The Mistletoe Bough | Page 5

stream without aid from oars or paddles. From the opposite side a path
led through the woods and across the fields to Penrith, and this was the
route commonly used between Thwaite Hall and the town.
Major Garrow was a retired officer of Engineers, who had seen service
in all parts of the world, and who was now spending the evening of his
days on a small property which had come to him from his father. He
held in his own hands about twenty acres of land, and he was the owner
of one small farm close by, which was let to a tenant. That, together

with his half-pay, and the interest of his wife's thousand pounds,
sufficed to educate his children and keep the wolf at a comfortable
distance from his door. He himself was a spare thin man, with quiet,
lazy, literary habits. He had done the work of life, but had so done it as
to permit of his enjoying that which was left to him. His sole remaining
care was the establishment of his children; and, as far as he could see,
he had no ground for anticipating disappointment. They were clever,
good- looking, well-disposed young people, and upon the whole it may
be said that the sun shone brightly on Thwaite Hall. Of Mrs. Garrow it
may suffice to say that she always deserved such sunshine.
For years past it had been the practice of the family to have some sort
of gathering at Thwaite Hall during Christmas. Godfrey Holmes had
been left under the guardianship of Major Garrow, and, as he had
always spent his Christmas holidays with his guardian, this, perhaps,
had given rise to the practice. Then the Coverdales were cousins of the
Garrows, and they had usually been there as children. At the Christmas
last past the custom had been broken, for young Holmes had been
abroad. Previous to that, they had all been children, excepting him. But
now that they were to meet again, they were no longer children.
Elizabeth, at any rate, was not so, for she had already counted nineteen
winters. And Isabella Holmes was coming. Now Isabella was two years
older than Elizabeth, and had been educated in Brussels; moreover she
was comparatively a stranger at Thwaite Hall, never having been at
those early Christmas meetings.
And now I must take permission to begin my story by telling a lady's
secret. Elizabeth Garrow had already been in love with Godfrey
Holmes, or perhaps it might be more becoming to say that Godfrey
Holmes had already been in love with her. They had already been
engaged; and, alas! they had already agreed that that engagement
should be broken off!
Young Holmes was now twenty-seven years of age, and was employed
in a bank at Liverpool, not as a clerk, but as assistant-manager, with a
large salary. He was a man well to do in the world, who had money
also of his own, and who might well afford to marry. Some two years
since, on the eve of leaving Thwaite Hall, he had with low doubting
whisper told Elizabeth that he loved her, and she had flown trembling
to her mother. "Godfrey, my boy," the father said to him, as he parted

with him the next morning, "Bessy is only a child, and too young to
think of this yet." At the next Christmas Godfrey was in Italy, and the
thing was gone by,--so at least the father and mother said to each other.
But the young people had met in the summer, and one joyful letter had
come from the girl home to her mother. "I have accepted him. Dearest,
dearest mamma, I do love him. But don't tell papa yet, for I have not
quite accepted him. I think I am sure, but I am not quite sure. I am not
quite sure about him."
And then, two days after that, there had come a letter that was not at all
joyful. "Dearest Mamma,--It is not to be. It is not written in the book.
We have both agreed that it will not do. I am so glad that you have not
told dear papa, for I could never make him understand. You will
understand, for I shall tell you everything, down to his very words. But
we have agreed that there shall be no quarrel. It shall be exactly as it
was, and he will come at Christmas all the same. It would never do that
he and papa should be separated, nor could we now put off Isabella. It
is better so in every way, for there is and need be no quarrel. We still
like each other. I am sure I like him, but I know that I should not make
him happy as his