Full download ebooks at https://ebookmeta.

com

HTML5 Game Development by Example Beginner s

Guide Second Edition Thomas Mak

For dowload this book click link below

https://ebookmeta.com/product/html5-game-development-by-
example-beginner-s-guide-second-edition-thomas-mak/

OR CLICK BUTTON

DOWLOAD NOW
More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...

Responsive Web Design by Example Beginner s Guide 2nd

Edition Thoriq Firdaus

https://ebookmeta.com/product/responsive-web-design-by-example-
beginner-s-guide-2nd-edition-thoriq-firdaus/

Game Programming using Qt 5 Beginner s Guide Second

Edition Lorenz Haas

https://ebookmeta.com/product/game-programming-using-
qt-5-beginner-s-guide-second-edition-lorenz-haas/

Cross Over to HTML5 Game Development 1st Edition Zarrar

Chishti

https://ebookmeta.com/product/cross-over-to-html5-game-
development-1st-edition-zarrar-chishti/

Code Gamers Development Essentials A 9 Week Beginner s

Guide to Start Your Game Development Career 1st Edition
A E Colonna

https://ebookmeta.com/product/code-gamers-development-
essentials-a-9-week-beginner-s-guide-to-start-your-game-
development-career-1st-edition-a-e-colonna/
ATDD by Example A Practical Guide to Acceptance Test
Driven Development 1st Edition Markus Gärtner

https://ebookmeta.com/product/atdd-by-example-a-practical-guide-
to-acceptance-test-driven-development-1st-edition-markus-gartner/

Drupal 7 Mobile Web Development Beginner s Guide 1st

Edition Stovall Tom

https://ebookmeta.com/product/drupal-7-mobile-web-development-
beginner-s-guide-1st-edition-stovall-tom/

Scientific Research in Information Systems A Beginner s

Guide Second Edition Jan Recker

https://ebookmeta.com/product/scientific-research-in-information-
systems-a-beginner-s-guide-second-edition-jan-recker/

Beginning Unity Android Game Development: From Beginner

to Pro 1st Edition Kishan Takoordyal

https://ebookmeta.com/product/beginning-unity-android-game-
development-from-beginner-to-pro-1st-edition-kishan-takoordyal/

Stitch by Stitch A Beginner s Guide to Needlecraft 2023

Edition Jane Bull

https://ebookmeta.com/product/stitch-by-stitch-a-beginner-s-
guide-to-needlecraft-2023-edition-jane-bull/
HTML5 Game Development by Example
Beginner's Guide Second Edition
Table of Contents
HTML5 Game Development by Example Beginner's Guide Second Edition
Credits
About the Author
About the Reviewers
www.PacktPub.com
Support files, eBooks, discount offers, and more
Why subscribe?
Free access for Packt account holders
Preface
What this book covers
What you need for this book
Who this book is for
Sections
Time for action – heading
What just happened?
Pop quiz – heading
Have a go hero – heading
Conventions
Reader feedback
Customer support
Downloading the example code
Downloading the color images of this book
Errata
Piracy
Questions
1. Introducing HTML5 Games
Discovering new features in HTML5
Canvas
Audio
Touch Events
GeoLocation
WebGL
WebSocket
Local storage
Offline applications
 Discovering new features in CSS3
CSS3 transition
CSS3 transform
CSS3 animation
The benefit of creating HTML5 games
Free and open standards
Support for multiple platforms
Native app-rendering performance in particular scenarios
Breaking the boundary of usual browser games
Building HTML5 games
What others are playing with HTML5
Coca-Cola's Ahh campaign
Asteroid-styled bookmarklet
X-Type
Cursors.io
What we are going to create in this book
Preparing the development environment
Summary
2. Getting Started with DOM-based Game Development
Preparing the HTML documents for a DOM-based game
Time for action – installing the jQuery library
What just happened?
New HTML5 doctype
Header and footer
The best practice to place the JavaScript code
Choosing the jQuery file
Running jQuery inside a scope
Running our code after the page is ready
Pop quiz
Downloading the image assets
Setting up the Ping Pong game elements
Time for action – placing Ping Pong game elements in the DOM
What just happened?
Using jQuery
Understanding basic jQuery selectors
Understanding the jQuery CSS function
Manipulating game elements in DOM with jQuery
Understanding the behavior of absolute position
Declaring global variables in a better way
 Pop quiz
Getting mouse input
Time for action – moving DOM objects by mouse input
What just happened?
Getting the mouse event
RequestAnimationFrame
Checking the console window
Moving a DOM object with JavaScript Interval
Time for action – Moving the ball with JavaScript Interval
What just happened?
Creating a JavaScript timer with the setInterval function
Understanding the game loop
Separating the data and the view logic
Beginning collision detection
Time for action – hitting the ball with the paddles
What just happened?
Have a go hero
Controlling the left paddle movement
Time for action – auto moving the left paddle
What just happened?
Showing text dynamically in HTML
Time for action – Showing the score of both players
What just happened?
Have a go hero – winning the game
Summary
3. Building a Card-matching Game in CSS3
Moving game objects with CSS3 transition
Time for action – moving a playing card around
What just happened?
2D transform functions
3D transform functions
Tweening the styles using CSS3 transition
Have a go hero
Creating a card-flipping effect
Time for action – flipping a card with CSS3
What just happened?
Toggling a class with jQuery's toggleClass function
Introducing CSS' perspective property
Have a go hero
 Introducing backface-visibility
Creating a card-matching memory game
Downloading the sprite sheet of playing cards
Setting up the game environment
Time for action – preparing the card-matching game
What just happened?
Cloning DOM elements with jQuery
Selecting the first child of an element in jQuery using child filters
Vertically aligning a DOM element
Using CSS sprite with a background position
Adding game logic to the matching game
Time for action – adding game logic to the matching game
What just happened?
Executing code after the CSS transition has ended
Delaying code execution on flipping cards
Randomizing an array in JavaScript
Storing internal custom data with an HTML5 custom data attribute
Pop quiz
Accessing custom data attribute with jQuery
Pop quiz
Have a go hero
Making other playing card games
Have a go hero
Embedding web fonts into our game
Time for action – embedding a font from the Google Fonts directory
What just happened?
Choosing different font delivery services
Summary
4. Building the Untangle Game with Canvas and the Drawing API
Introducing the HTML5 canvas element
Drawing a circle in the Canvas
Time for action – drawing color circles in the Canvas
What just happened?
Putting in fallback content when the web browser does not support the
Canvas
The Canvas context
Drawing circles and shapes with the Canvas arc function
Converting degrees to radians
Executing the path drawing in the Canvas
 Beginning a path for each style
Have a go hero
Closing a path
Pop quiz
Wrapping the circle drawing in a function
Time for action – putting the circle drawing code into a function
What just happened?
Dividing code into files
Generating random numbers in JavaScript
Saving the circle position
Time for action – saving the circle position
What just happened?
Defining a basic class definition in JavaScript
Have a go hero
Drawing lines in the Canvas
Time for action – drawing straight lines between each circle
What just happened?
Introducing the line drawing API
Using mouse events to interact with objects drawn in the Canvas
Time for action – dragging the circles in the Canvas
What just happened?
Detecting mouse events in circles in the Canvas
Pop quiz
Game loop
Clearing the Canvas
Pop quiz
Detecting line intersection in the Canvas
Time for action – distinguishing the intersected lines
What just happened?
Determining whether two line segments intersect
Adding touch support for tablets
Time for action – adding the touch input support
What just happened?
Handling touches
Mouse move and Touch move
Summary
5. Building a Canvas Game's Masterclass
Making the Untangle puzzle game
Time for action – making the Untangle puzzle game in Canvas
 What just happened?
Defining the leveling data
Determining level-up
Displaying the current level and completeness progress
Have a go hero
Drawing text in the Canvas
Time for action – displaying the progress level text inside the canvas element
What just happened?
Pop quiz – drawing text in the Canvas
Using embedded web font inside the Canvas
Time for action – embedding a Google web font into the canvas element
What just happened?
Drawing images in the Canvas
Time for action – adding graphics to the game
What just happened?
Have a go hero
Using the drawImage function
Have a go hero – optimizing the background image
Decorating the Canvas-based game
Time for action – adding CSS styles and image decoration to the game
What just happened?
Pop quiz – styling a Canvas background
Animating a sprite sheet in Canvas
Time for action – making a game guide animation
What just happened?
Creating a multilayer Canvas game
Time for action – dividing the game into four layers
What just happened?
Mixing a CSS technique with Canvas drawing
Have a go hero
Summary
6. Adding Sound Effects to Your Games
Adding a sound effect to the Play button
Time for action – adding sound effects to the Play button
What just happened?
Defining an audio element
Playing a sound
jQuery's selector versus browser selector
Pausing a sound
 Adjusting the sound volume
Using the jQuery hover event
File format for WebAudio
Pop quiz – using the audio tag
Building a mini piano musical game
Time for action – creating a basic background for the music game
What just happened?
Creating scenes in games
Creating a slide-in effect in CSS3
Have a go hero – creating different scene transition effects
Visualizing the music playback
Time for action – creating the playback visualization in the music game
What just happened?
Choosing the right song for the music game
Playing audio on mobile devices
Storing and extracting the song-level data
Getting the elapsed time of the game
Creating music dots
Moving the music dots
Creating a keyboard-driven mini piano musical game
Time for action – creating a mini piano musical game
What just happened?
Hitting the three music lines by key down
Determining music dot hits on key down
Removing an element in an array with the given index
Have a go hero
Adding additional features to the mini piano game
Adjusting the music volume according to the player
Time for action – removing missed melody notes
What just happened?
Removing dots from the game
Storing the success count in the last five results
Have a go hero
Recording music notes as level data
Time for action – adding functionalities to record the music level data
What just happened?
Adding touch support
Time for action – indicating a game over event in the console
What just happened?
 Handling the audio event in playback complete events
Time for action – indicating a game over event in the console
What just happened?
Handling audio events
Have a go hero
Summary
7. Saving the Game's Progress
Storing data using HTML5 local storage
Creating a game over dialog
Time for action – creating a game over dialog with the elapsed played time
What just happened?
Counting time
Saving scores in the browser
Time for action – saving the game score
What just happened?
Storing and loading data with local storage
The local storage saves the string value
Treating the local storage object as an associative array
Saving objects in the local storage
Time for action – saving the time alongside the score
What just happened?
Getting the current date and time in JavaScript
Using the native JSON to encode an object into a string
Loading a stored object from a JSON string
Inspecting the local storage in a console window
Notifying players when they break a new record with a nice ribbon effect
Time for action – creating a ribbon in CSS3
What just happened?
Have a go hero – saving and comparing only to the fastest time
Saving the entire game progress
Time for action – saving all essential game data in the local storage
What just happened?
Removing a record from the local storage
Cloning an array in JavaScript
Resuming the game progress
Time for action – resuming a game from the local storage
What just happened?
Pop quiz – using local storage
Caching the game for offline access
 Time for action – adding the AppCache Manifest
What just happened?
The AppCache file
Summary
8. Building a Multiplayer Draw-and-Guess Game with WebSockets
Installing a WebSocket server
Installing the Node.js WebSocket server
Time for action – installing Node.js
What just happened?
Creating a WebSocket server to send connection count
Time for action – running a WebSocket server
What just happened?
Initializing the WebSocket server
Listening to the connection event on the server side
Creating a client that connects to a WebSocket server and getting the total
connections count
Time for action – showing the connection count in a WebSocket application
What just happened?
Establishing a WebSocket connection
WebSocket client events
Sending a message to all connected browsers
Time for action – sending total count to all users
What just happened?
Defining class and instant instance methods
Handling a newly connected user
Exporting modules
Sending messages to the client
Building a chatting application with WebSockets
Sending a message to the server
Time for action – sending a message to the server through WebSockets
What just happened?
Sending a message from the client to the server
Receiving a message on the server side
Sending every received message on the server side to create a chat room
Time for action – sending messages to all connected browsers
What just happened?
Comparing WebSockets with polling approaches
Making a shared drawing whiteboard with Canvas and WebSockets
Building a local drawing sketchpad
 Time for action – making a local drawing whiteboard with the Canvas
What just happened?
Drawing in the Canvas
Have a go hero – drawing with colors
Sending the drawing to all the connected browsers
Time for action – sending the drawing through WebSockets
What just happened?
Defining a data object to communicate between the client and the server
Packing the drawing lines data into JSON for sending
Recreating the drawing lines after receiving them from other clients
Building a multiplayer draw-and-guess game
Time for action – building the draw-and-guess game
What just happened?
Inheriting the Room class
Controlling the game flow of a multiplayer game
Room and Game Room
Improving the game
Improving the styles
Storing drawn lines on each game
Have a go hero
Improving the answer checking mechanism
Have a go hero
Summary
9. Building a Physics Car Game with Box2D and Canvas
Installing the Box2D JavaScript library
Time for action – installing the Box2D physics library
What just happened?
Using b2World to create a new world
Setting the gravity of the world
Setting Box2D to ignore the sleeping object
Creating a static ground body in the physics world
Time for action – creating a ground in the world
What just happened?
Pixel per meter
Creating a shape with a fixture
Creating a body
Setting the bouncing effect with the restitution property
Drawing the physics world in the canvas
Time for action – drawing the physics world into the Canvas
 What just happened?
Creating a dynamic box in the physics world
Time for action – putting a dynamic box in the world
What just happened?
Advancing the world time
Time for action – setting up the world step loop
What just happened?
Adding wheels to the game
Time for action – putting two circles in the world
What just happened?
Creating a physical car
Time for action – connecting the box and two circles with a revolute joint
What just happened?
Using a revolute joint to create an anchor point between two bodies
Adding force to the car with a keyboard input
Time for action – adding force to the car
What just happened?
Applying force to a body
Clearing Force
Understanding the difference between ApplyForce and ApplyImpulse
Have a go hero
Adding ramps to our game environment
Time for action – creating the world with ramps
What just happened?
Have a go hero
Checking collisions in the Box2D world
Time for action – checking a collision between the car and the destination
body
What just happened?
Getting the collision contact list
Have a go hero
Restarting the game
Time for action – restarting the game while pressing the R key
What just happened?
Have a go hero
Adding a level support to our car game
Time for action – loading the game with levels data
What just happened?
Have a go hero
 Replacing the Box2D outline drawing with graphics
Time for action – adding a flag graphic and a car graphic to the game
What just happened?
Using userData in shape and body
Drawing graphics in every frame according to the state of its physics body
Rotating and translating an image in the canvas
Have a go hero
Adding a final touch to make the game fun to play
Time for action – decorating the game and adding a fuel limitation
What just happened?
Adding fuel to add a constraint when applying force
Presenting the remaining fuel in a CSS3 progress bar
Adding touch support for tablets
Time for action – adding touch support
What just happened?
Controlling the viewport scale
Touch-specific buttons
Summary
10. Deploying HTML5 Games
Preparing the deploying materials
Putting the game on the Web
Hosting the node.js server
Deploying as a mobile web app in the home screen
Time for action – adding a meta tag for a mobile web app
What just happened?
Building an HTML5 game into a Mac OS X app
Time for action—putting the HTML5 games into a Mac app
What just happened?
Building an HTML5 game into a mobile app with the Web View
Building with the PhoneGap build
App store's reviewing process
Summary
A. Pop Quiz Answers
Chapter 2, Getting Started with DOM-based Game Development
Preparing the HTML documents for a DOM-based game
Pop quiz
Setting up the Ping Pong game elements
Pop quiz
Chapter 3, Building a Card-matching Game in CSS3
 Storing internal custom data with an HTML5 custom data attribute
Pop quiz
Accessing custom data attribute with jQuery
Pop quiz
Chapter 4, Building the Untangle Game with Canvas and the Drawing API
Drawing a circle in the Canvas
Pop quiz
Using mouse events to interact with objects drawn in the Canvas
Detecting mouse events in circles in the Canvas
Pop quiz
Clearing the Canvas
Pop quiz
Chapter 5, Building a Canvas Game's Masterclass
Drawing text in the Canvas
Pop quiz – drawing text in the Canvas
Drawing images in the Canvas
Pop quiz – styling a Canvas background
Chapter 6, Adding Sound Effects to Your Games
Adding a sound effect to the Play button
Pop quiz – using the audio tag
Chapter 7, Saving the Game's Progress
Saving the entire game progress
Pop quiz – using local storage
Index
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
"Perhaps not." Cyril's manner became more resolute. "I am
sorry this has come up," he said frankly. "It is not the time
or place—and I forgot. But since it has, I ought to explain. I
met the Lucases abroad; and I assure you, I found them
most kind—as pleasant as could be. I like them immensely
—yes—him!" in reply to a monosyllable. "I mean—one is so
sorry for him, and he does fight so hard not to be
overcome. I don't really think it's a case when everybody
ought to stand aloof. I don't—really, Lady Lucas."

"You will, I suppose, permit 'everybody' to judge for

themselves," said Lady Lucas. "I quite understand that Sir
Cyril Devereux is perfectly independent in these matters;
and time alone can teach experience. It is, of course,
useless for me to assort that my unhappy nephew is unfit to
associate with gentlemen. That is only an old lady's opinion
—though it is held by some who are not old ladies."

"I am very sorry," apologised Cyril. "But if you were to see

him now—"

"We shall, I think, do little good by discussing the question.

Only I must beg you to remember one thing, Sir Cyril—that
I do not meet or acknowledge Captain Lucas or his wife.
And, excuse me—in your position you ought to be careful.
You do not know what you may be drawn into."

Sir Cyril made a little gesture of comprehension, not of

assent, and Lady Lucas swept her trailing skirts away.
Sybella was on a more distant sofa, and thither the lady
retreated. A murmured conference between the two began.

"You have been quite wrong, my dear," Lady Lucas said

softly. "Sir Cyril ought to have been put into some regular
profession—the Army, or anything—for a few years. I told
you so long ago. He will get into mischief from the sheer
lack of something to do."

Then an interruption came. Jean still stood upon the rug;

and Cyril remained where Lady Lucas had left him, lost in
thought. Emmeline's dark sunny little face was before his
mind's eye.

"I will call—of course, I will call. What rubbish!" he said to

himself.

A curious croaking sound drew the attention of all—a sound

as of something giving way.

"Jean!" her father called in an agitated shout from the bow-

window. "Back, Jean!!" He was too far to do more than
shout, as he saw the great mirror over the mantelpiece
seem to detach itself, and for an appreciable fraction of a
second lean forward. Jean, with her instinct of obedience,
born of long habit, sprang back, not hesitating for even the
fraction of a second; while Cyril, hearing both the loud crack
and the warning cry, as instinctively started forward. The
huge mirror crashed heavily down; one sharp edge tearing
a wide rent down Jean's white skirt, and bringing her to her
knees; the other striking Cyril prostrate.

Sybella's shrieks almost drowned the loud crash of

shattered glass: Sybella herself keeping at a safe distance.
The gentlemen made a simultaneous rush forward; and
Jean spoke calmly: "I am not hurt. Please see to Cyril.
Never mind me."

Five pairs of hands lifting the massive frame released both;

and Jean sprang to her feet. She had been pinned down by
the weight pressing on her skirt, but was entirely uninjured.
Mr. Trevelyan held her fast, his hands visibly shaking, and
his face grey. "My child! You are sure! Nothing wrong?" he
said hoarsely.

Jean had never seen him so overcome.

"Nothing—not a scratch. See—only my dress!" she said

reassuringly. "But—"

His lips touched her forehead, with a murmured—

"Thank God!"

And she hardly caught the words following, "I thought it

was all up with my Jean."

Then he leant against the back of a tall arm-chair, a glazed

look coming over his eyes, and Jean knew that he had
difficulty in holding himself upright. Before she could speak,
however, he had rallied, though not without a supreme
effort of will.

"Merely a passing sensation—a touch of dizziness," he said

cheerfully, in response to her glance. "Not worth attention.
Come—" and he walked across the room, Jean following
closely to the couch where Cyril had just been laid, white to
the lips with pain.

Evelyn knelt to support his head, and Sybella hovered round

about, in a state of incoherent though talkative distraction.

Cyril looked up at Mr. Trevelyan. "Jem has gone for Dr.

Ingram," he said, bringing the words slowly. "I don't think it
will be very much . . . The frame caught my shoulder . . .
Don't touch, please—" with a shrinking gesture. "I'm only—
so glad it wasn't Jean!"
Jean, to her own indignant surprise, actually burst into
tears.

CHAPTER VIII.

DARK-EYED EMMIE.

"But who could have expected this,

When we two drew together first,
Just for the obvious human bliss,
To satisfy life's daily thirst?"
R. BROWNING.

THE "queer little red house near the Post-Office," owned by

Captain Lucas, had been for three years empty. It was not
an easy house to let: standing just too far out of the main
track for business purposes, yet too much buried in a region
of shops to be attractive. Perhaps Captain Lucas asked too
high a rent. One way or another, it had remained long in the
hands of an aged caretaker; and the Lucases had troubled
their heads little about the matter, till sudden curtailment of
income came. Then, since nobody else was content to live
there, and to pay a reasonable rent, Captain Lucas decided
to make it his home.
The decision cost him a good deal; and he would hardly
have reached it without necessity. He was not anxious to
put himself in the way of relatives, who would look him in
the face, and pass him by as a stranger. Captain Lucas was
a man who naturally loved society, naturally delighted in
pleasant companionship; and to cut himself off from
intercourse with his fellow-men was like cutting off his right
hand or foot; yet to a large extent, he had done and would
do this. Not for a limited time only, but year after year;
sustained by his courageous wife, and surely upheld by
Divine power: he and she knowing, alas, too well, that only
by such means could he hope to keep in check the terrible
tendency which all his life had dragged him downward.

The heroism of such a strife, and of the self-denial which it

entailed, could only be appreciated by those who knew him
best.

But to refuse himself certain perilous indulgences, such as

hotels, clubs, dinner-parties, nay, even such as taking lunch
or supper with a friend, as a matter of manly self-control,
was one thing; and to be treated as an outcast by those to
whom he was bound by natural ties, was another thing. The
first, however trying, brought a certain sense of satisfaction
in his own victory over weakness. The second could bring
only smarting and pain.

Moreover, he know that Dutton would be dull for his wife

and child; and Captain Lucas, with all his faults—perhaps it
would be more forcible to say, with his one great fault—was
an affectionate man. He dearly loved his gentle wife, and
his sunny Emmeline. They were all that he had to make life
bright. He would have sacrificed much to bring brightness to
them; but there seemed to be no choice. He could no longer
afford to travel, or to pay rent elsewhere.
There was a charm of manner still about Captain Lucas: a
charm which Cyril had felt at once. He was not in the least
heroic-looking; not tall, and rather stout; while the face,
which had once been handsome, was marred by early years
of self-indulgence. Still he had retained the manners of a
gentleman; and he had by nature an unusual power of
making himself agreeable.

His wife and daughter loved him dearly despite all they had
endured through him—despite the shame he had made
them suffer. And for more than a year he had not once
given way. Emmeline's tender little heart was sure—quite
sure—he never would again. The poor wife would fain have
felt equally sure. She better understood the power of
sudden temptation.

As Cyril had told Jean, the house was furnished, albeit in an

old fashioned style. Dark pictures in heavy frames half
covered the walls; thick curtains shut out much of Heaven's
light; chairs of ponderous make stood solemnly about the
small rooms; and huge centre-tables left little space
around.

Emmeline did what she could to improve matters. She

arranged and re-arranged the uncompromising furniture;
she draped the curtains anew; she dragged centre-tables
into corners; above all, she shed the light of her own
smiling presence through the little house, and in a measure
transformed it—for others, rather than for herself. The
shining of a star flows outward, not inward; and a blazing
body like the sun may conceivably have a dark interior.

Emmeline's mental "interior" was not dark; she was too

brave-spirited to be often a victim of depression. Still, when
a week in the new home had gone by, she was conscious of
a dreary aspect to things generally—more conscious than on
their first arrival. She had worked desperately hard; and
now she was tired, and little remained to be done.

Moreover, she was labouring under a sense of

disappointment, which means a worse kind of tiredness
than mere weariness of back or limbs. Through the whole
week Sir Cyril Devereux had never once been near the
house. Nobody had been. Nobody had called. Nobody had
spoken a word or left a message of welcome. The three
seemed to be stranded on a barren shore, where none
cared to greet them. Emmeline had known much of such
isolation in her short life; yet somehow she never grew
used to it, for she always saw how different life was to other
people. There are some kinds of mental, as of bodily pain,
to which the sufferer never does or can grow really used.

Like most girls, she had her girlish love of friends and
companions, her girlish enjoyment of chatter and fun, her
girlish longings and dreams. She had built a good deal—
much more than she was aware—on the prospect of Sir
Cyril's friendship; not so much for herself as for her
parents. She was hardly more than a child yet; but she
knew how much her father liked Sir Cyril, and how good it
was for him to have outside interests—so long as no danger
was involved—and how it cheered her mother to have her
father in good spirits.

When Captain Lucas had written to tell Sir Cyril of their

plans, he had replied that he "would be sure to look in
directly they came." And Emmeline had set her little heart
on the fulfilment of this promise.

It had not been fulfilled, and Emmeline was sorely

disappointed, because she felt that it was a disappointment
to her father and mother. She liked Sir Cyril herself, with a
frank girlish liking; but it was honestly for their sake that
she grieved. It did seem hard that nobody could be
depended on.

"Only a week, of course!" commented Emmeline. "One

week is not long. But he said directly—and if I were a man,
I would do what I had said, if it were ever so hard."

Persistent rain had fallen all the morning and was falling
still, making the Dutton pavements wet, making the Dutton
world muddy. To keep up one's spirits on such a day is
always more difficult than in sunshine.

Emmeline stood at the window of the crooked little drawing-

room, looking across at a second-rate grocer's shop, in the
open doorway of which stood a woman, contemplating the
weather. There was not much else to be contemplated. A
cart jogged slowly by, between the two gazers; but not
many vehicles came this way. The red house stood out of
the main line of traffic.

Emmeline was seventeen years old, and a pretty girl. She

had childishly rounded cheeks, the bright colouring of which
did not fade under fatigue; only the soft dark eyes, usually
dancing with fun, had grown a trifle heavy. Her dainty little
hands held a duster, for she had just finished arranging the
last shelves of unpacked books.

"And now I really don't think there is anything more to be

done," sighed Emmeline.

"Talking to yourself, Em?" asked a gentle voice.

Emmeline's face flashed into immediate brightness, as she

turned towards a pale-faced lady, fragile and sweet-looking.

"O mother! I didn't hear you come in. Yes, I believe I was
doing what that maid called 'siloloquising.' Isn't it a horrid
day? Come and look-out."

"Should we not be better repaid if we studied the fire

instead?"

"Then you'll sit down in this arm-chair—" running to pull it

forward. "And here is a stool—and here is a cushion. I'll
tuck my duster away—and then we can be cosy. So my
father has gone out?"

"He wanted to take you; but I thought it best not, as you

have a cold, and he meant to go some distance."

"Oh, my cold is nothing. I wish you had told me." Emmeline

knelt on the rug looking thoughtfully at a purple flame.
"Mother, Sir Cyril has never been—after all!"

"No."

"Do you think he will come?"

"I can't tell. He meant to do so, I am sure. But he has his

aunt to consider; and she is a friend of Lady Lucas."

"Only he wrote and promised. I don't think he is very fond

of his aunt."

"She brought him up. I suppose he owes her some

submission."

"But he said the Trevelyans would call."

"I dare say they will drop their cards some day."

"Mother—" and a pause.

Mrs. Lucas put back the short dark hair which clustered
round the girl's brow.
"What is your mind so busy about to-day, dear?"

"I'm thinking just now about that old lady—about Lady

Lucas—" resentfully. "I'm glad you don't think I need speak
of her as 'aunt,' because she doesn't certainly behave like
an aunt."

"She would no doubt prefer that you should not."

"Mother, do you suppose she is a good woman?"

"I always suppose every one to be good until I know the

contrary."

"But—" with a half laugh, yet still resentfully—"don't we

know it? If she were good—Mother, she knows all about my
father!" the girl burst out in choked tones.

The mother and daughter did not often allow themselves to

talk of the family skeleton which haunted them. They would
speak in vague terms of the ever-present necessity to
"amuse" and "take care of" the household head; their work
in life being to strengthen his resolution, to ward off peril,
to aid and abet him in the daily fight. But the dread, always
more or less pressing on them, was seldom specifically
alluded to. Once in a way, however, the subject would come
up; and Mrs. Lucas would not check her child's confidence.
She could see now that Emmie's heart was full to
overflowing.

"Yes, dear."

"She knows all that so well. Shouldn't you think, if she were
a really good woman, she would want to do something to
help? She would not leave him alone, to feel dull and
miserable, and perhaps to—Mother, she must know how bad
that is for him—how much harder it makes it for him to
keep on."

"I don't suppose she thinks of the question from his side at
all, but only from her own."

"But then it isn't goodness—it's all selfishness."

"There's a good deal of selfishness among people—yes,

even people who are more or less 'good.' And most people's
'goodness' is very much alloyed—not pure gold—not even
18-carat gold. Only a little gold, mixed with very inferior
metals. I suppose one ought to be glad to find any gold at
all, in anybody."

"I don't believe there is a speck of gold in Lady Lucas."

"Ah, that is just what you and I can't judge. We can't see
with her eyes, you know, or understand exactly how things
look to her. She may be acting most conscientiously even in
keeping away from us. I believe she really is extremely kind
and benevolent—to other people."

"People who don't need it."

"People who do need it."

"Oh—the poor. But then, of course, that is quite easy.

People are praised for being kind to the poor," said
Emmeline shrewdly.

"Yes; and she would not be praised for kindness to us. Her
friends would even say—'How odd!'"

"I would not stop for such a reason."

"It is not at all impossible that Sir Cyril may."

"But it isn't as if my father—It isn't as if all that were not
over—"

"Or rather, as if he were not fighting a brave battle! Even if

it should not just yet be complete victory, I do think he
ought to have help and sympathy . . . But that is not the
way some people judge."

Emmie sighed deeply. "It seems so very very hard," she

said. "When he does try so!"

"Men have to pay the penalty for past wrongdoing," Mrs.

Lucas went on patiently, as if dissecting the question. "We
have to pay it—we with him. Even you, dear. It may seem
hard—suffering for what one has not done. Yet that has to
be. All wrong that is done, brings evil upon others. It is one
of the great mysteries of life. By-and-by, we shall
understand better—the reasons, I mean—the why and the
wherefore. Perhaps not in this life. We can only see now
that it is one of the laws of our being—inevitable, I suppose.
If a mother is careless, her child pays the penalty . . . Your
father suffers for what his father was.

"He said that once to me. Last year—" in smothered

accents. "It frightened me. He said he had inherited the
craving. He said it was born in him. Must one inherit such
things?"

"One person may, and another may not. And if one does
inherit the taste, there is no must be about using it. We
have it in our choice whether to use or not to use the things
we are born with. It is the same all round. You have
inherited two eyes; but whether you use those eyes is at
your own option. If you like to bandage them up all your
life, you will slay them by disuse."

"Mother, I think that's a lovely idea."

"I have had to work these questions out by myself. If a little
child uses his legs, they grow large and strong with
exercise; but if you pack them in cotton-wool and never let
him stand, they will wither and become useless . . . It is the
same with evil things. Suppose you did inherit a taste—that
taste—still it could never grow into a craving, except
through indulgence . . . I think, perhaps, your father did
inherit the inclination—he always says so. But, after all, it
might have been nothing. If he had been guarded as a
child, and brought up to shun the danger, instead of being
incessantly tempted, he might have grown in time as strong
as other men to resist. The weakness of will came through
long yielding. That has made the struggle so hard."

Emmeline drew another long breath, "Then nobody need be

conquered," she said. "Nobody need go down—hopelessly."

"Nobody, Emmie! Never! There is always help to be had—if

only one is willing."

Emmeline dashed away one or two tears. "A carriage at the

door," she said softly. "And—I do think it is Sir Cyril."

Emmeline's flush and brightness sent a pain to the mother's

heart. She could not analyse the causes of her child's
pleasure, and it made her fear for the future. Yet what could
be said or done? For her husband's sake, she might not
check the friendship.

Sir Cyril came in slowly, pale but smiling, his right arm
bound across his chest.

"Oh, you have had an accident?" exclaimed Emmie, in

distressed tones.

"Yes. Did you think me very long in making my

appearance?" with a warm left-handed greeting to each.
He held Emmie's fingers a trifle longer than was quite
necessary. The past talk had deepened to a lovely crimson
the colour in her cheeks; and the soft dark eyes showed
traces of tears, for which Cyril thought the little face looked
all the sweeter. It was a sweet little face, and the very
antipodes of Jean's! Two girls more unlike one another could
hardly have been found. Emmie was dark and rosy, tender
and plump, clinging and kitten-like. Jean was straight,
slender and pale, reserved and independent.

But as for which of the two Sir Cyril admired the most?
Since he himself was unable to answer that question, it is
unlikely that any one else should be able to answer it for
him. He only knew that he liked best for the moment
whichever he happened to be with.

"We hoped to see you soon," Mrs. Lucas made answer, for
Emmie was dumb.

"I should have come days ago, if I hadn't been hors de

combat."

Cyril lowered himself carefully into the offered arm-chair. He

was unable to bear the jar of a quick movement.

"This is the first time I have been out of the house. I am

afraid my aunt will be rather scandalised; but she is gone to
a kettledrum somewhere—"

Cyril did not feel obliged to state that the kettledrum was at
Lady Lucas; the more since his unfortunate word
"scandalised" had brought a faint flush to Mrs. Lucas' cheek.

"So I privately ordered the carriage to be ready to bring me

here, after taking her there. I mustn't stay long—but—"
"I am afraid you are in pain," said Mrs. Lucas, as he broke
off, pressing his lips together.

"Thanks, it can't be helped. We had a dinner-party last

week—the day you came—and the large mirror over the
fireplace came down with a crash. No warning at all. I was
underneath, and the frame just caught me—broke my
collar-bone, and damaged the arm a good deal. I shall be
all right in a few weeks."

"And nobody else was hurt?"

"Luckily not, Jean Trevelyan stepped back just in time. I

should have escaped too, but I stupidly started forward—
heard her father shout, and didn't know what it meant."

"You thought she wanted help?" suggested Emmeline, with

bright eyes.

"I suppose it was a feeling of that sort. I don't know. There

wasn't time to think. One does the sort of thing
instinctively."

"Is that the Miss Trevelyan you want us to know?" asked

Emmie timidly.

"Yes, you will see her soon. She hasn't been yet, I am
afraid, for her father has been ill. I fancy he was unwell
before, and the shock upset him. After he got home, he had
a sort of unconscious attack—not exactly fainting. Dr.
Ingram says he is overworked, and orders—"

Cyril broke off anew, clutching the arm of the chair with his
left hand.

"Emmie, ring for some tea. Sir Cyril looks as if he needed

it."
"I ought not to let you—but—" apologised Cyril, with a
glance at the bell.

He began to feel that he had done a foolish thing in coming

out before leave was granted. The jolting of the carriage
had brought on a fit of pain in the injured arm and shoulder,
momentarily waxing more severe; and Cyril was never good
at enduring pain. It turned him yellow-white; and he dared
not move.

"Don't stir, or try to talk," said Mrs. Lucas. "I am afraid you
ought to have stayed at home. Emmie, dear, that bottle of
strong salts—no, I cannot tell you exactly where it is. I shall
find it more quickly myself."

Mrs. Lucas vanished, and Cyril rested his head against the
chair-back. Emmie stood watching him, with a gaze full of
distressful pity. She was always easily stirred by the sight of
suffering. For some seconds, Cyril was too much occupied
with himself to notice her. Then a fresh stab in the arm
brought an uncontrollable start, a change of posture, and a
sharp drawing in of his breath, as if he hardly knew how to
bear it. A faint sob from Emmie made him look up, to see a
pair of dark eyes overflowing, a pair of sweet lips quivering.
He tried to smile and to reassure her.

"It doesn't matter. I shall be all right presently."

"Oh, but I am so sorry. It is so bad now."

Tea came in, and Emmie could hardly wait for the tray to be
put down. She poured out, and brought the cup to his side,
forgetting to cry in her eagerness.

"Let me hold it, please," she entreated. "You must keep

still."
Cyril obeyed, by no means unwillingly. The dark rosy little
face, with its mingled tears and smiles, looked wondrously
attractive, bending so near his own; and as he lifted his left
hand to steady the cup, it came in contact with her small
soft fingers. She had such a tiny round plump hand, the
very antipodes of Jean's long slender one. The touch sent a
curious sensation through Cyril. He began to wonder—to
feel almost sure—and yet he was not quite sure. He had to
lean back and to close his eyes, till the fit of pain should
lessen; and Mrs. Lucas returned with the salts; and Cyril
tried to analyse his own state of mind, feeling the pulse of
his mental being. But it would not do. He could come to no
conclusion, and thinking made his head ache; so he gave in,
and left matters to settle themselves.

Miss Devereux found out about her nephew's escapade,

although he was safely at home before the carriage went for
her; and she gave it to him hot and strong for his
imprudence. No wickeder word existed for Miss Devereux in
the British vocabulary than that dire word "Imprudence."

Remonstrances and warnings floated over him, however,

almost unnoticed. All the evening, between sharp twinges in
the arm, and dull throbs in the shoulder, he saw Emmie's
soft eyes, dark and tender and overflowing.

Jean's calm light-coloured eyes never looked thus. Dear old

Jean! There was nobody exactly like her in the world—but
she could not vie with Emmie Lucas in bewitching
sweetness.

CHAPTER IX.
 COMPLEXITIES OF LIFE.

"The same old baffling questions! O my friend,

I cannot answer them . . .

• • • • •

"I have no answer for myself or thee,

Save that I learned beside my mother's knee
'All is of God that is, and is to be;
And God is good.' Let this suffice us still,
Resting in childlike trust upon His will
Who moves to His great ends, unthwarted by the ill."
J. G.
WHITTIER.

NEARLY a fortnight had passed since the memorable dinner-

party; and Mr. Trevelyan had been unwell, even ill, all the
fortnight through. That one moment of dire alarm about
Jean appeared to have acted on him as the "last straw,"
minus which he might presumably have fought on a few
weeks longer.

Nobody else would have fought on half as long: so said Dr.

Ingram, called in three days later.

Mr. Trevelyan made nothing of the slight attack of

unconsciousness, which frightened Jean, after their return
home; but all next day he was heavy and listless, unable to
employ himself. He still strove against the need for medical
advice, declaring that a day or two of rest would set him up.
A severe cold next laid hold upon him, however, with
persistent hoarseness, and sharp rheumatic pains; and at
length, he succumbed.

Dr. Ingram found the once vigorous frame of Stewart

Trevelyan enfeebled to an extent which would hardly have
been thought credible by any one who had witnessed only a
few days earlier his apparent energy. The energy had long
been a matter of iron will, not of physical strength; and the
marvel was that a breakdown had not arrived sooner.

"Then I am to take care of myself, as a matter of duty,"

stated Mr. Trevelyan, after listening to Dr. Ingram's opinion.
"Very well. If it is my duty, there's no more to be said."

Mr. Trevelyan's notion of "taking care" might not altogether

coincide with his doctor's; still, so far as his reasoning
faculties were convinced, he promised to make a difference.
He would not for the present walk so far, or sit up so late;
and he would endeavour to be in by sundown—unless
urgently wanted out. Duty to his people would, of course,
come first.

"Duty to them may be included in duty to yourself,"

suggested Dr. Ingram. "If you are not careful, your duty to
them may be short-lived."

"Thanks for plain-speaking. Now I know what I am about,"

said Mr. Trevelyan.

Jean gave herself up to the care of her father; went hither

and thither unweariedly, that he might have the less to do;
and left mere calls upon friends for the future. The Lucases,
like others, had to wait.
To have Mr. Trevelyan even partially incapacitated was a
new experience for Jean. She had never before realised the
amount of work which he daily accomplished without fuss,
for the thorough care of his extensive though not thickly-
populated Parish, until now, when much had to be left
undone, and much rested on her own shoulders.

He was little better yet—one dismally wet day, about a

fortnight after the dinner-party. Cold and hoarseness,
rheumatism and weakness, were persistent; and fight as he
might against these ailments, he could not vanquish them.

For two Sundays, he had been unable to preach from sheer

voicelessness. It was all very well for him to promise "not to
attempt so much as usual." What he did do was the very
utmost that he had power to accomplish; and none knew
this better than Dr. Ingram.

The temperature was barely above freezing-point; and the

intense chill of almost frozen fog and mud and prevailing
damp penetrated everywhere. Mr. Trevelyan had not been
out since lunch; and he had found it impossible to keep
warm, even over the blazing study fire. Rheumatic aching
had him in its grasp; hoarseness was worse; and he looked
so ill that Jean wished it had been Dr. Ingram's day for a
call. He would come on the morrow; and meantime, as
occasional hot baths were ordered, Jean persuaded her
father to take one early, and to go straight to bed. For a
wonder, Mr. Trevelyan complied.

Somewhat later, Jean went softly into his room, to find him
sound asleep; so she moved softly away.

A mass of Parish accounts, which she had taken out of his

hands, required attention. It was past six o'clock, and Jean
counted on a quiet hour for work. Nobody could be
expected to call late on such a day. But hardly had she
taken up her pen, before a quick double tinkle of the back-
door bell sounded.

"Somebody wanting something, I suppose," she murmured,

with a little thrill of impatience.

"If you please, Miss Trevelyan—"

Jean turned to face the parlour-maid, a new and raw

importation.

"Yes, Elizabeth."

"Master's wanted, Miss—very particular."

"My father? He cannot go out."

"There's a man dying, Miss—up the gorge. He's dreadful

bad, and he wants to see master as quick as can be."

"Impossible! Up the gorge, in his state—a day like this.

What is the man's name?"

"Barclay, Miss."

Jean knew what this meant; knew in a moment, as with a

flash. She recalled at once her father's last interview with
Barclay. The man had been especially insolent, threatening
physical force, and Mr. Trevelyan had said at parting, "I
shall not call again at present. I cannot force you to listen.
But remember one thing—if you are in need, send, and I
will come!"

He had told this to Jean on his return; and she understood,

only too well, how he would regard his own promise, as well
as Barclay's necessity.
"Who has brought the message?"

"It's a man who lives near there—Smithson, the name is."

Elizabeth was a stranger to the neighbourhood.

"Call him into the study, please."

Jean was there, waiting, when Smithson entered—a large

and broad-shouldered yet stooping man, with a pale face,
well known to Jean as a member of the choir. He was one of
Jean's greatest devotees, and would have done anything in
the world for Mr. Trevelyan. His home was in a little row of
cottages beyond the V-point; and, as he at once began to
tell Jean, business had taken him that day past Barclay's
solitary cottage. He had not entered it before during
Barclay's tenancy, since the latter's determined seclusion
prevented all intercourse with his neighbours; but a sound
of loud groans induced Smithson to open the door. He found
Barclay struck down by apparently mortal illness, though
still ready to protest that he wanted no help.

Smithson, then on his way to Dutton by a shorter cut than

down the gorge, had lingered only to summon his wife to
the aid of the unhappy man; after which, he sped as quickly
as possible in quest of Mr. Evans, the Parish doctor. No
needless time was lost thenceforward; but the time already
lost had settled the matter.

When Smithson once more passed the cottage, on his way

from Dutton, late in the afternoon, he found his wife still
present, and Barclay in worse agony than before. The
doctor had pronounced it a hopeless case. Too late to do
anything, he said. He would look in again next morning, and
he promised some medicine meantime; but he did not
expect Barclay to outlive the night.
Barclay knew all this, and his one cry, in the face of
approaching death, was for the man he had persistently
repelled.

"Send for the Parson! I must see Mr. Trevelyan. For the love
of heaven, fetch him quick! For pity's sake, make haste!"
were the entreaties and commands gasped out in the midst
of mortal pain.

Smithson tried to speak of Mr. Trevelyan's ill-health, but he

was not so much as listened to.

"For the love of heaven, be quick! I tell you he'll come! He

promised he'd come! For the love of heaven, make haste!"

The labouring breath gave force to these imploring words.

"So I just come off sharp, for I didn't see what else I was to
do," continued Smithson: "and I thought you'd know! If it
wasn't a matter of life and death—! And Mr. Trevelyan that
set on bein' good to him! The times an' agen I've seen him
a-goin' there, and the way he's been treated! But anyway it
wasn't for me to say 'No' to a man, and he dying."

"You don't think it would do to send for Mr. James

Trevelyan? He would go at once."

"Barclay says he'll see none but the Parson, Miss! He's that
bent on it! I asked him, and he shouted out 'No!' louder
than I'd have thought he could. And I doubt there mightn't
be time," in a lower voice. "He's awful bad. The doctor
telled my missis, he might be gone any minute. Seems
hard, if he can't have his dying wish, poor chap! But if Mr.
Trevelyan ain't fit—"

Jean had never in her life so longed, for some one to appeal
to; some one of whom to ask advice. How could she take
upon herself the responsibility of calling her father?—Yet
how could she take upon herself the other responsibility of
not calling him? Jean's was no weak nature, loving to shirk
responsibilities; but this was a terrible ordeal. It might be a
matter of life and death for Mr. Trevelyan! Yet, if Barclay
should die, vainly craving the promised help, because she
had deliberately withheld it—what would her father say?

The echo of that passionate appeal—

"For the love of heaven, be quick!" filled the room, and

entered into Jean's compassionate heart.

She tried to speak of her father's state, of the peril to him

of such an expedition; but the words died on her lips. Jean
knew already that the thing had to be.

"Wait here till I come back," she said; and she went
upstairs.

What ought she to do? That question stood out prominently.

She had no doubt at all as to what her father would expect
her to do; but the question was, ought she to sacrifice him
to the needs of Barclay?—She, his child!

It might mean the sacrifice of his health, if not worse. Jean

faced this fact. In his weakened state, a long walk in such
weather after dark might mean a fatal chill. The possibility
was not so vivid for Jean, as it would have been for most
people, since she been educated to disregard questions of
health; still she was conscious of danger. Dr. Ingram had
spoken serious warnings.

If she awakened her father, and appealed to his judgment,

he would go. Jean knew this perfectly well. He had never
been used to put his own comfort or safety before the
needs of his people; and she knew that he would not do so
now. By calling him, Jean would practically decide the
matter.

He would inevitably blame her if she did not call him; he

would be displeased—nay, more than displeased, absolutely
wrathful. Jean had never yet dared to go against Mr.
Trevelyan's iron will; but she had it in her to dare, if only
she could feel herself right in so going. She would be able to
face his anger, if only convinced of what ought to be done.
Would she be right to leave him in ignorance of Barclay's
state?

Jean had fought the same battle many a time in miniature;

but she had never known so hard a fight. She could far
more easily have sacrificed herself than another. That her
lips should be the ones to summon him to peril was bitter
indeed. Yet from the main question she did not flinch. If the
thing were right, she would do it. Many a woman in her
place would have very easily decided to let Mr. Trevelyan
sleep on, sending the messenger to Jem; but with Jean,
such a course of action was impossible, unless she
deliberately felt it to be her duty. Then she would be strong
to do, and brave to endure all consequences. But if she saw
distinctly the peril to her father, she saw no less distinctly
the reverse side of the matter—Barclay's need, and Mr.
Trevelyan's responsibility.

He was sleeping still when she entered the room; drops of

heat and weakness standing on his brow; the face drawn
and thin. A great wave of distress and perplexity rolled over
Jean. She to have to rouse him from his quiet sleep; to
send him forth into the chill evening air; to summon him,
perhaps, to his death. And for what? For a graceless wretch
who, during long months, had stubbornly resisted Mr.
Trevelyan's kindness, had utterly refused his offered help.
And yet—if she did not?

Barclay had had a loveless and embittering life. He had

been almost without softening influences. If now, at last, he
were repentant—if in his dire extremity and ignorance, he
craved help—if Mr. Trevelyan alone could give that help—
might Jean, dared Jean, deny it to him, knowing her
father's great pity for and interest in the man?

She held the bedstead with one hand, looking down on the
worn face, and tried to imagine herself in Mr. Trevelyan's
position—bound by his duties and responsibilities, bound
also in this case by a particular promise, Jean knew at once,
with vivid certainty, that she would count herself bound to
go, irrespective of personal risk; that she would expect to
be called; that she would blame severely any one who
should venture to deny to her the choice.

Suppose Mr. Trevelyan were allowed to sleep, unknowing;

suppose Smithson were sent on, two miles further, to find
Jem; suppose meanwhile Barclay died; suppose Mr.
Trevelyan should wake up next morning to find things thus
—Barclay dead, the promise not kept, the longed-for words
not spoken, all through Jean's refusal, and all a part of the
irrevocable past!

Jean shuddered, with a sick dread, at the thought of his

look.

Yet she could have done it, could have dared all, had she
felt sure she would be doing rightly. But that she could not
feel. She pictured herself, for one moment in Barclay's
place! Then came another question, "If CHRIST were here,
would HE hold back?"

"Father," she said quietly.

He did not move.

"Father!"

"Jean! Yes."

"I don't quite know what to do."

"Something happened? Yes—tell me."

He was wide awake in a moment.

"A man up the gorge is ill—and he has sent. Don't you think
we can ask Jem to go?"

"Wants me?"

"Smithson has brought the message."

"Who is it?"

"Barclay. He is very ill—dying."

"And he has sent for me?"

"You can't go. It is impossible!" That side of the matter was

all Jean could see now. The responsibility lay with her father
since she had called him, and she would do all in her power
to keep him back. "You can't go. It is so cold and wet—a
dreadful evening—and you are not well enough."

"I can't help that. Run, my dear. I shall be ready in a few

minutes."

"If it were anywhere else—where you could drive! But up

the gorge—"
"Yes. Is Smithson still here? Tell him to wait for me. I shall
be glad of his arm, going uphill. You don't know what is
wrong with Barclay?"

"It is an acute attack—something internal, I fancy. Mr.

Evans has seen him, and says nothing can be done. He is in
great pain."

"Run away, my dear."

"Father, you don't think—if I were to go to the cottage with

Smithson, and tell him Jem would come? The gardener
could go for Jem."

"You need not be afraid. A man can always do his duty. I

will wrap up well, and take all precautions. Make me a cup
of hot coffee, if you like—and give Smithson some too."

Jean retreated, with a terrible weight at her heart; ran

down to speak to Smithson; ordered the coffee; then
rushed upstairs to don hat and ulster. But disappointment
awaited her. When Mr. Trevelyan appeared, a negative
movement of his head greeted the outdoor apparel.

"No, Jean."

"I am coming, of course?"—desperately.

"No; it is unnecessary. You have had a great deal to do

lately, and you are tired—" which was true, though Jean
imagined he had not seen it. "You can do no possible good
by coming; and I don't wish you to be there . . . It is
practically almost a one-roomed cottage—every sound
heard. Stay at home, and keep up good fires."

"You needn't be afraid, Miss," put in Smithson. "I'll see him

home safe—I promise you."
"You will not let my father come back alone?"

"No, Miss Trevelyan, I won't! Not if it's ever so!"

Jean was fain to submit. She knew from her father's face,
the uselessness of further protest.

He drank his coffee, allowed her to put his comforter over

his mouth, gave a little parting smile of encouragement,
and was off.

Jean followed him to the front door, where the cold chill of
the almost freezing fog struck them as with an invisible
hand. Then she was ordered back; but not before the
thought came—what would the gorge be like, on such an
evening? For herself, she would have thought nothing of it;
but for Mr. Trevelyan—!

Jean took off her walking things, and resolutely returned to

the Parish accounts, putting from her as far as possible the
fears which sought to obtain dominion.

She had wanted a quiet hour, and now she had it. The
Parish accounts were gainers thereby; but at the hour's
end, Jean could do no more. Even her self-mastery for once
failed under the strain. She could neither work nor read, but
could only walk to and fro, restlessly questioning with
herself; one moment bitterly regretting her own action; the
next, feeling that if all should come over again, no other
decision would be possible. She knew well that, if she had
not called her father, she would be quite as unhappy now
from the opposite cause.

Another ring—this time at the front door—and James

Trevelyan walked in.
"Jem, if you had only come an hour ago!" was his
unexpected greeting.

"Why, Jean! You are as pale as a ghost."

"My father has been so unwell to-day; and he has gone up

the gorge."

"Whew! Nice afternoon!"

Jem held two cold hands to the fire, and examined Jean
with kind eyes. He had rarely seen her so troubled. She
grew whiter as she told him what had passed, and sought
his face sorrowfully for an opinion.

"What do you think? Was I right? Could I do anything else?"

"You had hardly a right to decide for your father. I wish he

had not felt obliged to go."

"He promised, you know! Not that that makes much

difference. He would have gone anyhow. But if it should
make him worse—Jem, shall I have done wrongly?"

"Questions of right and wrong don't hinge upon

consequences."

"You would have done the same in my place?"

"Can't be sure. I might not have had the courage."

"I almost thought I hadn't the courage not to call him."

"Would it not have been easier to face his displeasure than

to risk doing him harm? Be just to yourself, Jean."

Jean smiled. "I see," she said. "Yes—then it really was

conscience. One gets so puzzled . . . And to have to settle