and their own affairs; while Lady Sarah Mordaunt, her stiff maiden aunt and chaperon, had only room in her brain for two fixed ideas the dignity of the Mordaunts, and the propriety of conduct required in young ladies of rank.

Lady Elinor was seated at her paintingtable in the Turret boudoir, the morning after Leslie had dined at the Castle. To all appearance she was entirely engrossed by the heraldic devices which she was illuminating with great skill and success. Even her favourite gules-d'ors, and cheverons, and bars of ermine, failed to interest her, however, for she was in one of those moods when thought has butterfly wings-not that hers were fluttering amidst the roses apparently, but rather in all manner of dark and thorny

places, for there was a look of weariness and dissatisfaction on the smooth brow which often dwelt there, out of character, as it seemed, with the youth and prosperity of the mistress of Castle Mordaunt. In the tangled labyrinth of her inner heart-history there was not one pleasant thing for her thoughts to rest upon. There was a haunting sense of poverty in her life and soul. There was a consciousness of something wanting, something also never possessed. These were not cheering themes of contemplation, so her thoughts flew off to yesterday's dinner-party, and that mysterious attraction—she almost thought it was dislike -which made her so vividly and so frequently recall Miss North's expressive countenance. "I daresay she is a nice person, though certainly rather free and easy, considering all things." And Lady Elinor's eyes became again complacently conscious of the five balls of gold and three bars of ermine which she was delineating. Then she began to build "châteaux en Espagne" about those dear old mediæval times, and about jousts,