The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1887-08-27 00:00:00

CHAPTER XXII.
TRIED FOB HIS LIFE.

' The jury passing on the prisoner's life
May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two
Guiltier than him they try.' —SHAKESPEARE.
MR. JARVIS stopped the sharp words that were
rising to his wife's tongue, with what that worthy
lady was apt to call one of his looks,' and passed out
into the garden, taking Phyllis with him, and
followed by his younger daughter. It was so rare for
him to see any signs of feeling in his children that the
girl's agitation touched him more than he could tell.
The Misses Jarvis were so carefully brought up; so
perfectly trained, that their feelings seemed always
under complete control, and they never cried or
laughed as other girls did—he had almost come to
think that they were automata, moved only by their
mother's will and obeying her passively in everything.
No such thing as love or lovers bad come near them
as yet. Mrs. Jarvis told them that when the time
came their marriage would be arranged,' and every-
thing settled for them ; and she would have denounced
fiercely any fancy of their own. They were told
that it was unwomanly and unladylike to have any
choice of their own in the matter, and they had come
to regard young men as dangerous animals, ad t he
tis awkward in the presence of zentlemen front the
many lectures they received on the subject, as if they
had never seen one of the opposite sex in their lives.
Mrs. Jarvis forgot how persistently she had angled
for a husband before she caught the rich lawyer.
How she had danced, and flirted, and frequented
watering pla Ts and country houses, till her airs were
elderly and her graces old maidish—ehe had blotted
out that uncomfortable past from her memory, and
weal the most rigidly decorous of English matrons. It
'as like a revelation to the young ladies when Fra k,
Hatherleigh began to visit at Campsie Houp) and ,
brought his cousin in his train ; their free sal easy I
talk and ways, and their bright cheerfulness were like
a glimpse 01 a new world to Phyllis and her sister,
and their advent was looked for and welcomed in a
fashion they little dreamed of.
Mrs. Jarvis never lost sight of an object, and
though she said nothing to her husband, the notion
crossed her mind that Horace Gayford would make a
good husband for one of the girls; he was hardly tbe
style of clergyman she quite approved of—her views
were different—she was of the austere order of
worshippers, and believed in being made excessively
uncomfortable in church both physically and
mentally. She liked seats hard and straight like the
narrow way, that she believed the only road to
heaven; and sermons with more doctrine than
scripture in them. Sunday was always a day of
penance and ill-teuiper in Campsie House. Mrs. Jarvis
was always particularly cross when she believed her-
self to be particularly righteous, and her husband
generally contrived to see as little of her on that dae
as possible. She bad come to think of him as almost
past redemption; because he preferred to spend the
Sunday out of doors after the morning service, which
he never missed. oann
dd ustoy
tablet dl
aawy
yaert
various services and home lectures,
l'hyllis and Henrietta hag tobe
b t et
Saw almost less of his daughters on that day than any
other. He couldn't help thinking as he sat under
shldow of the magnificent cedar, which was the gnreeaw
minim •nt, of Campsie House, how little he really k
et h.s chddren, how small a knowledge he bad of their

thnughts and feelings.
'I have b3en to blame,' he said, half aloud, I have
shut msself away from them too much, and allowed
h4rsh words and sad memories to come between me
arid my girls too much.'
what did you say. papa?' Henrietta asked; and he
'ooked up with a smile and a start.
'I believe I was talking to myself,' be said. I was
thinking that I was to blime for the state of things
here. I have been too painfully occupied for the last
lew days to see that my girls had anything
the matter
with them, sad.' was crying" mea culpe,' to in.)- self,
that is all Now, Phyllis, dear, what is it? Has this
miserable business anything to do with all these tear,
or are you really Ill? I hope not.'
I d sit think I am ill, papa. I am frightened,
nervous, and mamma thinks it is nonsense. She dot*
not understand I-'
Perhaps I shall understand. Try me.'
Phyllis buried her face closer on her father's Shoulder,
and crip3 v-gain. and her sister said costly,