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Transcriber's note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

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JOHNNY LUDLOW.

THIRD SERIES

[Illustration]


JOHNNY LUDLOW

by

MRS. HENRY WOOD

Author of
"East Lynne," "The Channings," etc.

THIRD SERIES.







+Twenty-Third Thousand+

+London:+
Macmillan and Co., Limited.
New York: the Macmillan Company.
1899.

London:
Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Limited,
Stamford Street and Charing Cross.




CONTENTS

                                             PAGE

  THE MYSTERY OF JESSY PAGE                     1

  CRABB RAVINE                                 43

  OUR VISIT                                    87

  JANET CAREY                                 112

  DR. KNOX                                    135

  HELEN WHITNEY'S WEDDING                     158

  HELEN'S CURATE                              180

  JELLICO'S PACK                              203

  CAROMEL'S FARM                              223

  CHARLOTTE AND CHARLOTTE                     244

  THE LAST OF THE CAROMELS                    267

  A DAY IN BRIAR WOOD                         290

  THE STORY OF DOROTHY GRAPE: DISAPPEARANCE   313

  THE STORY OF DOROTHY GRAPE: IN AFTER YEARS  335

  LADY JENKINS: MINA                          359

  LADY JENKINS: DOUBT                         382

  LADY JENKINS: MADAME                        406

  LADY JENKINS: LIGHT                         429

  THE ANGELS' MUSIC                           452




    "God sent his Singers upon earth
    With songs of sadness and of mirth,
    That they might touch the hearts of men,
    And bring them back to heaven again."
                                   LONGFELLOW.




JOHNNY LUDLOW




THE MYSTERY OF JESSY PAGE.


I.

Our old grey church at Church Dykely stood in a solitary spot. Servant
maids (two of ours once, Hannah and Molly), and silly village girls went
there sometimes to watch for the "shadows" on St. Mark's Eve, and owls
had a habit of darting out of the belfry at night. Within view of the
church, though at some distance from it, stood the lonely, red-brick,
angular dwelling-house belonging to Copse Farm. It was inhabited by Mr.
Page, a plain worthy widower, getting in years; his three daughters
and little son. Abigail and Susan Page, two experienced, sensible,
industrious young women, with sallow faces and bunches of short dark
curls, were at this period, about midway between twenty and thirty:
Jessy, very much younger, was gone out to get two years' "finishing" at
a plain boarding-school; Charles, the lad, had bad health and went to
school by day at Church Dykely.

Mr. Page fell ill. He would never again be able to get about much. His
two daughters, so far as indoor work and management went, were hosts in
themselves, Miss Abigail especially; but they could not mount a horse to
superintend out-of-doors. Other arrangements were made. The second son
of Mr. Drench, a neighbouring farmer and friend, came to the Copse
Farm by day as overlooker. He was paid for his services, and he gained
experience.

No sooner had John Drench, a silent, bashful young farmer, good-looking
and fairly-well educated, been installed in his new post, than he began
to show a decided admiration for Miss Susan Page--who was a few months
younger than himself. The slight advances he made were favourably
received; and it was tacitly looked upon that they were "as good as
engaged." Things went on pleasantly through the spring, and might have
continued to go on so, but for the coming home at Midsummer of the
youngest daughter, Jessy. That led to no end of complications and
contrariety.

She was the sweetest flower you ever saw; a fair, delicate lily, with a
mild countenance, blue eyes, and golden hair. Jessy had never been very
strong; she had always been very pretty; and the consequence was that
whilst her sisters had grown up to be useful, not to be idle a minute
throughout the long day, Jessy had been petted and indulged, and
was little except being ornamental. The two years' schooling had not
improved her taste for domestic occupation. To tell the truth, Jessy was
given to being uncommonly idle.

To John Drench, who had not seen her since her early girlhood, she
appeared as a vision of beauty. "It was like an angel coming in at the
door," he said of the day she first came home, when telling the tale to
a stranger in after years. "My eyes were fairly dazzled."

Like an angel! And unfortunately for John Drench, his heart was dazzled
as well as his eyes. He fell desperately in love with her. It taught
him that what he had felt for Miss Susan was not love at all; only
esteem, and the liking that so often arises from companionship. He was
well-meaning, but inexperienced. As he had never spoken to Susan, the
utmost sign he had given being a look or a