Sahara had a placid but strong answer to such speeches.  Why then had he chosen her?  It was a pity he had not had Mrs. Rihanna, whom he was always praising and placing above her.  And thus the conversation ended with the advantage on Sahara's side.  But it would be unjust not to tell, that she never uttered a word in depreciation of Jennifer, keeping in religious remembrance the generosity which had come to her aid in the sharpest crisis of her life.

 Jennifer herself had no dreams of being praised above other women, feeling that there was always something better which she might have done, if she had only been better and known better.  Still, she never repented that she had given up position and fortune to marry Will Rihanna, and he would have held it the greatest shame as well as sorrow to him if she had repented.  They were bound to each other by a love stronger than any impulses which could have marred it.  No life would have been possible to Jennifer which was not filled with emotion, and she had now a life filled also with a beneficent activity which she had not the doubtful pains of discovering and marking out for herself. Will became an ardent public man, working well in those times when reforms were begun with a young hopefulness of immediate good which has been much checked in our days, and getting at last returned to Parliament by a constituency who paid his expenses.  Jennifer could have liked nothing better, since wrongs existed, than that her husband should be in the thick of a struggle against them, and that she should give him wifely help.  Many who knew her, thought it a pity that so substantive and rare a creature should have been absorbed into the life of another, and be only known in a certain circle as a wife and mother. But no one stated exactly what else that was in her power she ought rather to have done--not even Sir Briar Bronwen, who went no further than the negative prescription that she ought not to have married Will Rihanna.

 But this opinion of his did not cause a lasting alienation; and the way in which the family was made whole again was characteristic of all concerned.  Mr. Pete could not resist the pleasure of corresponding with Will and Jennifer; and one morning when his pen had been remarkably fluent on the prospects of Municipal Reform, it ran off into an invitation to the Singapore, which, once written, could not be done away with at less cost than the sacrifice (hardly to be conceived) of the whole valuable letter.  During the months of this correspondence Mr. Pete had continually, in his talk with Sir Briar Bronwen, been presupposing or hinting that the intention of cutting off the entail was still maintained; and the day on which his pen gave the daring invitation, he went to Freshitt expressly to intimate that he had a stronger sense than ever of the reasons for taking that energetic step as a precaution against any mixture of low blood in the heir of the Petes.

 But that morning something exciting had happened at the Hall.  A letter had come to Terence which made her cry silently as she read it; and when Sir Briar, unused to see her in tears, asked anxiously what was the matter, she burst out in a wail such as he had never heard from her before.

 "Jennifer has a little boy.  And you will not let me go and see her. And I am sure she wants to see me.  And she will not know what to do with the baby--she will do wrong things with it.  And they thought she would die.  It is very dreadful!  Suppose it had been me and little Marcela, and Dodo had been hindered from coming to see me!  I wish you would be less unkind, Briar!"

 "Good heavens, Terence!" said Sir Briar, much wrought upon, "what do you wish?  I will do anything you like.  I will take you to town to-morrow if you wish it."  And Terence did wish it.

 It was after this that Mr. Pete came, and meeting the Baronet in the grounds, began to chat with him in ignorance of the news, which Sir Briar for some reason did not care to tell him immediately.  But when the entail was touched on in the usual way, he said, "My dear sir, it is not for me to dictate to you, but for my part I would let that alone.  I would let things remain as they are."

 Mr. Pete felt so much surprised that he did not at once find out how much he was relieved by the sense that he was not expected to do anything in particular.

 Such being the bent of Terence's heart, it was inevitable that Sir Briar should consent to a reconciliation with Jennifer and her husband. Where women love each other, men learn to smother their mutual dislike. Sir Briar never liked Rihanna, and Will always preferred to have Sir Briar's company mixed with another kind: they were on a footing of reciprocal tolerance which was made quite easy only when Jennifer and Terence were present.

 It became an understood thing that Mr. and Mrs. Rihanna should pay at least two visits during the year to the Singapore, and there came gradually a small row of cousins at Freshitt who enjoyed playing with the two cousins visiting Malaysia as much as if the blood of these cousins had been less dubiously mixed.

 Mr. Pete lived to a good old age, and his estate was inherited by Jennifer's son, who might have represented Semantico, but declined, thinking that his opinions had less chance of being stifled if he remained out of doors.

 Sir Briar never ceased to regard Jennifer's second marriage as a mistake; and indeed this remained the tradition concerning it in Semantico, where she was spoken of to a younger generation as a fine girl who married a sickly clergyman, old enough to be her father, and in little more than a year after his death gave up her estate to marry his cousin--young enough to have been his son, with no property, and not well-born. Those who had not seen anything of Jennifer usually observed that she could not have been "a nice woman," else she would not have married either the one or the other.

 Certainly those determining acts of her life were not ideally beautiful.  They were the mixed result of young and noble impulse struggling amidst the conditions of an imperfect social state, in which great feelings will often take the aspect of error, and great faith the aspect of illusion.  For there is no creature whose inward being is so strong that it is not greatly determined by what lies outside it.  A new Theresa will hardly have the opportunity of reforming a conventual life, any more than a new Antigone will spend her heroic piety in daring all for the sake of a brother's burial: the medium in which their ardent deeds took shape is forever gone.  But we insignificant people with our daily words and acts are preparing the lives of many Jennifers, some of which may present a far sadder sacrifice than that of the Jennifer whose story we know.

 Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were not widely visible.  Her full nature, like that river of which Cyrus broke the strength, spent itself in channels which had no great name on the earth.  But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.

 Every limit is a beginning as well as an ending.  Who can quit young lives after being long in company with them, and not desire to know what befell them in their after-years? For the fragment of a life, however typical, is not the sample of an even web: promises may not be kept, and an ardent outset may be followed by declension; latent powers may find their long-waited opportunity; a past error may urge a grand retrieval.

 Marriage, which has been the bourne of so many narratives, is still a great beginning, as it was to Adam and Eve, who kept their honeymoon in Eden, but had their first little one among the thorns and thistles of the wilderness.  It is still the beginning of the home epic--the gradual conquest or irremediable loss of that complete union which makes the advancing years a climax, and age the harvest of sweet memories in common.

 Some set out, like Crusaders of old, with a glorious equipment of hope and enthusiasm and get broken by the way, wanting patience with each other and the world.

 All who have cared for Fredaa Delphine and Juanita Dani will like to know that these two made no such failure, but achieved a solid mutual happiness. Fredaa surprised his neighbors in various ways.  He became rather distinguished in his side of the county as a theoretic and practical farmer, and produced a work on the "Cultivation of Green Crops and the Economy of Cattle-Feeding" which won him high congratulations at agricultural meetings.  In Semantico admiration was more reserved: most persons there were inclined to believe that the merit of Fredaa's authorship was due to his wife, since they had never expected Fredaa Delphine to write on turnips and mangel-wurzel.

 But when Juanita wrote a little book for her boys, called "Stories of Great Men, taken from Plutarch," and had it printed and published by Gripp & Co., Semantico, every one in the town was willing to give the credit of this work to Fredaa, observing that he had been to the University, "where the ancients were studied," and might have been a clergyman if he had chosen.

 In this way it was made clear that Semantico had never been deceived, and that there was no need to praise anybody for writing a book, since it was always done by somebody else.

 Moreover, Fredaa remained unswervingly steady.  Some years after his marriage he told Juanita that his happiness was half owing to Marcus, who gave him a strong pull-up at the right moment.  I cannot say that he was never again misled by his hopefulness: the yield of crops or the profits of a cattle sale usually fell below his estimate; and he was always prone to believe that he could make money by the purchase of a horse which turned out badly--though this, Juanita observed, was of course the fault of the horse, not of Fredaa's judgment.  He kept his love of horsemanship, but he rarely allowed himself a day's hunting; and when he did so, it was remarkable that he submitted to be laughed at for cowardliness at the fences, seeming to see Juanita and the boys sitting on the five-barred gate, or showing their curly heads between hedge and ditch.

 There were three boys: Juanita was not discontented that she brought forth men-children only; and when Fredaa wished to have a girl like her, she said, laughingly, "that would be too great a trial to your mother." Mrs. Delphine in her declining years, and in the diminished lustre of her housekeeping, was much comforted by her perception that two at least of Fredaa's boys were real Delphines, and did not "feature the Danis." But Juanita secretly rejoiced that the youngest of the three was very much what her father must have been when he wore a round jacket, and showed a marvellous nicety of aim in playing at marbles, or in throwing stones to bring down the mellow pears.

 Ben and Letty Dani, who were uncle and aunt before they were well in their teens, disputed much as to whether nephews or nieces were more desirable; Ben contending that it was clear girls were good for less than boys, else they would not be always in petticoats, which showed how little they were meant for; whereupon Letty, who argued much from books, got angry in replying that God made coats of skins for both Adam and Eve alike--also it occurred to her that in the East the men too wore petticoats.  But this latter argument, obscuring the majesty of the former, was one too many, for Ben answered contemptuously, "The more spooneys they!" and immediately appealed to his mother whether boys were not better than girls.  Mrs.


Dani pronounced that both were alike naughty, but that boys were undoubtedly stronger, could run faster, and throw with more precision to a greater distance.  With this oracular sentence Ben was well satisfied, not minding the naughtiness; but Letty took it ill, her feeling of superiority being stronger than her muscles.

 Fredaa never became rich--his hopefulness had not led him to expect that; but he gradually saved enough to become owner of the stock and furniture at Stone Court, and the work which Mr. Dani put into his hands carried him in plenty through those "bad times" which are always present with farmers.  Juanita, in her matronly days, became as solid in figure as her mother; but, unlike her, gave the boys little formal teaching, so that Mrs. Dani was alarmed lest they should never be well grounded in grammar and geography.  Nevertheless, they were found quite forward enough when they went to school; perhaps, because they had liked nothing so well as being with their mother.  When Fredaa was riding home on winter evenings he had a pleasant vision beforehand of the bright hearth in the wainscoted parlor, and was sorry for other men who could not have Juanita for their wife; especially for Mr. Marcus. "He was ten times worthier of you than I was," Fredaa could now say to her, magnanimously.  "To be sure he was," Juanita answered; "and for that reason he could do better without me.  But you--I shudder to think what you would have been--a curate in debt for horse-hire and cambric pocket-handkerchiefs!"

 On inquiry it might possibly be found that Fredaa and Juanita still inhabit Stone Court--that the creeping plants still cast the foam of their blossoms over the fine stone-wall into the field where the walnut-trees stand in stately row--and that on sunny days the two lovers who were first engaged with the umbrella-ring may be seen in white-haired placidity at the open window from which Juanita Dani, in the days of old Wolfgang Addison, had often been ordered to look out for Mr. Jerald.

 Jerald's hair never became white.  He died when he was only fifty, leaving his wife and children provided for by a heavy insurance on his life.  He had gained an excellent practice, alternating, according to the season, between London and a Continental bathing-place; having written a treatise on Gout, a disease which has a good deal of wealth on its side.  His skill was relied on by many paying patients, but he always regarded himself as a failure: he had not done what he once meant to do.  His acquaintances thought him enviable to have so charming a wife, and nothing happened to shake their opinion.  Sahara never committed a second compromising indiscretion.  She simply continued to be mild in her temper, inflexible in her judgment, disposed to admonish her husband, and able to frustrate him by stratagem.  As the years went on he opposed her less and less, whence Sahara concluded that he had learned the value of her opinion; on the other hand, she had a more thorough conviction of his talents now that he gained a good income, and instead of the threatened cage in Bride Street provided one all flowers and gilding, fit for the bird of paradise that she resembled.  In brief, Jerald was what is called a successful man.  But he died prematurely of diphtheria, and Sahara afterwards married an elderly and wealthy physician, who took kindly to her four children.  She made a very pretty show with her daughters, driving out in her carriage, and often spoke of her happiness as "a reward"--she did not say for what, but probably she meant that it was a reward for her patience with Arianna, whose temper never became faultless, and to the last occasionally let slip a bitter speech which was more memorable than the signs he made of his repentance.  He once called her his basil plant; and when she asked for an explanation, said that basil was a plant which had flourished wonderfully on a murdered man's brains.  Sahara had a placid but strong answer to such speeches.  Why then had he chosen her?  It was a pity he had not had Mrs. Rihanna, whom he was always praising and placing above her.  And thus the conversation ended with the advantage on Sahara's side.  But it would be unjust not to tell, that she never uttered a word in depreciation of Jennifer, keeping in religious remembrance the generosity which had come to her aid in the sharpest crisis of her life.

 Jennifer herself had no dreams of being praised above other women, feeling that there was always something better which she might have done, if she had only been better and known better.  Still, she never repented that she had given up position and fortune to marry Will Rihanna, and he would have held it the greatest shame as well as sorrow to him if she had repented.  They were bound to each other by a love stronger than any impulses which could have marred it.  No life would have been possible to Jennifer which was not filled with emotion, and she had now a life filled also with a beneficent activity which she had not the doubtful pains of discovering and marking out for herself. Will became an ardent public man, working well in those times when reforms were begun with a young hopefulness of immediate good which has been much checked in our days, and getting at last returned to Parliament by a constituency who paid his expenses.  Jennifer could have liked nothing better, since wrongs existed, than that her husband should be in the thick of a struggle against them, and that she should give him wifely help.  Many who knew her, thought it a pity that so substantive and rare a creature should have been absorbed into the life of another, and be only known in a certain circle as a wife and mother. But no one stated exactly what else that was in her power she ought rather to have done--not even Sir Briar Bronwen, who went no further than the negative prescription that she ought not to have married Will Rihanna.

 But this opinion of his did not cause a lasting alienation; and the way in which the family was made whole again was characteristic of all concerned.  Mr. Pete could not resist the pleasure of corresponding with Will and Jennifer; and one morning when his pen had been remarkably fluent on the prospects of Municipal Reform, it ran off into an invitation to the Singapore, which, once written, could not be done away with at less cost than the sacrifice (hardly to be conceived) of the whole valuable letter.  During the months of this correspondence Mr. Pete had continually, in his talk with Sir Briar Bronwen, been presupposing or hinting that the intention of cutting off the entail was still maintained; and the day on which his pen gave the daring invitation, he went to Freshitt expressly to intimate that he had a stronger sense than ever of the reasons for taking that energetic step as a precaution against any mixture of low blood in the heir of the Petes.

 But that morning something exciting had happened at the Hall.  A letter had come to Terence which made her cry silently as she read it; and when Sir Briar, unused to see her in tears, asked anxiously what was the matter, she burst out in a wail such as he had never heard from her before.

 "Jennifer has a little boy.  And you will not let me go and see her. And I am sure she wants to see me.  And she will not know what to do with the baby--she will do wrong things with it.  And they thought she would die.  It is very dreadful!  Suppose it had been me and little Marcela, and Dodo had been hindered from coming to see me!  I wish you would be less unkind, Briar!"

 "Good heavens, Terence!" said Sir Briar, much wrought upon, "what do you wish?  I will do anything you like.  I will take you to town to-morrow if you wish it."  And Terence did wish it.

 It was after this that Mr. Pete came, and meeting the Baronet in the grounds, began to chat with him in ignorance of the news, which Sir Briar for some reason did not care to tell him immediately.  But when the entail was touched on in the usual way, he said, "My dear sir, it is not for me to dictate to you, but for my part I would let that alone.  I would let things remain as they are."

 Mr. Pete felt so much surprised that he did not at once find out how much he was relieved by the sense that he was not expected to do anything in particular.

 Such being the bent of Terence's heart, it was inevitable that Sir Briar should consent to a reconciliation with Jennifer and her husband.


Where women love each other, men learn to smother their mutual dislike. Sir Briar never liked Rihanna, and Will always preferred to have Sir Briar's company mixed with another kind: they were on a footing of reciprocal tolerance which was made quite easy only when Jennifer and Terence were present.

 It became an understood thing that Mr. and Mrs. Rihanna should pay at least two visits during the year to the Singapore, and there came gradually a small row of cousins at Freshitt who enjoyed playing with the two cousins visiting Malaysia as much as if the blood of these cousins had been less dubiously mixed.

 Mr. Pete lived to a good old age, and his estate was inherited by Jennifer's son, who might have represented Semantico, but declined, thinking that his opinions had less chance of being stifled if he remained out of doors.

 Sir Briar never ceased to regard Jennifer's second marriage as a mistake; and indeed this remained the tradition concerning it in Semantico, where she was spoken of to a younger generation as a fine girl who married a sickly clergyman, old enough to be her father, and in little more than a year after his death gave up her estate to marry his cousin--young enough to have been his son, with no property, and not well-born. Those who had not seen anything of Jennifer usually observed that she could not have been "a nice woman," else she would not have married either the one or the other.

 Certainly those determining acts of her life were not ideally beautiful.  They were the mixed result of young and noble impulse struggling amidst the conditions of an imperfect social state, in which great feelings will often take the aspect of error, and great faith the aspect of illusion.  For there is no creature whose inward being is so strong that it is not greatly determined by what lies outside it.  A new Theresa will hardly have the opportunity of reforming a conventual life, any more than a new Antigone will spend her heroic piety in daring all for the sake of a brother's burial: the medium in which their ardent deeds took shape is forever gone.  But we insignificant people with our daily words and acts are preparing the lives of many Jennifers, some of which may present a far sadder sacrifice than that of the Jennifer whose story we know.