I traversed some sweet lawn-land, which was called by the grand name of the 'park,' but in that country the 'park' had no reference to deer. It meant no more than enclosure, and afforded no hungry suggestions; we had a home park like our neighbours - nothing more. But who had such groups of perfect-growing elms-such colouring in the spring time, with yew-trees of dark massive green, and golden willow -or such crimson and green at Christmas, with hollies as big as forest trees growing up the sheltered sides of our swelling hills-or such a silvery sea? I used to stand in the home park, and ask this question in my heart, answering it to my own satisfaction; and then, after this short thanksgiving-for I am sure my enjoyment took that shape-I would rush on to the great gates, and through a lesser entrance for foot passengers, and go straight into Teasy Pendarrel's parlour, without even a knock at the door to tell of my approach. CHAPTER II. SPEECH AND SILENCE. 'La, bless me, child! what now?' This was the not very encouraging question that greeted me on the brightest Christmas Eve that ever glowed. I was not abashed by the question-put in Miss Teasy's least agreeable tonesbut answered bravely, Christmas!' A sweet low laugh from the end of the room made me feel more welcome; and then Patty got up from her knees, and left off raking in the bottom of a dark cupboard, and came to me. How do you do, Georgy?' You have been crying.' 'You are rude.' 'No; I am curious.' Then I kissed Patty's beautiful mouth; and feeling thoroughly frightened by the quiver that had passed across her face, telling of some exquisite suffering, I cried, 'Oh, don't! Please, I did not mean it. I beg your pardon. But' It was not in human nature not to go on. No; it was not in my human nature not to pursue my advantage, not to profit by my occasion. I saw on the ground sundry papers and letters, with their directions uppermost. The string that had bound a huge packet together had been untied, and there were twenty or even thirty letters on the ground. Uncle William's handwriting,' said I. And there I stood amid the wreck of a world of hopes, like a little torturer as I was, giving the terrible screw one more turn. I beg your pardon. But Uncle William's handwriting,' said I; and then there was silence. Never talk about eloquence; commend me to silence if you want to produce an effect. Speech is silver, but silence is gold;' such oriental wisdom in such words of significance have found their way through the ages of faith as a holy maxim into the mouth of Mr. Carlyle, as an embodiment of the best advice; but what can I say of that silence in Teasy Pendarrel's parlour? Speech may be reproof, but silence is torture. If they had wept and upbraided me, if they had been angry and scolded me, if they had laid on me violent hands, with passionate screamings and naughty words, I could have borne any or all with comfort and refreshment; but they were mute-so I bore it for a few moments for moments long enough to take in the whole situation long enough to see their scared faces in the high narrow looking-glass that shot up from a little bracket-like table, at the sides of which, from sturdy short branches, little birds balanced themselves, and mocked me with dumb throats-long enough to see that Patty was pale as death, and Teasy stunned into a dark petrifaction-long enough to observe a miniature-case, a gentleman's watch, and a plain gold ring on the table; and then I looked up at one of those most dreadful old convex mirrors, held by an eagle, and looped about by a chain, wherein everything looked as if it was going immediately to turn upside down, and then-I fainted. To explain which I must say that I had lately recovered from a very severe illness, and was just in that critical stage of convalescence when people are said not to be able to bear contradiction. When I recovered I cried; and when I had done crying the room was in order as usual, and all the articles that had produced the disordered condition of things and feelings were gone. Then in a charming little old red and green china bowl Patty brought me elderflower water, and a dainty damask napkin hung on her arm; and she wiped my hot, tear-stained face, and put my roughened hair straight, and kissed me. 'So you came because it was Christmas?' 'Yes, and because you let me.' Yes. of course.' And then she laughed. The laugh was magnetic. It cured me quite. I put back her arm; I made disrespectful gestures towards the china bowl, and jumped up, and said, 'The whole of the house is crimson and green. The thinning of the holly-trees on Rowborough Hill was finished the day before yesterday. There never was such a year for berries; there never can be so much cut again for fifty years. It is a jubilee of crimson and green; and grandmother says you must come up and see it to-day, before the place is crowded to-morrow.' 'We never go to Mendwyer at Christmas.' 'Never ?' 'Never." 'Why not?' Then there came a sudden return of that silence. I knew in a moment that it had something to do with a gentleman's watch, a miniature, a plain gold ring, and Uncle William's handwriting. I stood still, with all my natural energy returned to me, and said, 'I always tell my mother everything. 'An excellent habit, Georgy,' said Teasy, nodding her head. I looked at Patty triumphantly, suddenly strong in my filial virtue; but all I saw was a face turned away, and looking seemingly out of that window at the end of the room that commanded the loveliest view of the sea and our prettily planted home park; and all that I was able to think was, 'How very beautiful she is!' So I launched another sentence into the silence. I am going away.' They both kissed me, and I left the house, and turning short round through the little iron gate, could scarcely restrain my feet from running, in such a hurry was I to get back to the old home. CHAPTER III. I rushed into the hall; but though I had seen it before I was obliged to stand still, the sight was so overpowering. The thinning of the Rowborough hollies was indeed a great event. Once in fifty years it had always been done, and the riches that came to old Mendwyer on such occasions was a traditional glory. There were those who could remember it perfectly twice in their lives. Hugh Trevethick at sixteen had helped the woodmen fifty years before. He was a splendid man of sixty-six; few would have called him more than fifty, with his hair jetblack still, and his beard one mass of He was in the short, shining curls. hall when I came in; he had been helping in the work of cutting and Your mother was not born, Miss, at many of us who have been as lucky as I heard Hugh Trevethick finish his story, for I liked all the village traditions, and I finished my survey of the crimson and green over the granite mantel-shelf, up the stairs, across the cornice, surmounting every picture, and wreathing the portrait of Sir Godfrey with a flaming garland, top, bottom, and sides; then I darted up the garnished staircase, and went into my Mother!' I exclaimed mother's room. in a hurry; mother! Teasy and Patty' My mother's soft eyes were fixed upon me; my eager manner had attracted her attention. I saw her face flush slightly, but she answered very quietly 'No, my love, they never do. But it Your is not quite Christmas yet. grandmother asked them to come this evening.' "They won't come; and I am going to tell you all about it.' Then take off those warm garments. Be prudent, and keep quiet. You must not forget you have been ill.' It seems to me that I can recollect that time in my mother's room as if it were only yesterday. When I looked in the long glass I saw the figure of a girl just seventeen, but certainly very childlike for that age. Indeed I was but a fragile kind of creature, and I was indulged as an only daughter, who is also an only child, is apt to be; and I had always been delicate, and was only now supposed to be growing strong. I saw in the glass a fair-faced girl, ruddy with her quick walk on that delicious, invigorating winter morning, when the ground was hard, the icicles hanging about, the air sweet and pure, like something that we are able to drink and enjoy, and the winds all laid to rest, as if waiting for Christmas Day. I saw a girl clothed in brown, and with a sealskin jacket and muff, little flashes of pure white silk showing from the inner side, a black hat, a scarlet feather, and a scarlet handkerchief round her throat. Thus did I appear in the looking-glass, with busy hands undoing my wrappings-such was Georgy Caryll at the last jubilee of crimson and green. Now, mother,' I said, 'tell me all about it.' I thought you offered to tell all about it to me,' she answered. Then I told her all that had happened in Teasy Pendarrel's parlour, repeating my certainty that it was somehow on account of Uncle William that the two beloved ladies never came to Mendwyer at Christmas. ⚫ And I told them how it all looked; and they knew that they would never see another such crimson Christmas,' I said; they would not come.' but I think I had better tell you,' said my mother, quietly. You are old enough to know, and you may hear it talked about. Sixteen years since, when you were a baby, and your dear grandfather was alive, I was here with you, and your father, and your uncle. He was then going to be married to Patty, and we were here for the wedding.' Oh, mother! and she was young, and she must have been very beautiful.' 'She was just twenty-one. They had waited for her to be of age. She was a great beauty, but scarcely more lovely in my eyes than she is now.' Go on, mother.' just like this. It was the 27th day of December. They had just left this place in all the gladness of Christmas, though there were no giant limbs of Rowborough holly that year. They went home to their own house, but they have never been here at Christmas since. That is all that marks the event which has to this day remained a mystery. They had seldom ever missed a Christmas here-scarcely ever in all their lives: they have never kept one here since.' I had listened with amazement. I loved Uncle William truly. I could not believe that he had done wrong. I was quite speechless with astonishment. What more, mother?' I asked at last. 'Was my grandfather angry?" So angry, that when he died, which he did before another Christmas came, he mentioned no one in his will but my mother. Now then, child, go to her, and give her Teasy's message." But, mother, tell me, has Uncle William ever been here since? 'Never.' CHAPTER IV. HISTORY. My grandmother, Madam Farquar, as the people called her, was a very stately lady, and one to whom it was given to exact obedience from all surrounding persons in a way that made it seem natural to submit. I am afraid that we are not stately now. Any way, we do not grow stately under eighty years of age. Having reached four-score, and not having found the labour and sorrow said to be attendant on such length of days, perhaps, if we are beautifully dressed, and magnificently surrounded by the luxuries of life, we may contrive to be stately; but Mrs. Farquar had attained to stateliness before she had reached sixty-five years of age, and she had been called Madam from a still earlier date. She was grey-haired in that pretty way that makes one think of powder. She had been in full, unrestrained possession of money and lands for the fifteen years of her widowhood, ever since she was fifty, in fact. She now dressed in silver-grey and pale lavender, varied in the winter season by rich robes of shining black satin, or some soft thick silk, or comfortable velvet. She had magnificent lace, of cobweb fineness, and she wore it; but she never wore any ornaments except such as were really useful. My mother and my Uncle William were her only children, and Uncle William had long been in India, where I had been born, my |