ONCE A WEEK. AN Illustrated Miscellany ОР LITERATURE, ART, SCIENCE, & POPULAR INFORMATION. VOLUME XII. DECEMBER, 1864, TO JUNE, 1865. LONDON: BRADBURY & EVANS, 11, BOUVERIE STREET. [Th: Right of translating Articles from "ONOE A WEEK" is reserved by the Authors.] SWAIN.00 LAWSON, F. W.-851, 390, 407, 446, PRITCHETT, R. T.-38, 138, 275, 277, 586, 631, 722. LAMONT, T. R.-110, 183, 239, 503, PINWELL, G. J.-71, 127, 527. 659. 558. SLINGER, F. J.-26, 223, 334. SULMAN, T.-139, 233, 247, 418, 419, 474, 475, 514, 623, 670, 697, 699. WOLF, J.-155, 435, 603. MISCELLANEOUS and DIAGRAMS.- ONCE A WEEK, THEO LEIGH. BY THE AUTHOR OF "DENIS DONNE," &c. CHAPTER XV. THE SHADOW DEEPENS. THE time had passed so quickly-for much had happened in it-that Theo only felt astonishment and no particular uneasiness when the truth dawned upon her one morning that it was just six weeks since Harold Ffrench had appeared before her and asked her to let him carry away with him the conviction that she would become his wife on his return. Just six weeks since that day, and during the whole of that time he had made no sign, had written no word! the place. Indeed she did not know that the place had a scale at this time. She learnt that in company with much else that was pleasant and beneficial by-and-by. About a fortnight after the calling commenced Theo came into the big drawing-room, whose proportions had been kept intact when the building was apportioned into quarters, and found her mamma entertaining an elderly lady and her daughter, to whom Theo was forthwith introduced. They were Mrs. and Miss Scott, and the elderly lady had no peculiarly her daughter, had. Still she only felt astonishment, no uneasi-distinguishing traits about her, but the girl, ness mingled with the sensation as yet. She had had plenty to think about and plenty to do during these six weeks. She had had to bear her share in the family rejoicing consequent on this long-looked-for appointment, and in the packing-up and unpacking that it involved. Bodily activity does away with the possibility of much mental bemoaning. Theo had been very busy, too busy to nurse idle fears and doubts that time alone could realize or dispel. The place was pleasant to her, for it was in summer weather that Theo came to her new abode, and the quarters that had been assigned to Mr. Leigh had an out-look over the river. It was all new and strange and eminently satisfactory to her father. Therefore was the place pleasant to Theo, and she did not know the people yet. But when they had been resident about a month, and were considered to have shaken down and to have adapted themselves to their niches, their existence began to be socially recognised in due form. People called upon them with rigorous solemnity, and made them welcome after the decorous fashion of the place. They were merely names to her as yet, she had no idea as to their relative importance, or of what station they took in the rigid scale of She was sitting on a couch far away from her mother and hostess when Theo entered; looking not exactly out of temper or contemptuous, her face was naturally too brightly frank and good-humoured for that, but wearily fatigued at the repetition of that which she had heard so many times before. For her mamma was giving the new comer Mrs. Leigh a history in outline of the faults and follies of the denizens of the establishment, and Sydney Scott was sick of the subject. She was a pretty girl with great deep-grey eyes, a broad brow, and a very fair delicate complexion,-a short plump girl with tiny white hands, and a well-cut laughing mouth. But her greatest charm lay in that aforesaid expression of frankness and in her apparently effortless bonhomie. She had walked to the window and seated herself upon an ottoman which was there, after rising to meet Theo. As Theo followed her and took a place by her side, she commenced the conversation abruptly by saying : "Are you glad you're here, Miss Leigh?" "I hardly feel as if I were here yet," Theo replied. "I asked, because it's the regulation speech, only I don't put it in the proper words; I'm glad you were not impostor enough to say you No. 287. |