His cousin, John Rashleigh, was substantially
kind to him.  He housed him, and had
educated him liberally; but; for the more
immaterial kindnesses of tender look or gracious
word, of indulgences granted by the generosity
of love, of gifts or pleasures beyond strict
deserving, the boy had grown up absolutely
without them. Hope, too, had used towards
him all the insolence which girls of a certain
type are so fond of showing towards young men,
no matter what their degree; adding to this
haughtiness the tyranny and domination to
which every one within her sphere was
forced to submit. But Grantley accepted
all her girlish impertinences with unwavering
good humour and that patience of the stronger
which is so large and calm; never seeming to
see what would have fired many another youth
to saucy retaliation, but, always master of
himself, returning good for evil, smiles for
jeers, obedience for command, and service for
ingratitude.  And yet he was not mean spirited.

Hope was now seventeen —Grantley two years
older. She was a tall, slight, fair girl, with
dark eyes to which straight brows and long
lashes gave a mingled expression of fire and
softness; her hair, which waved in broad
undulations and was of a pure golden brown, was
thrown back from her face and left loose and
wandering about her neck; her lips were full
and finely curved; but the general tone of her
face and manners altogether was that of pride and
self will, with an underflow of loving warmth
if it could but be reached. As yet no one had
reached it save her father, and even he was not
loved in proportion to the love he gave, as
is the sorrowful law of life. The universal
feeling in the neighbourhood where she lived
was, that Miss Hope Rashleigh wanted her
master, and that a little stiff tribulation would
be the making of her.

Hope had one quality which, counted much in
the blotting out of her sins: she was generous.
In this she went beyond her father by many
degrees, for he was only just, and when he was
more than just he was proud and bestowed
from ostentation rather than from generosity—
as a duty owing to his own dignity and
condition, not as the duty of kindliness to
others. She, on the contrary, gave from the
affluence of her nature, because making presents
was a pleasure in itself, and alleviating suffering
her instinct. No one who came to her was
ever sent away empty handed; and if she was
more than usually exacting and impatient with
her servants, she healed their wounds so
liberally that they all said "a bad day with Miss
Hope was equal to a month's wages any time."

This was the only point on which her father
ever checked her. He made her a liberal
allowance, more than sufficient for her own wants
had they been double what they were; but as
she was for ever behindhand, owing to her
bounties, he had to make up her deficiencies
at the end of the quarter; vowing that this
should be the last time, and that he must
positively, for her own sake, let her learn the value
of money. But the last time had never come
yet.

At last Grantley's was offered an Indian
appointment, which, though of small value in
the beginning, promised well, and was sure to
lead to a favourable future if he were found
capable and steady. There was no question
of doubt or hesitation in the matter; he must
go, willing or unwilling. Penniless young men,
kept long idle at home, are generally glad
enough of good appointments where they can
make their fortunes: but his cousin noticed
that he turned deadly pale as he spoke, and
Hope caught a look such as she had never
seen in his eyes before, and which sent all
the blood in a thick wave of mingled passions
round her heart.

A few days before Grantley's departure, Hope
was walking in the shrubbery by the long
field.  She had been rather dull of late. Hope
Rashleigh could get out of temper. Presently,
up the long path where she was walking came
Grantley with his gun and his game-bag. He,
too, was dull. Glad and grateful as he was for
that Indian appointment, he had never been
quite himself since it had been made; though
his gravity and preoccupation were perhaps only
natural in a thoughtful youth on the eve of
entering the world on his own account, and
with all his future depending on himself alone.
As he came nearer, Hope raised her eyes from the
book she had been reading; at least not exactly
reading, since she was holding it upside down;
and as she looked she coloured.

"I am going to get you a partridge, Miss
Hope," said Grantley, stopping for a moment as
he came near to her. He always called her
Miss Hope.

"I dare say the partridges will be safe enough
from your gun," said Hope, insolently.  But
she did not look at him as she spoke; and
somehow her insolence seemed a little put on and
forced.

"Oh! that is scarcely fair," said Grantley,
smiling."   I may be good for very little, Miss
Hope, but I am a pretty fair shot."

"At least you say so of yourself.  I never
believe boasters," answered Hope, carelessly.

"Is knowing an insignificant thing like this,
a bit of skill which any one can attain by
practice —and not being proud of it, boasting?"
Grantley asked, gently.

"I do not condescend to argue with you,"
cried Hope, shaking back her hair."  You are
very rude to contradict me."

"I do not wish to contradict you, Miss
Hope," replied Grantley, in a sweet grave
voice; "but you must not think me rude
because I do not like you to have a mean
opinion of me, and try to set you right."

The blood rushed over Hope's face, and she
turned away abruptly.

"I am going away —perhaps forever," then
said Grantley after a short pause, speaking in a
low voice but not looking at his cousin —
looking down instead, occupied about the stock of
his gun which just then needed an extra polish;