CHAPTER V.

CHANGE AT BLANDFORD.

"It is the little rift within the lute

That by-and-by will make the music mute,
And ever widening, slowly silence all."

TENNYSON.

THE shadow of a great cloud hung over Blandford for some days, for though the actual injuries which Piers had received were not in themselves dangerous, he was in a feverish and excitable condition, which the doctors thought was attributable partly to the exposure to the weather, as he lay helpless by the turnpike, before he was discovered, and partly to the shock his system had undergone. When all the love and interest of a mother's heart are centred in one child, they become a pain which is almost intolerable when danger threatens him; and Mrs. Leighton was not calculated by natural temperament to bear suspense and anxiety, and there was no firm faith in the loving hand of her Heavenly Father to support and help her.

Rosamond Kingsford had need of patience, and had often some difficulty in controlling herself when she was asked to do twenty things at the same time, and was sent on ceaseless missions of inquiry to the young surgeon who was appointed by Dr. Plenderleath to keep watch in the house, and, at Mrs. Leighton's request, seldom left it by night. If Mr. Leighton was not so demonstrative, his anxiety was not the less real. Rosamond pitied him from her heart, when, one morning, she went into the study to deliver a message from Dr. Plenderleath, and found him sitting before his large table covered with papers, his head bowed upon his hands, and his attitude one of extreme dejection.

Rosamond gave her message, and then paused. "Can I help you with any writing this morning?" she asked.

"Thank you, I am hardly able to turn my thoughts to a great deal which ought to be got through; but here is a formal letter, addressed to a few people, which it would be kind of you to copy, though, perhaps, I can get it lithographed by post time. It is only a notice that the meeting of the shareholders of the Vectis Mining Company at Bodmin must be postponed. I cannot leave home at this moment."

"I will copy it with pleasure. I think you need not be so uneasy about your son. His night has been quieter, and he is quite collected this morning."

Mr. Leighton smiled-a faint sickly reflection of his accustomed smile it was.

"I hope his poor mother has been convinced that her presence in his room is undesirable, till she can control herself more."

"Mrs. Leighton has not been in Piers' room since yesterday morning. She really has not been well enough to leave her own."

The Christian name came out with a little hesitation, which did not escape Mr. Leighton's acute

ear.

"I hope," he said, style of address now.

"you will drop all formal You have, indeed, proved yourself like a most kind daughter during the last week."

Rosamond did not respond to this, but, taking up a pen, said,

"May I write at this case, and will you give me some envelopes ?"

Mr. Leighton shuffled about the table for a moment, as if he were looking for something, and then laid paper and envelopes before Rosamond.

"I believe Mildred is coming to-day, poor child. She has been suffering deeply, and her father's decree that she is not to be much in this house while Piers is so ill seems a stern one. But Mr. Willoughby is a man who insists on obedience."

"He has always had it from his daughter, I should think," Rosamond said. "She looks too gentle to resist anything."

There was a touch of sarcasm in this remark, which the same acute ear also caught.

"Those natures-natures like Mildred's, have often hidden strength, that lies unsuspected till something calls it forth."

Rosamond said no more, and settled herself to the work before her, and her pen flew with ease and rapidity over the thick paper. Mr. Leighton was called away in a few minutes, and Rosamond was left alone. In half-an-hour's time, the fifteen letters were all written, and lying in their covers, addressed to many Devonshire and Cornish names which were familiar to her. "The Viscount Falmore" had a letter of his own lying apart, in Mr. Leighton's handwriting.

Rosamond took it up, and looked at it with a curious expression on her face.

"All the grand schemes for his lordship's visit here are useless," she said. "How everything must hang on Piers' life, the marriage with Mildred, and her fortune; such a fortune, too! I wish I had it! And yet Piers will be so well off. What does he want more money for, or his father either? It is the old story, that money has an attractive power, and much must have more! Heigh ho!"

Rosamond leaned back in her chair, and as she did so, her eyes fell on a letter which had fallen from the table. The large coat of arms with which it was sealed, or had been sealed, attracted her.

"Whose arms are these?" Rosamond asked her

self, and then took the letter out of the envelope and glanced over it. It was the work of a moment, and she saw that the signature at the end of the third page was "Roger Le Blanquière Willoughby."

Rosamond turned back to the beginning, and read the letter through. Her conscience told her it was wrong; that it was a dishonourable act; and that she had no right to make herself mistress of the contents of that letter. Of course, two voices spoke within there always are two, the evil one growing stronger every time it is allowed to assert itself and is listened to. The letter was open," the one voice argued; "it fell in my way-I could not tell what was in it, or who had written it." Then the other was faintly heard, "Letters are sacred; no one has a right to read one, without permission, that is addressed to another."

66

As Rosamond read, her face became eager and excited; and when she had replaced the letter in the envelope, she still held it in her hand, as if rooted to the spot.

If there was no harm in her reading it, as the evil voice within continued boldly to assert, what made her start violently, when some one knocked at the study door, and a servant came in.

"Miss Willoughby is in the library," he said. "Mr. Leighton sent me to tell you, Miss Kingsford; and, if you please, have you written the order for the chemist, and for the turtle-soup to Leadenhall Street? Mrs. Dunsford asked me to name it,"