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                              MITCHELHURST PLACE

                                   A Novel

                                     BY
                               MARGARET VELEY

                          AUTHOR OF "FOR PERCIVAL"

                 "Que voulez-vous? Helas! notre mere Nature,
                 Comme toute autre mere, a ses enfants gates,
                Et pour les malvenus elle est avare et dure!"

                               IN TWO VOLUMES

                                   VOL. I.

                                   London
                              MACMILLAN AND CO.
                                    1884

            _The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved._




                                  Bungay:

                         CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.




                                    TO

                           BARBARA'S BEST FRIEND

                             _ELFRIDA IONIDES_

                      HER STORY IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY
                         AND GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED.




CONTENTS OF VOL. I.


  CHAPTER I.                                        PAGE
  TREASURES DROPPED AND PICKED UP                      1

  CHAPTER II.
  AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION                            19

  CHAPTER III.
  "WELCOME TO MITCHELHURST PLACE"                     48

  CHAPTER IV.
  DINNER AND A LITTLE MUSIC                           73

  CHAPTER V.
  AN OLD LOVE STORY                                   95

  CHAPTER VI.
  REYNOLD'S RESOLUTION                               124

  CHAPTER VII.
  A GAME AT CHESS                                    160

  CHAPTER VIII.
  BARBARA'S TUNE                                     192

  CHAPTER IX.
  OF MAGIC LANTERNS                                  209

  CHAPTER X.
  AN AFTER-DINNER DISCUSSION                         237




MITCHELHURST PLACE




CHAPTER I.

TREASURES DROPPED AND PICKED UP.

  "Dans l'air pale, emanant ses tranquilles lumieres
  Rayonnait l'astre d'or de l'arriere-saison."


There was nothing remarkable in the scene. It was just a bit of country
lane, cut deeply into the side of a hill, and seamed with little pebbly
courses, made by the streams of rain which had poured across it on their
downward way. The hill-side faced the west, and, standing on this ledge
as on a balcony, one might look down into a valley where cattle were
feeding in the pastures, and where a full and softly-flowing river
turned the wheel of a distant mill, and slipped quietly under the arched
bridge of the lower road. Sometimes in summer the water lay gleaming,
like a curved blade, in the midst of the warm green meadows, but on this
late October day it was misty and wan, and light vapours veiled the pale
globe of the declining sun. Looking upward from the valley, a broad
<DW72> of ploughed land rose above the road, and the prospect ended in a
hedge, a gate, through whose bars one saw the sky, and a thin line of
dusky, red-trunked firs. But from the road itself there was nothing to
be seen in this direction except a steep bank. This bank was crowned
with hawthorn bushes, and here and there a stubborn stunted oak, which
held its dry brown leaves persistently, as some oaks do. With every
passing breath of wind there was a crisp rustling overhead.

This bit of road lay deserted in the faint yellow gleams. But for a wisp
of straw, caught on an overhanging twig, and some cart-tracks, which
marked the passage of a load, one might have fancied that the pale sun
had risen, and now was about to set, without having seen a single
wayfarer upon it. But there were four coming towards it, and, slowly as
two of them might travel, they would yet reach it while the sunlight
lasted. The little stage was to have its actors that afternoon.

First there appeared a man's figure on the crest of the hill. He swung
himself over the gate, and came with eager strides down the field, till
he reached the hedge which divided it from the road. There he stopped,
consulted his watch, and sheltering himself behind one of the little
oaks, he rested one knee on a mossy stump, and thus, half-standing,
half-kneeling, he waited. The attitude was picturesque, and so was the
man. He had bright grey-blue eyes, hair and moustache brown, with a
touch of reddish gold, a quick, animated face, and a smiling mouth. It
was easy to see that he was sanguine and fearless, and on admirable
terms with himself and the world in general. He was young, and he was
pleasant to look at, and, though he could hardly have dressed with a
view to occupying that precise position, his brown velvet coat was
undeniably in the happiest harmony with the tree against which he
leaned, and the withered foliage