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Principles of Data Science
Copyright © 2024 Packt Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher,
except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

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Packt Publishing has endeavored to provide trademark information about all of the companies and
products mentioned in this book by the appropriate use of capitals. However, Packt Publishing cannot
guarantee the accuracy of this information.

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Publishing Product Manager: Tejashwini R

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First published: December 2016

Second edition: December 2018

Third edition: Jan 2024

Production reference: 1120124

Published by Packt Publishing Ltd.

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ISBN 978-1-83763-630-3
I have dedicated many books to many loved ones in the past, and for this edition, I want to
dedicate this work to the people of Packt Publishing, who not only gave me my first chance at
writing a book when I was early in my career but have stuck by me and continued to release
editions with me since.
Thank you to everyone at Packt Publishing for all of your hard work, patience, and dedication
to my work!
 – Sinan Ozdemir

Contributor

About the author

Sinan Ozdemir is an active lecturer on large language models and a former lecturer of data science
at Johns Hopkins University. He is the author of multiple textbooks on data science and machine
learning, including Quick Start Guide to LLMs. Sinan is currently the founder of LoopGenius, which
uses AI to help people and businesses boost their sales, and was previously the founder of the
acquired Kylie.ai, an enterprise-grade conversational AI platform with RPA capabilities. He holds a
master’s degree in pure mathematics from Johns Hopkins University and is based in San Francisco.

About the reviewer

Jigyasa Grover, a 10-time award winner in AI and open source and the co-author of the book
Sculpting Data for ML, is a powerhouse brimming with passion to make a dent in this world of
technology and bridge the gaps. With years of machine learning engineering and data science
experience in deploying large‐scale systems for monetization on social networking and e‐commerce
platforms, she primarily focuses on ad prediction, sponsored content ranking, and recommendation.
She is an avid proponent of open source and credits her access to opportunities and career growth to
this sphere of community development. In her spirit to build a powerful community with a strong
belief in the axiom, “We rise by lifting others,” she actively mentors developers and machine learning
enthusiasts.
Table of Contents

Preface

Data Science Terminology

What is data science?
Understanding basic data science terminology
Why data science?
Example – predicting COVID-19 with machine learning
The data science Venn diagram
The math
Computer programming
Example – parsing a single tweet
Domain knowledge
Some more terminology
Data science case studies
Case study – automating government paper pushing
Case study – what’s in a job description?
Summary

Types of Data
Structured versus unstructured data
Quantitative versus qualitative data
Digging deeper
The four levels of data
The nominal level
Measures of center
The ordinal level
The interval level
The ratio level
Data is in the eye of the beholder
Summary
Questions and answers

The Five Steps of Data Science

Introduction to data science
Overview of the five steps
Exploring the data
Guiding questions for data exploration
DataFrames
Series
Exploration tips for qualitative data
Summary

Basic Mathematics
Basic symbols and terminology
Vectors and matrices
Arithmetic symbols
Summation
Logarithms/exponents
Set theory
Linear algebra
Matrix multiplication
How to multiply matrices together
Summary

Impossible or Improbable – A Gentle Introduction to

Probability
Basic definitions
What do we mean by “probability”?
Bayesian versus frequentist
Frequentist approach
The law of large numbers
Compound events
Conditional probability
How to utilize the rules of probability
The addition rule
Mutual exclusivity
The multiplication rule
Independence
Complementary events
Introduction to binary classifiers
Summary

6
Advanced Probability
Bayesian ideas revisited
Bayes’ theorem
More applications of Bayes’ theorem
Random variables
Discrete random variables
Continuous random variables
Summary

What Are the Chances? An Introduction to Statistics

What are statistics?
How do we obtain and sample data?
Obtaining data
Observational
Experimental
Sampling data
How do we measure statistics?
Measures of center
Measures of variation
The coefficient of variation
Measures of relative standing
The insightful part – correlations in data
The empirical rule
Example – exam scores
Summary

8
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Advanced Statistics
Understanding point estimates
Sampling distributions
Confidence intervals
Hypothesis tests
Conducting a hypothesis test
One-sample t-tests
Type I and Type II errors
Hypothesis testing for categorical variables
Chi-square goodness of fit test
Chi-square test for association/independence
Summary

Communicating Data
Why does communication matter?
Identifying effective visualizations
Scatter plots
Line graphs
Bar charts
Histograms
Box plots
When graphs and statistics lie
Correlation versus causation
Simpson’s paradox
If correlation doesn’t imply causation, then what does?
Verbal communication
It’s about telling a story
On the more formal side of things
The why/how/what strategy for presenting
Summary

10

How to Tell if Your Toaster is Learning – Machine

Learning Essentials
Introducing ML
Example – facial recognition
ML isn’t perfect
How does ML work?
Types of ML
SL
UL
RL
Overview of the types of ML
ML paradigms – pros and cons
Predicting continuous variables with linear regression
Correlation versus causation
Causation
Adding more predictors
Regression metrics
Summary

11

Predictions Don’t Grow on Trees, or Do They?

Performing naïve Bayes classification
Classification metrics
Understanding decision trees
Measuring purity
Exploring the Titanic dataset
Dummy variables
Diving deep into UL
When to use UL
k-means clustering
The Silhouette Coefficient
Feature extraction and PCA
Summary

12

Introduction to Transfer Learning and Pre-Trained

Models
Understanding pre-trained models
Benefits of using pre-trained models
Commonly used pre-trained models
Decoding BERT’s pre-training
TL
Different types of TL
Inductive TL
Transductive TL
Unsupervised TL – feature extraction
TL with BERT and GPT
Examples of TL
Example – Fine-tuning a pre-trained model for text
classification
Summary

13

Mitigating Algorithmic Bias and Tackling Model and

Data Drift
Understanding algorithmic bias
Types of bias
Sources of algorithmic bias
Measuring bias
Consequences of unaddressed bias and the importance of
fairness
Mitigating algorithmic bias
Mitigation during data preprocessing
Mitigation during model in-processing
Mitigation during model postprocessing
Bias in LLMs
Uncovering bias in GPT-2
Emerging techniques in bias and fairness in ML
Understanding model drift and decay
Model drift
Data drift
Mitigating drift
Understanding the context
Continuous monitoring
Regular model retraining
Implementing feedback systems
Model adaptation techniques
Summary
14

AI Governance
Mastering data governance
Current hurdles in data governance
Data management: crafting the bedrock
Data ingestion – the gateway to information
Data integration – from collection to delivery
Data warehouses and entity resolution
The quest for data quality
Documentation and cataloging – the unsung heroes of
governance
Understanding the path of data
Regulatory compliance and audit preparedness
Change management and impact analysis
Upholding data quality
Troubleshooting and analysis
Navigating the intricacy and the anatomy of ML governance
ML governance pillars
Model interpretability
The many facets of ML development
Beyond training – model deployment and monitoring
A guide to architectural governance
The five pillars of architectural governance
Transformative architectural principles
Zooming in on architectural dimensions
Summary

15
Navigating Real-World Data Science Case Studies in
Action
Introduction to the COMPAS dataset case study
Understanding the task/outlining success
Preliminary data exploration
Preparing the data for modeling
Final thoughts
Text embeddings using pretrainedmodels and OpenAI
Setting up and importing necessary libraries
Data collection – fetching the textbook data
Converting text to embeddings
Querying – searching for relevant information
Concluding thoughts – the power of modern pre-trained models
Summary

Index

Other Books You May Enjoy

Preface
Principles of Data Science bridges mathematics, programming, and business analysis, empowering
you to confidently pose and address complex data questions and construct effective machine learning
pipelines. This book will equip you with the tools you need to transform abstract concepts and raw
statistics into actionable insights.

Starting with cleaning and preparation, you’ll explore effective data mining strategies and techniques
before moving on to building a holistic picture of how every piece of the data science puzzle fits
together. Throughout the book, you’ll discover statistical models with which you can control and
navigate even the densest or sparsest of datasets and learn how to create powerful visualizations that
communicate the stories hidden in your data.

With a focus on application, this edition covers advanced transfer learning and pre-trained models for
NLP and vision tasks. You’ll get to grips with advanced techniques for mitigating algorithmic bias in
data as well as models and addressing model and data drift. Finally, you’ll explore medium-level data
governance, including data provenance, privacy, and deletion request handling.

By the end of this data science book, you’ll have learned the fundamentals of computational
mathematics and statistics, all while navigating the intricacies of modern machine learning and large
pre-trained models such as GPT and BERT.
Who is this book for?
If you are an aspiring novice data scientist eager to expand your knowledge, this book is for you.
Whether you have basic math skills and want to apply them in the field of data science, or you excel
in programming but lack the necessary mathematical foundations, you’ll find this book useful.
Familiarity with Python programming will further enhance your learning experience.
What this book covers
Chapter 1, Data Science Terminology, describes the basic terminology used by data scientists. We
will cover the differences between often-confused terms as well as looking at examples of each term
used in order to truly understand how to communicate in the language of data science. We will begin
by looking at the broad term data science and then, little by little, get more specific until we arrive at
the individual subdomains of data science, such as machine learning and statistical inference. This
chapter will also look at the three main areas of data science, which are math, programming, and
domain expertise. We will look at each one individually and understand the uses of each. We will also
look at the basic Python packages and the syntax that will be used throughout the book.

Chapter 2, Types of Data, deals with data types and the way data is observed. We will explore the
different levels of data as well as the different forms of data. Specifically, we will understand the
differences between structured/unstructured data, quantitative/qualitative data, and more.

Chapter 3, The Five Steps of Data Science, deals with the data science process as well as data
wrangling and preparation. We will go into the five steps of data science and give examples of the
process at every step of the way. After we cover the five steps of data science, we will turn to data
wrangling, which is the data exploration/preparation stage of the process. In order to best understand
these principles, we will use extensive examples to explain each step. I will also provide tips to look
for when exploring data, including looking for data on different scales, categorical variables, and
missing data. We will use pandas to check for and fix all of these things.

Chapter 4, Basic Mathematics, goes over the elementary mathematical skills needed by any data
scientist. We will dive into functional analysis and use matric algebra as well as calculus to show and
prove various outcomes based on real-world data problems.

Chapter 5, Impossible or Improbable – A Gentle Introduction to Probability, focuses heavily on the

basic probability that is required for data science. We will derive results from data using probability
rules and begin to see how we view real-world problems using probability. This chapter will be
highly practical and Python will be used to code the examples.

Chapter 6, Advanced Probability, is where we explore how to use Python to solve more complex
probability problems and also look at a new type of probability called Bayesian inference. We will
use these theorems to solve real-world data scenarios such as weather predictions.

Chapter 7, What Are the Chances? An Introduction to Statistics, is on basic statistics, which is
required for data science. We will also explore the types of statistical errors, including type I and type
II errors, using examples. These errors are as essential to our analysis as the actual results. Errors and
their different types allow us to dig deeper into our conclusions and avoid potentially disastrous
results. Python will be used to code up statistical problems and results.

Chapter 8, Advanced Statistics, is where normalization is key. Understanding why and how we
normalize data will be crucial. We will cover basic plotting, such as scatter plots, bar plots, and
histograms. This chapter will also get into statistical modeling using data. We will not only define the
concept as using math to model a real-world situation, but we will also use real data in order to
extrapolate our own statistical models. We will also discuss overfitting. Python will be used to code
up statistical problems and results.

Chapter 9, Communicating Data, deals with the different ways of communicating results from our
analysis. We will look at different presentation styles as well as different visualization techniques.
The point of this chapter is to take our results and be able to explain them in a coherent, intelligible
way so that anyone, whether they are data-savvy or not, may understand and use our results. Much of
what we will discuss will be how to create effective graphs through labels, keys, colors, and more.
We will also look at more advanced visualization techniques such as parallel coordinates plots.

Chapter 10, How to Tell if Your Toaster is Learning – Machine Learning Essentials, focuses on
machine learning as a part of data science. We will define the different types of machine learning and
see examples of each kind. We will specifically cover areas in regression, classification, and
unsupervised learning. This chapter will cover what machine learning is and how it is used in data
science. We will revisit the differences between machine learning and statistical modeling and how
machine learning is a broader category of the latter. Our aim will be to utilize statistics and
probability in order to understand and apply essential machine learning skills to practical industries
such as marketing. Examples will include predicting star ratings of restaurant reviews, predicting the
presence of disease, spam email detection, and much more. This chapter focuses more on statistical
and probabilistic models. The next chapter will deal with models that do not fall into this category.
We will also focus on metrics that tell us how accurate our models are. We will use metrics in order
to conclude results and make predictions using machine learning.

Chapter 11, Predictions Don’t Grow on Trees, or Do They?, focuses heavily on machine learning that
is not considered a statistical or probabilistic model. These constitute models that cannot be contained
in a single equation, such as linear regression or naïve Bayes. The models in this chapter are, while
still based on mathematical principles, more complex than a single equation. The models include
KNN, decision trees, and an introduction to unsupervised clustering. Metrics will become very
important here as they will form the basis for measuring our understanding and our models. We will
also peer into some of the ethics of data science in this chapter. We will see where machine learning
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can perhaps boundaries in areas such as privacy and advertising and try to draw a conclusion about
the ethics of predictions.

Chapter 12, Introduction to Transfer Learning and Pre-Trained Models, introduces transfer learning
and gives examples of how to transfer a machine’s learning from a pre-trained model to fine-tuned
models. We will navigate the world of open source models and achieve state-of-the-art performance
in NLP and vision tasks.

Chapter 13, Mitigating Algorithmic Bias and Tackling Model and Data Drift, introduces algorithmic
bias and how to quantify, identify, and mitigate biases in data and models. We will see how biased
data can lead to biased models. We will also see how we can identify bias as early as possible and
catch new biases that arise in existing models.

Chapter 14, AI Governance, introduces drift in models and data and the proper ways to quantify and
combat drift. We will see how data can drift over time and how we can update models properly to
combat draft to keep our pipelines as performant as possible.

Chapter 15, Navigating Real-World Data Science Case Studies in Action, introduces basic
governance structures and how to navigate deletion requests, privacy/permission structures, and data
provenance.

To get the most out of this book

You will need Python version 3.4 or higher with the specified Python package versions of libraries
specified in the GitHub requirements.txt file. You can install Python using pip or conda or even run
our code on Google Colab if you wish!

Software/hardware covered in the book Operating system requirements

Python Windows, macOS, or Linux

If you are using the digital version of this book, we advise you to type the code yourself or
access the code from the book’s GitHub repository (a link is available in the next section).
Doing so will help you avoid any potential errors related to the copying and pasting of code.

If you are looking for more content on machine learning/AI/large language models, check out Sinan’s
other books and courses online at sinanozdemir.ai!

Download the example code files

You can download the example code files for this book from GitHub at
https://github.com/PacktPublishing/Principles-of-Data-Science-Third-Edition. If there’s an update to
the code, it will be updated in the GitHub repository.

We also have other code bundles from our rich catalog of books and videos available at
https://github.com/PacktPublishing/. Check them out!

Conventions used
There are a number of text conventions used throughout this book.

Code in text: Indicates code words in text, database table names, folder names, filenames, file
extensions, pathnames, dummy URLs, user input, and Twitter handles. Here is an example: “In this
example, the tweet in question is RT @robdv: $TWTR now top holding for Andor, unseating
$AAPL. ”

A block of code is set as follows:

tweet = "RT @j_o_n_dnger: $TWTR now top holding for Andor, unseating $AAPL"
words_in_tweet = tweet.split(' ') # list of words in tweet
for word in words_in_tweet: # for each word in list
if "$" in word: # if word has a "cashtag"
print("THIS TWEET IS ABOUT", word) # alert the user

Bold: Indicates a new term, an important word, or words that you see onscreen. For instance, words
in menus or dialog boxes appear in bold. Here is an example: “The words_in_tweet variable
tokenizes the tweet (separates it by word).”

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1

Data Science Terminology

We live in the Data Age. No matter the industry you work in, be it IT, fashion, food, or finance, there
is no doubt that data affects your life and work. At some point today, this week, or this month, you
will either have or hear about a conversation about data. News outlets are covering more and more
stories about data leaks, cybercrimes, and how modern artificial intelligence and machine learning
algorithms are changing the way we work and live.

In this book, we will attempt to cover, to put it simply, the principles of how we should interpret,
interact with, manipulate, and utilize data. We will attempt to cover the principles of data science.
Before we can begin covering such a huge topic, first, we have to build a solid foundation below our
feet.

To begin our journey, this chapter will explore the terminology and vocabulary of the modern data
scientist. We will learn keywords and phrases that will be essential in our discussion of data science
throughout this book. We will also learn why we use data science and learn about the three key
domains that data science is derived from before we begin to look at the code in Python, the primary
language that will be used in this book.

This chapter will cover the following topics:

The basic terminology of data science

The three domains of data science

The basic Python syntax

What is data science?

This is a simple question, but before we go any further, let’s look at some basic definitions that we
will use throughout this book. The great/awful thing about the field of data science is that it is young
enough that sometimes, even basic definitions and terminology can be debated across publications
and people. The basic definition is that data science is the process of acquiring knowledge through
data.

It may seem like a small definition for such a big topic, and rightfully so! Data science covers so
many things that it would take pages to list them all out. Put another way, data science is all about
how we take data, use it to acquire knowledge, and then use that knowledge to do the following:
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Captain’s’ commander made her bosom swell. At least there was
satisfaction in that and in the sudden downfall, the unmitigated and prompt
destruction of all hopes that might be entertained by that whippersnapper,
who dared to demand explanations on the subject of Joyce’s ‘friends’—
friends in Scotch peasant parlance meaning what ‘parents’ means in French,
the family and nearest relatives. Janet had rightly divined that Halliday
received the news not with sympathetic pain or alarm, but with suppressed
delight, looking forward to the acquisition to himself, through his promised
wife, of ‘friends’ who would at once elevate him to the rank of gentleman,
after which he longed with a consciousness of having no internal right to it,
which old Janet’s keen instincts had always comprehended—far, far
different from Joyce, who wanted no elevation,—who was a lady born.
‘Granny,’ said Joyce, with a trembling voice, ‘you think very little, very,
very little—I see it now for the first time—of me.’
‘Me think little of ye! that’s a bonnie story; but weel, weel I ken what
will happen. We will pairt with sore hearts, but a firm meaning to be just the
same to ane anither. I’ve seen a heap of things in my lifetime,’ said Janet,
with mournful pride. ‘Sae has my man; but they havena time to think—
they’re no’ aye turning things ower and ower like a woman at the fireside.
I’ve seen mony changes and pairtings, and how it was aye said it should
make no difference. Eh! I’ve seen that in the maist natural way. It’s no’ that
you’ll mean ony unfaithfulness, my bonnie woman. Na, na. I ken ye to the
bottom o’ your heart, and there’s nae unfaithfulness in you—no’ even to
him,’ said Janet, indicating Halliday half contemptuously by a pointing
finger, ‘much less to your grandfaither and me. I’m whiles in an ill key, and
I’ve been sae, I dinna deny it, since ever I heard this awfu’ news: but now I
am coming to mysel’. Ye’ll do your duty, Joyce. Ye’ll accept what canna be
refused, and ye’ll gang away from us with a sair heart, and it will be a’
settled that you’re to come back, maybe twice a year, maybe ance a year, to
Peter and me, and be our ain bairn again. They’re no’ ill folk,’ she went on,
the tears dropping upon her apron, on which she was folding hem after hem
—‘they’re good folk; they’re kind, awfu’ kind—they’ll never wish ye to be
ungrateful,—that’s what they’ll say. They’ll no’ oppose it, they’ll settle it
a’—maybe a week, maybe a month, maybe mair; they’ll be real weel-
meaning, real kind. And Peter and me, we’ll live a’ the year thinking o’ that
time; and ye’ll come back, my bonnie dear—oh, ye’ll come back! with your
heart licht to think of the pleasure of the auld folk. But, eh Joyce! ye’ll no’
be in the house a moment till ye’ll see the difference; ye’ll no’ have graspit
my hand or looked me in the face till ye see the difference. Ye’ll see the
glaur on your grandfaither’s shoon when he comes in, and the sweat on his
brow. No’ with ony unkind meaning. Oh, far frae that—far frae that! Do I
no’ ken your heart? But ye’ll be used to other things—it’ll a’ have turned
strange to ye then—and ye’ll see where we’re wanting. Oh, ye’ll see it! It
will just be mair plain to ye than all the rest. The wee bit place, the common
things, the neebors a’ keen to ken, but chief of us, Peter and me our ainsels,
twa common puir folk.’
‘Granny!’ cried Joyce, flinging herself upon her, unable to bear this
gradual working up.
Peter came in with a chorus with his big broken laugh— ‘Ay, ay, just
that, just that! an auld broken-down ploughman and his puir auld body of a
wife. It’s just that, it’s just that!’
 CHAPTER XV
Great was the consternation in Bellendean over the unsatisfactory
interview which it was so soon known had taken place between Joyce and
her father. Colonel Hayward’s public intimation of the facts at luncheon had
created, as might have been expected, the greatest commotion; and the
ladies of the party assembled round Mrs. Bellendean with warm curiosity
when the whisper ran through the house that Joyce had come—and had
gone away again. Gone away! To explain it was very difficult, to
understand it impossible. The schoolmistress, the village girl, to discover
that she was Colonel Hayward’s daughter, and not to be elated, transported
by the discovery! Why, it was a romance, it was like a fairy tale. Mrs.
Bellendean’s suggestion that there was a second side to everything, though
the fact was not generally recognised in fairy tales, contented no one; and a
little mob of excited critics, all touched and interested by Colonel
Hayward’s speech, turned upon the rustic heroine and denounced her
pretensions. What did she expect, what had she looked for—to turn out a
king’s daughter, or a duke’s? But it was generally agreed that few dukes
were so delightful as Colonel Hayward, and that Joyce showed the worst of
taste as well as the utmost ingratitude. Mrs. Bellendean was disappointed
too; but she was partly comforted by the fact that Captain Bellendean, who
was much bewildered by the girl’s caprice and folly, had fallen into a long
and apparently interesting argument on the subject with Greta, her own
special favourite and protégée. It is almost impossible for any natural
woman to find a man in Norman’s position, well-looking, young, and rich,
within her range, without forming matrimonial schemes for him of one kind
or another; and Mrs. Bellendean had already made up her mind that the
pang of leaving Bellendean would be much softened could she see her
successor in Greta, the favourite of the house, a girl full of her own
partialities and ways of thinking, and whom she had influenced all her life.
She forgot Joyce in seeing the animated discussion that rose between these
two. It was disappointing, however, that when in the very midst of this
discussion Captain Bellendean saw from the window at which he was
standing his old Colonel walking to and fro on the terrace with heavy steps
and bowed head, his point of interest changed at once. He looked no more
at Greta, though she was a much prettier sight: evidently all his sympathy
was for Colonel Hayward; and after the talk had gone on languishing for a
few moments, he excused himself for leaving her. ‘Poor old chap! I must go
and try if I can do anything to console him,’ he said.
Norman found Colonel Hayward very much cast down and melancholy.
He was pacing up and down, up and down—sometimes pausing to throw a
blank look over the landscape, sometimes mechanically gathering a faded
leaf from one of the creepers on the wall. He endeavoured to pull himself
up when Captain Bellendean joined him; but the old soldier had no skill in
concealing his feelings, and he was too anxious to get support and
sympathy to remain long silent. He announced, with all the solemnity
becoming a strange event, that Mrs. Hayward was lying down a little. ‘She
travelled all night, you know; and though she can sleep on the railway, it
never does one much good that sort of sleep; and there has been a great deal
going on all day—a great deal that has been very agitating for us both. I
persuaded her to lie down,’ Colonel Hayward said, looking at his
companion furtively, as if afraid that Norman might think Elizabeth was to
blame.
‘It was the best thing she could do,’ said Captain Bellendean.
‘That is exactly what I told her—the very best thing she could do. It is
seldom she leaves me when I have so much need of her; but I insisted upon
it. And then I am in full possession of her sentiments,’ said the Colonel.
‘She told me exactly what she thought; and she advised me to take a walk
by myself and think it all out.’
‘Perhaps, then, I ought to leave you alone, Colonel? but I saw you from
the window, and thought you looked out of spirits.’
‘My dear boy, I am glad—too glad—to have you. Thinking a thing out is
easy to say, but not so easy to do. And you had always a great deal of sense,
Bellendean. When we had difficulties in the regiment, I well remember——
But that was easy in comparison with this. You know what has happened.
We’ve found my daughter. For I was married long before I met with my
wife. It was only for a little time; and then she disappeared, poor girl, and I
never could find out what became of her. It gave me a very great deal of
trouble and distress—more than I could tell you; and now we have found
out that she left a child. I told you all to-day at luncheon. Joyce, the girl
they all talk about, is my daughter. Can you believe such a story?’
 ‘I had heard about it before; and then what you said to-day—it is very
wonderful.’
‘Yes; but it’s quite true. And we told her—in Mrs. Bellendean’s room.
And if you will believe it, she—— She as good as rejected me, Norman—
refused to have me for her father. It has thrown me into a dreadful state of
confusion. And Elizabeth can’t help me, it appears. She says I must work it
out for myself. But it seems unnatural to work out a thing by myself; and
especially a thing like this. Yes, the girl would have nothing to say to me,
Bellendean. She says I must have ill-treated her mother—poor Joyce! the
girl I told you that I had married. And I never did—indeed I never did!’
‘I am sure of that, sir. You never injured any one.’
‘Ah, my dear fellow! you don’t know how things happen. It seems to be
nobody’s fault, and yet there’s injury done. It’s very bewildering to me, at
my age, to think of having a child living. I never—thought of anything of
the kind. I may have wished that my wife—and then again it would seem
almost better that it shouldn’t be so.’
Colonel Hayward put his arm within that of Norman; he quickened his
pace as they went up and down the terrace, and then would stop suddenly to
deliver an emphatic sentence. ‘She looked me in the face, as if she defied
me,’ he said, ‘and then went away and left me—with that old woman. Did
you ever hear of such a position, Bellendean? My daughter, you know, my
own daughter—and she looks me in the face, and tells me I must have
harmed her mother, and why did I leave her? and goes away! What am I to
do? When you have made such a discovery, there it is; you can’t put it out
of your mind, or go upon your way, as if you had never found it out. I can’t
be as I was before. I have got a daughter. You may smile, Bellendean, and
think it’s just the old fellow’s confused way.’
‘I don’t indeed, sir. I can quite understand the embarrassment——’
‘That’s it—the embarrassment. She belongs to me, and her future should
be my dearest care—my dearest care—a daughter, you know, more even
than a boy. Just what I have often thought would make life perfect—just a
sort of a glory to us, Elizabeth and me; but when you think of it, quite a
stranger, brought up so different! And Elizabeth opposed, a little opposed. I
can’t help seeing it, though she tries to hide it, telling me that it’s my affair
—that I must think it out myself. How can I think it out myself? and then
my daughter herself turning upon me! What can I do? I don’t know what to
do!’
‘Everybody,’ said Captain Bellendean—though a little against the grain,
for he was himself very indignant with Joyce—‘speaks highly of her; there
is but one voice—every one likes and admires her.’
The Colonel gave a little pressure to the young man’s arm, as if in
thanks, and said with a sigh, ‘She is very like her mother. You would say, if
you had known her, the very same—more than a likeness. Elizabeth has had
a good deal to put up with on that account. You can’t wonder if she is a little
—opposed. And everything is at a standstill. I have to take the next step;
they will neither of them help me—and what am I to do? Children—seem
to bring love with them when they are born in a house. But when a grown-
up young woman appears that you never saw before, and you are told she is
your daughter! It is a dreadful position to be in, Bellendean. I don’t know,
no more than a baby, what to do.’
‘That is rather an alarming view to take,’ said Norman. ‘But when you
know her better, most likely everything will come right. You have a very
kind heart, sir, and the young lady is very pretty, and nice, and clever, and
nature will speak.’
The Colonel shook his head. ‘I believed this morning in nature speaking
—but I am sadly shaken, sadly shaken, Bellendean. Why did she turn
against me? You would have thought that merely to say, I am your father—
but she turned upon me as if I had been her enemy. And what can I do? We
can’t go away to-morrow and leave her here. We must have her to live with
us, and perhaps she won’t come, and most likely she’ll not like it if she
does. I am dreadfully down about it all. Joyce’s girl whom I don’t know,
and Elizabeth, who gives me up and goes to lie down because she’s tired—
just when I need her most!’
‘But, Colonel, it is true that Mrs. Hayward must be very tired: and no
doubt she feels that you and Miss Joyce will understand each other better if
you meet by yourselves, when she is not there.’
‘Eh? Do you think that’s what she means, Bellendean? and do you think
so too? But even then I am no further advanced than I was before; for my
daughter, you know, she’s not here, and how do I know where to find her,
even if I were prepared to meet her? and heaven knows I am less prepared
than ever—and very nervous and anxious; and if she were standing before
me at this moment I don’t know what I should say.’
‘I can show you where to find her,’ said Captain Bellendean. ‘Come and
see her, sir; you don’t want to be prepared—you have only to show her that
she may trust to your kind heart, and settle everything before Mrs. Hayward
wakes up.’
‘My kind heart!’ said Colonel Hayward. ‘I’m not so sure that my heart is
kind—not, it appears, to my own flesh and blood. I feel almost as if I
should be glad never to hear of her again.’
‘That is only because you are out of sorts, and got no sleep last night.’
‘How do you know I got no sleep? It’s quite true. Elizabeth thinks I only
fancy it, but the truth is that when my mind is disturbed I cannot sleep. I am
dreadfully down about it all, Bellendean. No, I haven’t the courage, I
haven’t the courage. If she were to tell me again that her mother had much
to complain of, I couldn’t answer a word. And yet it’s not so. I declare to
you, Bellendean, upon my honour, it was no fault of mine.’
‘I am sure of it, sir,’ said Bellendean. ‘Don’t think any more of that, but
come with me and see Miss Joyce, and settle it all.’
The Colonel said little as he walked down to the village leaning on
young Bellendean’s arm. He was alarmed and nervous; his throat was dry,
his mind was confused. Norman’s society, the touch of his arm, the moral
force of his companionship, kept Colonel Hayward up to the mark, or it is
possible that he might have turned back and fled from those difficulties
which he did not feel himself able to cope with, and the new relationship
that had already produced such confusion in his life. But he was firmly held
by Norman’s arm, and did not resist the impulse, though it was not his own.
He did not know what he was going to say to Joyce, or how to meet this
proud young creature, filled with a fanciful indignation for her mother’s
wrongs. He had never wronged her mother. Pitiful as the story was, and
tenderly as he had always regarded her memory, the Joyce of his youth had
been the instrument of her own misery and of much trouble and anguish to
him, though the gentle-hearted soldier had accepted it always as a sort of
natural calamity for which nobody was responsible, and never blamed her.
But even the gentlest-hearted will be moved when the judgment which they
have refrained from making is turned against themselves. It was not his
fault, and yet how could he say so? How could he explain it to this second
hot-headed Joyce without blaming the first who had so suffered, and over
whom death had laid a shadowy veil of tenderness, an oblivion of all
mistakes and errors? Colonel Hayward did not articulately discuss this
question with himself, but it was at the bottom of all the confusion in his
troubled mind. He was afraid of her, shy of her presence, not knowing how
to address or approach this stranger, who was his own child. He had looked
with a tender envy at other people’s daughters before now, thinking if only
Elizabeth—— But a daughter who was not Elizabeth’s, and to whom his
wife was even, as he said to himself, a little—opposed, was something that
had never entered into his thoughts. How easy it was in the story-books!—
how parents and children long separated sprang into each other’s arms and
hearts by instinct. But it was very different in real life, when the problem
how to receive into the intimacy of so small a household a third person who
was so near in blood, so absolutely unknown in all that constitutes human
sympathy, had to be solved at a moment’s notice! He had been very much
excited and disturbed the day before, but he had not doubted the power of
Elizabeth to put everything right. Now, however, Elizabeth had not only for
the first time failed, but was—opposed. She had not said it, but he had felt
it. She had declared herself tired, and lain down, and told him to work it out
himself. Such a state of affairs was one which Colonel Hayward had never
contemplated, and everything accordingly was much worse than yesterday,
when he had still been able to feel that if Elizabeth were only here all would
go well.
The party in the cottage were in a very subdued and depressed condition
when Captain Bellendean knocked at the door. The heat of resistance in
Joyce’s mind had died down. Whether it was the strain of argument which
Janet still carried on, though Joyce had not consciously listened to it, or
whether the mere effect of the short lapse of time which quenches
excitement had operated unawares upon her mind, it is certain that her
vehemence of feeling and rebellion of heart had sunk into that despondent
suspension of thought which exhaustion brings. Resistance dies out, and the
chill compulsion of circumstance comes in, making itself felt above all
flashes of indignation, all revolts of sentiment. Joyce knew now, though she
had not acknowledged it in words, that her power over her own life was
gone,—that there was no strength in her to resist the new laws and
subordination under which she felt herself to have fallen. She had not even
the consciousness which a girl in a higher class might have been supported
by, that her father’s rights over her were not supreme. She believed that she
had no power to resist his decrees as to what was to become of her; and
accordingly, after the first outburst of contradictory feeling, the girl’s heart
and courage had altogether succumbed. She had fallen upon the neck of her
old guardian—the true mother of her life—with tears, which quenched out
every spark of the passion which had inspired her.
Joyce felt herself to be within the grasp of fate. She was like one of the
heroines of the poets in a different aspect from that in which she had
identified herself with Rosalind or Miranda. What she was like now was
Iphigenia or Antigone caught in the remorseless bonds of destiny. She did
not even feel that forlorn satisfaction in it which she might have done had
there been more time, or had she been less unhappy. The only feeling she
was conscious of was misery, life running low in her, all the elements and
powers against her, and the possibility even of resistance gone out of her.
Old Janet had pressed her close, and then had repulsed her with the
impatience of highly excited feeling; and Joyce stood before the window,
with the light upon her pale face, quite subdued, unresistant, dejected to the
bottom of her heart. The only one of the group who showed any energy or
satisfaction was Andrew Halliday, who could not refrain a rising and
exhilaration of heart at the thought of being son-in-law to a man who was
the ‘Captain’s’ commanding officer, and consequently occupied a position
among the great ones of the earth. Andrew’s imagination had already leaped
at all the good things that might follow for himself. He thought of possible
elevations in the way of head-masterships, scholastic dignities, and
honours. ‘They’ would never leave Joyce’s husband a parish schoolmaster!
He had not time to follow it out, but his thoughts had swayed swiftly
upwards to promotions and honours undefined.
‘Wha’s that at the door?’ said Janet, among her tears.
‘It’s the Captain,’ said Joyce, in a voice so low that she was almost
inaudible. Then she added, ‘It’s—it’s—my father.’
‘Her father!’ Peter rose up with a lowering brow. ‘My hoose is no’ a
place for every fremd person to come oot and in at their pleasure. Let them
be. I forbid ainy person to open that door.’
‘Oh, haud your tongue, man!’ cried Janet; ‘can ye keep them oot with a
steekit door—them that has the law on their side, and nature too?’
 The old man took his blue bonnet, which hung on the back of his chair.
‘Stand back, sir,’ he said sternly to Andrew, who had risen to go to the door;
‘if my hoose is mine nae mair, nor my bairn mine nae mair, it’s me, at least,
that has the richt to open, and nae ither man.’ He put his bonnet on his head,
pulling it down upon his brows. ‘My head’s white and my heart’s sair: if the
laird thinks I’ve nae mainners, he maun just put up wi’t, I’m no’ lang for
this life that I should care.’ He threw the door wide open as he spoke,
meeting the look of the newcomers with his head down, and his shaggy
eyebrows half covering his eyes. ‘Gang in, gang in, if ye’ve business,’ he
said, and flung heavily past them, without further greeting. The sound of his
heavy footstep, hastening away, filled all the silence which, for a moment,
no one broke.
Norman made way, and almost pushed the Colonel in before him. ‘They
expect you,’ he said. And Colonel Hayward stepped in. A more embarrassed
man, or one more incapable of filling so difficult a position, could not be.
How willingly would he have followed Peter! But duty and necessity and
Norman Bellendean all kept him up to the mark. Joyce stood straight up
before him in front of the window. She turned to him her pale face, her eyes
heavy with tears. The good man was accustomed to be received with
pleasure, to dispense kindness wherever he went: to appear thus, in the
aspect of a destroyer of domestic happiness, was more painful and
confusing than words can say.
‘Young lady,’ he began, and stopped, growing more confused than ever.
Then, desperation giving him courage, ‘Joyce—— It cannot be stranger to
you than it is to me, to see you standing here before me, my daughter, when
I never knew I had a daughter. My dear, we ought to love one another,—but
how can we, being such strangers? I have never been used to—anything of
the kind. It’s a great shock to us both, finding this out. But if you’ll trust
yourself to me, I’ll—I’ll do my best. A man cannot say more.’
‘Sir,’ said Joyce; her voice faltered and died away in her throat. She
made an effort and began again, ‘Sir,’ then broke down altogether, and,
making a step backwards, clutched at old Janet’s dress. ‘Oh, granny, he’s
very kind—his face is very kind,’ she cried.
‘Ay,’ said the old woman, ‘ye say true; he has a real kind face. Sir, what
she wants to tell ye is, that though a’s strange, and it’s hard, hard to ken
what to say, she’ll be a good daughter to ye, and do her duty, though maybe
there’s mony things that may gang wrang at first. Ye see she’s had naebody
but Peter and me: and she’s real fond of the twa auld folk, and has been the
best bairn’—Janet’s voice shook a little, but she controlled it. ‘Never, never
in this world was there a better bairn—though she’s aye had the nature o’ a
lady and the mainners o’ ane, and might have thought shame of us puir
country bodies. Na, my bonnie woman, na,—I ken ye never did. But, sir, ye
need never fear to haud up yer head when ye’ve HER by your side. She’s fit
to stand before kings—ay, that she is,—before kings, and no before meaner
men.’
The Colonel gazed curiously at the little old woman, who stood so firm
in her self-abnegation that he, at least, never realised how sadly it went
against the grain. ‘Madam,’ he said, in his old-fashioned way, ‘I believe you
fully; but it must be all to your credit and the way you have brought her up,
that I find her what she is.’ He took Janet’s hand and held it in his own,—a
hard little hand, scored and bony with work, worn with age—not lovely in
any way. The Colonel recovered himself and regained his composure, now
that he had come to the point at which he could pay compliments and give
pleasure. ‘I thank you, madam, from the bottom of my heart, for what you
have done for her, and for what you are giving up to me,’ he said, bowing
low. Janet had no understanding of what he meant; and when he bent his
grizzled moustache to kiss her hand, she gave a little shriek of mingled
consternation and pleasure. ‘Eh, Colonel!’ she exclaimed, her old cheeks
tingling with a blush that would not have shamed a girl’s. Never in her life
had lips of man touched Janet’s hand before. She drew it from him and fell
back upon her chair and sobbed, looking at the knotted fingers and
prominent veins in an ecstasy of wonder and admiration. ‘Did you see that,
Joyce? he’s kissed my hand; did ever mortal see the like? Eh, Colonel! I just
havena a word—no’ a word—to say.’
Joyce put out both her hands to her father, her eyes swimming in tears,
her face lighted up with that sudden gleam of instantaneous perception
which was one of the charms of her face. ‘Oh, sir!’ she said: the other word,
father, fluttered on her lips. It was a gentleman who did that, one of the
species which Joyce knew so little, but only that she belonged to it. In her
quick imagination rehearsing every incident before it happened, that was
what she would have had him do. The little act of personal homage was
more than words, more than deeds, and changed the current of her feelings
as by magic. And the Colonel now was in his element too. The tender
flattery and sincere extravagance of all those delicate ways of giving
pleasure were easy and natural to him, and he was restored to himself. He
took Joyce’s hands in one of his, and drew her within his arm.
‘My dear,’ he said, with moisture in his eyes, ‘you are very like your
mother. God forgive me if I ever frightened her or neglected her! I could not
look you in the face if I had ever done her conscious wrong. Will you kiss
me, my child, and forgive your father? She would bid you do so if she were
here.’
It was very strange to Joyce. She grew crimson, as old Janet had done,
under her father’s kiss. He was her father; her heart no longer made any
objections; it beat high with a strange mixture of elation and pain. Her
father—who had done her mother no conscious wrong, who had proved
himself, in that high fantastical way which alone is satisfactory to the
visionary soul, to be such a gentleman as she had always longed to meet
with: yet one whom she would have to follow, far from all she knew, and,
what was far worse, leaving desolate the old parents who depended upon
her for all the brightness in their life. Her other sensations of pain fled away
like clouds before the dawn, but this tragic strain remained. How would
they do without her?—how could they bear the separation? The causeless
resentment, the fanciful resistance which Joyce had felt against her father,
vanished in a moment, having no cause; but the other burden remained.
Meanwhile there was another burden of which she had not thought.
Andrew Halliday had discreetly withdrawn himself while the main action of
the scene was going on. He stepped aside, and began to talk to Captain
Bellendean. It was not undesirable in any circumstances to make friends
with Captain Bellendean; and the schoolmaster had all his wits about him.
He took up a position aside, where he could still command a perfect view of
what was going on, and then he said, ‘We are having very good weather for
this time of the year.’
‘Yes,’ Norman said, a little surprised, ‘I think so. It is not very warm, but
it is always fine.’
‘Not warm! That will be your Indian experiences, Captain; for we all
think here it is a very fine season—the best we have had for years. The corn
is looking well, and the farmers are content, which is a thing that does not
happen every year.’
 ‘No, indeed,’ said Norman. He was not very much interested in the
farmers, who had not yet begun to be the troublesome members of society
they now are; but he did not wish to have his attention distracted from the
scene going on so near; and but for innate civility, he would willingly have
snubbed the schoolmaster. Andrew, however, was not a person to be
suppressed so.
‘You are more interested,’ he said confidentially, ‘in what’s going on
here; and so am I, Captain Bellendean. I have reason to be very deeply
interested. Everything that concerns my dear Joyce——’
‘Your dear—what?’ cried the Captain abruptly, turning quickly upon him
with an indignant air. Then, however, Captain Bellendean recollected
himself. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said quickly; ‘I believe I have heard—
something.’
‘You will have heard,’ said Halliday, ‘that we’ve been engaged for some
time back. We should have been married before now but for some
difficulties about—about her parents and mine. Not that there was not
perfect satisfaction with the connection,’ he added, with his air of
importance, ‘on both sides of the house.’
‘Oh,’ said Norman. He felt himself grow red with annoyance at this
intrusive fellow, whose affairs were nothing to him. He added with
conscious sarcasm, ‘Let us hope it will always continue to be equally
satisfactory.’
‘I hope so,’ said Halliday. ‘It could scarcely, indeed, be otherwise, seeing
that Joyce was my choice in very humble circumstances, when I might well
have found a partner in a different sphere. My mother’s first word was,
“Andrew, you might have done better;” but Joyce’s own merits turned the
scale. She is an excellent creature, Captain Bellendean, admirable in tuition.
She raises an enthusiasm in the children, especially the bigger girls, which
really requires quite a gift. I looked forward to the day when she should be
transferred to my own parish, and work under me. Judicious guidance was
all she required—just a hint here, a suggestion there—and there would not
be a head-mistress in Scotland to equal her.’
‘I fear,’ said Norman, smoothing his annoyance into a laugh, ‘that
Colonel Hayward will put a stop to schoolmistressing.’
‘Why, sir, why? it’s a noble office. There could not be a finer occupation,
nor one in which you can serve your country better. Ladies, indeed, after
marriage, when they get the cares of a family, sometimes begin to flag a
little,’ said Halliday, giving a complacent look at Joyce. ‘Of course,’ he
added, after a pause—and, though he did not know it, he had never been so
near being kicked out of a house in his life—‘if Colonel Hayward should
wish her to settle near him, there are many fine appointments to be had in
England. I would not say that I should insist upon remaining here.’
‘That would be kind,’ said Captain Bellendean, with a sarcasm which
was scarcely intentional. He was confounded by the composure and by the
assurance of this fellow, who was so calmly persuaded of his own property
in Joyce.
‘I would think it only duty,’ said Halliday; ‘but you’ll excuse me,
Captain,—I think I am wanted.’ He turned with a smile towards Joyce, still
awed and astonished by the sudden change in her own sentiments, who
continued to stand shy and tremulous within her father’s encircling arm.
‘Joyce,’ said Andrew, ‘I am glad to see this happy conclusion; but you
have not yet introduced me to the Cornel—and we can have no secrets from
him now.’
The Colonel turned with astonishment and something as like hauteur as
was possible to his gentle and courteous temper, to the new speaker. He
looked him over from head to foot, with a dim recollection of having seen
him before, and of having somehow resented his appearance even then. He
resented it much more now, when this half-bred person, whose outside was
not that of a gentleman, yet was not that of a labouring man, came forward
claiming a place between his daughter and himself. He turned upon Andrew
that mild lightning of indignant eyes which had proved so efficacious in the
regiment. But Halliday was not to be intimidated by any man’s eyes. He
drew still nearer with an ingratiating smile, and said again, ‘Introduce me to
the Cornel, Joyce.’
Joyce had accepted Andrew Halliday’s love—as little of it as possible:
because he had forced it upon her, because his talk and acquaintance with
books had dazzled her, because she had found a certain protection in him
from other rustic suitors. She had allowed it to be understood that some
time or other she would marry him. He was the nearest to herself in
position, in ambition, of any in the country-side. But she lifted her eyes to
him now with a shrinking and horror which she herself could not
understand. He stood between her and Captain Bellendean, contrasting
himself without the smallest reluctance or sense of danger with the man
whose outward semblance was more like that of a hero than any man Joyce
had seen. She made in a moment the comparison which it had never
occurred to Halliday to make. His under-size, his imperfect development,
the absence of natural grace and refinement in him, made themselves
apparent to her sharply, as if by the sting of a sudden blow. She gazed at
him, the colour again flushing over her face, with a slight start of surprise
and something like repugnance. He had got her promise that she would
marry him, but she had never promised to present him to her unknown
dream-father as his future son.
‘Who is it?’ said Colonel Hayward. He curved his eyebrows over his
eyes to assist his vision, which gave him a look of displeasure; and he was
displeased to see this man,—a man with whom he had some previous
unpleasant association, he could not tell what,—thrusting himself in at such
an inappropriate moment between his daughter and himself.
‘It is—Andrew Halliday,’ said Joyce, very low, turning her head away.
Halliday held his ground very sturdily, and acknowledged this abrupt
description with an ingratiating smile.
‘How do you do, Cornel?’ he said. ‘After all, she’s shy—she leaves me
to introduce myself; which is not perhaps to be wondered at. We have been
engaged for nearly a year. I came here to-day, knowing nothing, to try and
persuade her to name the day, and put an end to a wretched bachelor’s life.
But when I arrived I found everything turned upside down, and Joyce quite
past giving any heed to me. I hope I may leave my cause in your hand,
Cornel,’ said the schoolmaster, with the utmost absence of perception. He
thought he had made a very agreeable impression, and that his affairs were,
as he said, safe in the Cornel’s hands.
‘You are engaged to this—gentleman?’ Colonel Hayward said.
Joyce felt herself quail as she looked into her father’s face. She read all
that was in his at a glance. Colonel Hayward was quite ignorant of Halliday,
quite unaccustomed to the kind of man, unprepared for this new claim; and
yet his eyes expressed the same thoughts which were in hers. A little shiver
of keen sympathetic feeling ran through her. She felt herself unable to say
anything. She assented with a look in which, with horror at herself, she felt
the shrinking, the reluctance to acknowledge the truth, the disinclination
which she had never allowed even to herself up to this time. The Colonel
looked from Joyce, standing with downcast eyes and that half-visible
shrinking in every line of her figure and attitude, to the commonplace man
with the smirk on his countenance: and breathed once more the habitual
aspiration of his life, ‘Oh that Elizabeth were here!’ But then he
remembered that Elizabeth had sent him away to work it out for himself.
‘We always knew,’ said Halliday, ‘that this day would come some time,
and that her real origin would be known. I have looked forward to it,
Cornel. I have always done my best to help her to prepare—for any
position. I am not rich,’ he added, with demonstrative frankness; ‘but
among people of high tone that’s but a secondary matter, and I know you’ll
find we are true partners and mates, Joyce and myself, in every other way.’
‘Sir, I am very much confused with one discovery,’ said the Colonel,
hesitating and tremulous. ‘I—I—can scarcely realise yet about my daughter.
Let the other stand over a little—let it wait a little—till I have got
accustomed—till I know how things are—till I——’
He looked at Joyce anxiously to help him out. But for the first time in
her life Joyce failed in this emergency. She stood with her eyes cast down,
slightly drawn back, keeping herself isolated by an instinctive movement.
She had never been in such a strait before.
‘Oh,’ said Halliday, ‘I understand. I can enter into your feelings, Cornel;
and I am not afraid to wait.’ He took Joyce’s hand, which hung by her side,
and clasped it close. ‘Joyce,’ he said, ‘will speak for me; Joyce will see that
I am not put off too long.’
A sudden heat like a flame seemed to envelop Joyce. She withdrew her
hand quickly, yet almost stealthily, and turned upon her father—her father
whom she had known only for a few hours, whose claims she had at first
rejected—an appealing look. Then Joyce, too, remembered herself. Truth
and honour stood by Halliday’s side, though he was not of their noble
strain. The flame grew hotter and hotter, enveloping her, scorching her,
turning from red to the white flames of devouring fire. She turned back to
her betrothed lover, scarcely seeing through eyes dazzled by that glare, and
put out her hand to him as if forced by some invisible power.
 CHAPTER XVI
The little family party left Bellendean two days after. It was not expedient,
they all felt, to linger long over the inevitable separation. Even old Janet
was of this mind. ‘If it were done when ’tis done, then it were well it were
done quickly.’ The sentiment of these words was in the old woman’s mind,
though possibly she did not know them. Joyce was finally taken from her
foster-parents when she left them for Bellendean on the evening before, half
heart-broken, yet half ecstatic, not knowing how to subdue the
extraordinary emotion and excitement that tingled to her very finger-points.
She was going to dine at the table which represented everything that was
splendid and refined to the village schoolmistress, to be waited on by the
servants who thought themselves much superior to old Peter and Janet, to
hear the talk, to make acquaintance with the habits of those whom she had
looked up to all her life. The Bellendean carriage came for her, to bring her
away not only from the cottage, but from all her past existence—from
everything she had known. By Janet’s advice, or rather commands, Joyce
had put on her one white dress, the soft muslin gown which she had
sometimes worn on a summer Sunday, and in which the old people had
always thought she looked like a princess. Peter sat by the open door of the
cottage while these last preparations were being made. The anger of great
wretchedness was blazing in the old man’s eyes. ‘What are you doing with
that white dud?’ he said, giving her a glance askance out of his red eyes. ‘I
aye said it was not fit for a decent lass out of my house. Mak’ her pit on a
goon that’s like her place, no like thae lightheaded limmers.’ He waved his
hand towards the east end of the village, where there lived an ambitious
family with fine daughters. ‘Dod! I would tear it off her back.’
‘Haud your tongue,’ said his wife; ‘what good will it do you to fecht and
warstle with Providence? The time’s come when we maun just submit. Na,
na, never heed him, Joyce. The white’s far the best. And just you step into
your carriage, my bonnie lady: it’s the way I’ve aye seen you going aff in
my dreams. Peter, dinna sit there like a sulky bear. Give her a kiss and your
blessing, and let her go.’
A laugh of hoarse derision burst from Peter’s lips. ‘I’m a bonnie man to
kiss a grand lady! I never was ane for thae showings-off. If she maun go,
she will hae to go, and there is an end o’t. Farewell to ye, Joyce!’
He got up hastily from his seat at the door. The footman outside and the
coachman on the box, keenly observant both, looked on—and Peter knew
their fathers and mothers, and was aware that any word he said would be
public property next day. He gave himself a shake, and pulled his bonnet
over his eyes, but did not stride away as he had done before. He stood
leaning his back against the wall, his face half buried in the old coat-collar
which rose to his ears when he bent his head, and in the shadow of his
bonnet and the forest of his beard. It was Janet, in her quavering voice, who
gave the blessing, putting up two hard hands, and drawing them over
Joyce’s brown satin hair and soft cheeks: ’"The Lord bless thee and keep
thee: the Lord lift up the light o’ His countenance upon thee.” Gang away,
gang away! It will maybe no’ be sae hard when you’re out o’ our sight.’
The horses seemed to make but one bound, the air to fill with the sound
of hoofs and wheels, and Joyce found herself beginning again to perceive
the daylight through her blinding tears. And her heart, too, gave a bound,
involuntary, unwilling. It was not so hard when they were out of sight, and
the new world so full of expectation, of curiosity, of the unknown, opened
before her in a minute. Joyce in her white dress, in the Bellendean carriage
driving up the avenue to dinner, with her father waiting at the other end to
receive her, was and could be Joyce Matheson no more. All that she knew
and was familiar with departed from her like the rolling up of a map, like
the visions of a dream.
There was, however, so much consciousness, so much curiosity, so many
comments made upon Joyce and her story, that the strange witching scene
of the dinner-table—a thing of enchantment to the girl, with its wonderful
flowers and fine company—was for the other guests somewhat
embarrassing and uncomfortable. Strangely enough Joyce was almost the
only one at table who was unaffected by this feeling. To her there was
something symbolical in the novelty which fitted in with all her dreams and
hopes. The flowers, the pretty dresses, the glitter and show of the white
table with its silver and porcelain, the conversation, a dozen different
threads going on at once, the aspect of the smiling faces as they turned to
each other,—all carried out her expectations. It seemed to Joyce, sitting
almost silent, full of the keenest observation, that the meal, the vulgar
eating and drinking, was so small a part of it. She could not hear what
everybody was saying, nor was she, in the excitement and confusion of her
mind, very capable of understanding the rapid interchange of words, so
many people talking together; but it represented to her the feast of reason
and the flow of soul better than the most brilliant company in the world,
more distinctly heard and understood, could have done. She was not
disappointed. Joyce knew by the novels she had read that in such
circumstances as hers the newcomer full of expectation generally was
disappointed, and found that, seen close, the finest company was no better
than the humblest. Her imagination had rebelled against that discomfiting
discovery even when she read of it; and now it was with great elation that
she felt she had been right all through and the novels wrong. She was not
disappointed. The food and the eating were quite secondary, as they ought
to be. When she looked along the table, it was to see smiling faces raised in
pleasure at something that had been said, or saying something with the little
triumphant air of successful argument or happy wit, or listening with grave
attention, assenting, objecting, as the case might be. She did not know what
they were saying, but she was convinced that it was all beautiful, clever,
witty, true conversation, the food for which her spirit had hungered. She had
no desire for the moment to enter into it herself. She was dazzled by all the
prettiness and brightness, moved to the heart by that sensation of having
found what she longed for, and at last obtained entrance into the world to
which she truly belonged. She smiled when she met Mrs. Bellendean’s eye,
and answered slightly at random when she was spoken to. She was by her
father’s side, and he did not speak to her much. She was kindly left with her
impressions, to accustom herself gradually to the new scene. And she was
entirely satisfied, elated, afloat in an ethereal atmosphere of contentment
and pleasure. Her dreams, she thought, were all realised.
But next morning the old life came back with more force than ever.
Joyce went over and over the scene of the evening. ‘Gang away, gang
away! It will maybe no’ be sae hard when you’re out o’ our sight.’ Her
foster-parents had thrust her from them, not meaning to see her again; and
though her heart was all aching and bleeding, she did not know what to do,
whether to attempt a second parting, whether to be content that the worst
was over. She made the compromise which tender-hearted people are so apt
to do. She got up very early, following her old habit with a curious sense of
its unusualness and unnecessariness—to use two awkward words—and ran
down all the way to the village through the dewy grass. But early as she
was, she was not early enough for Peter, whom she saw in the distance
striding along with his long, heavy tread, his head bowed, his bonnet drawn
over his brows, a something of dreary abandon about him which went to
Joyce’s heart. He was going through a field of corn which was already high,
and left his head and shoulders alone visible as he trudged away to his work
—the sun beating upon the rugged head under its broad blue bonnet, the
heavy old shoulders slouched, the long step undulating, making his figure
fall and rise almost like a ship at sea. The corn was ‘in the flower,’ still
green, and rustled in the morning air; a few red poppies blazed like a fringe
among the sparse stalks near the pathway; the sky was very clear in the grey
blue of northern skies under summer heat; but the old man, she was sure,
saw nothing as he jogged onward heavy-hearted. Joyce dared not call to
him, dared not follow him. With a natural pang she stood and watched the
old father bereaved going out to his work. Perhaps it would console him a
little: she for whom he sorrowed could do so no more.
But Joyce had not the same awe of Janet. Is it perhaps that there is even
in the anguish of the affections a certain luxury for a woman which is not
for the man? She ran along the vacant sunny village street, and pushed open
the half-closed door, and flung herself upon the old woman’s neck, who
received her with a shriek of joy. Perhaps it crossed Janet’s mind for a
moment that her child had come back, that she had discovered already that
all these fine folk were not to be lippened to; but the feeling, though
ecstatic, was but momentary, and would indeed have been sternly opposed
by her own better sense had it been true.
‘Eh, and it’s you!’ she cried, seizing Joyce by the shoulders, gazing into
her face.
‘It is me, granny. For all you said last night that I was better out of your
sight, I could not. I could not go—without seeing you again.’
‘Did I say that?—the Lord forgive me! But it’s just true. I’ll be better
when you’re clean gane; but eh! I am glad, glad. Joyce—my bonnie
woman, did ye see him?’
‘Oh, granny, I saw him going across the big cornfield. Tell him I stood
and watched him with his head down on his breast—but I daredna lift my
voice. Tell him Joyce will never forget—the green corn and the hot sun, and
him—alone.’
‘What would hinder him to be his lane at six o’clock in the morning?’
said Janet, with a tearful smile. ‘You never gaed wi’ him to his work, ye
foolish bairn. If he had left ye sleeping sound in your wee garret, would he
have been less his lane? Ay, ay, I ken weel what you mean; I ken what you
mean. Well, it just had to be; we maunna complain. Run away, my dawtie:
run away, my bonnie lady—ye’ll write when ye get there; but though it’s a
hard thing to say, it’ll be the best thing for us a’ when you’re just clean
gane.’
Two or three hours afterwards, Joyce found herself, all the little
confusion of the start over, seated in the seclusion of the railway carriage,
with the father and mother who were henceforward to dispose of her life.
She had seen very little of them up to this moment. Colonel Hayward,
indeed, had kept by her during the evening, patting her softly on her arm
from time to time, taking her hand, looking at her with very tender eyes,
listening, when she opened her mouth at rare intervals, with the kind of
pleased, half-alarmed look with which an anxious parent listens to the
utterances of a child. He was very, very kind—more than kind. Joyce had
become aware, she could scarcely tell how, that the other people sometimes
smiled a little at the Colonel—a discovery which awoke the profoundest
indignation in her mind; but she already began half to perceive his little
uncertainties, his difficulty in forming his own opinion, the curious
helplessness which made it apparent that this distinguished soldier required
to be taken care of, and more or less guided in the way he had to go. But
she had done nothing towards making acquaintance with Mrs. Hayward,
whose relation to her was so much less distinct, and upon whom so much of
her comfort must depend. This lady sat in the corner of the carriage next the
window, with her back to the engine, very square and firm—a far more
difficult study for her new companion than her husband was. She had not
shown by look or word any hostility towards Joyce; but still a sentiment of
antagonism had, in some subtle way, risen between them. With the
exclusiveness common to English travellers, they had secured the
compartment in which they sat for themselves alone; so that the three were
here shut up for the day in the very closest contact, to shake together as they
might. Joyce sat exactly opposite to her step-mother, whilst the Colonel,
who had brought in with him a sheaf of newspapers, changed about from
side to side as the view, or the locomotion, or his own restlessness required.
He distributed his papers to all the party, thrusting a Graphic into Joyce’s
hands, and heaping the remainder upon the seat. Mrs. Hayward took up the
Scotsman which he had given her, and looked at it contemptuously. ‘What
is it?’ she said, holding it between her finger and her thumb. ‘You know I
don’t care for anything, Henry, but the Times or the Morning Post.’
‘You can have yesterday’s Times, my dear,’ said the Colonel; ‘but you
know we are four hundred miles from London. We must be content with the
papers of the place. There are all the telegrams just the same—and very
clever articles, I hear.’
‘Oh, I don’t want to read Scotch articles,’ said Mrs. Hayward. She meant
no harm. She was a little out of temper, out of heart. To say something sharp
was a kind of relief to her; she did not think it would hurt any one, nor did
she mean to do so. But Joyce grew red behind her Graphic. She looked at
the pictures with eyes which were hot and dry with the great desire she had
to shed the tears which seemed to be gathering in them. Now that
Bellendean was left behind like a dream, now that the familiar fields were
all out of sight, the village roofs disappeared for ever, and she, Joyce, not
Joyce any longer, nor anything she knew, shut up here as in a strait little
house with the people,—the people to whom she belonged,—a wild and
secret anguish took possession of her. She sat quite still with the paper held
before her face, trying to restrain and subdue herself. She felt that if the
train would but stop, she would dart out and fly and lose herself in the
crowd; and then she thought, with what seemed to her a new
comprehension, of her mother who had done so—who had fled and been
lost. Her poor young mother, a girl like herself! This thought, however,
calmed Joyce; for if her mother had but been patient, the misery she was at
present enduring need never have been. Had the first Joyce but subdued
herself and restrained her hasty impulses, the second Joyce might have been
a happy daughter, knowing her father and loving him, instead of the
unhappy, uneasy creature she was, with her heart and her life torn in two.
She paused with a kind of awe when that thought came into her mind. Her
mother had entailed upon her the penalty of her hastiness, of her impatience
and passion. She had paid the cost herself, but not all the cost—she had left
the rest to be borne by her child. The costs of every foolish thing have to be
borne, Joyce said to herself. Some one must drink out that cup to the dregs;
it cannot pass away until it has been emptied by one or another. No;
however tempting the crowd might be in which she could disappear,
however many the stations at which she could escape, she would not take
that step. She would not postpone the pang. She would bear it now,
however it hurt her; for one time or another it would have to be borne.
 The conversation went on all the same, as if none of these thoughts were
passing through the troubled brain of Joyce,—and she was conscious of it,
acutely yet dully, as if it had been written upon the paper which she held
before her face.
‘You must not speak in that tone, my dear, of Scotch articles—before
Joyce,’ the Colonel said. ‘I have never found that they liked it, however
philosophical they might be——’
‘Does Joyce count herself Scotch?’ Mrs. Hayward asked, as if speaking
from a distance.
‘Do you hear your mother, my dear, asking if you call yourself Scotch?’
he said.
Both Joyce and Mrs. Hayward winced at the name. There was nothing to
call for its use, and neither of them intended to pick it up out of the oblivion
of the past, or the still more effectual mystery of the might have been, to
force it into their lives. But Joyce could not take notice of it: she could only
reply to his question with a little exaggerated warmth— ‘I have never been
out of Scotland, and all I care for has been always there. How could I call
myself anything else?’
It was not very long since Peter had accused her of ‘standing up for the
English.’ That had been partially true, and so was this. She thought of it
with almost a laugh of ridicule at herself. Now she felt Scotch to the tips of
her fingers, resenting everything that was said or hinted against her foster-
country.
‘I see I must mind my p’s and q’s,’ said Mrs. Hayward; ‘but, fortunately,
there will be no means of getting the Scotsman in Richmond, so we shall be
exempt from that.’
There was something in Mrs. Hayward’s tone which seemed to imply
that other subjects of quarrel would not be wanting, and there was a little
smile on her lips which gave further meaning to what she said, or seemed to
do so; though, as a matter of fact, poor Mrs. Hayward had no meaning at
all, but could not, though she tried, get rid of that little bit of temper which
had sprung up all lively and keen at sight of the Colonel’s solicitude about
his daughter and her ‘things’—a solicitude which was quite new and
unaccustomed, for he was not in the habit of thinking of any one’s ‘things,’
but rather, whenever he could, of losing his own. Among Joyce’s small
baggage there was one little shabby old-fashioned box—a box which Mrs.
Hayward divined at the first glance must contain the little relics of the
mother, of itself a pitiful little object enough. There had not been a word
said on the subject, but the Colonel had been startled by the sight of it. He
had recognised it, or imagined that he recognised it, she said to herself
severely, and had himself seen it put in the van, with a care which he had
never taken for anything of hers. It was only a trifle, but it touched one of
those chords that are ready to jar in the wayward human instrument of
which the best of men and women have so little control. She could not get
that jarring chord to be still; it vibrated all through her, giving an acrid tone
to her voice, and something disagreeable to the smile that came, she could
not tell how, to her lip. All these vibrations were hateful to her, as well as to
the hapless antagonist who noted and divined them with quick responding
indignation. But Mrs. Hayward could not help it, any more than she could
help Joyce perceiving it. The close vicinity into which this little prison of a
railway carriage brought them, so that not a tone or a look could be missed,
was intolerable to the elder woman too. But she knew very well that she
could not run away.
 CHAPTER XVII
Colonel Hayward’s house was at Richmond, in one of the most beautiful
spots that could be imagined. It stood on the slope of the hill, and
commanded a view of the winding of the river upward towards
Twickenham: and the grounds about it were exquisite, stretching down to
the Thames, with a long if somewhat narrow sweep of lawn descending to
the very water’s edge. Nothing could be more warm and sheltered, more
perfect in greenness and shade, nothing more bright and sunny than the
combination of fine trees and blossoming undergrowth and elastic velvet
turf, the turf of age, which had been dressed and tended like a child from
before the memory of man, and never put to any rude use. The perfection of
the place was in this lawn and the gardens and grounds, which were the
Colonel’s hobby, and to which he gave all his attention. But the house was
also a very pretty house.
It was not large, and it was rather low: a verandah, almost invisible
under the weight of climbing roses, clematis, honeysuckle, and every kind
of flowering thing, went round the front; and here, looking over the river,
were the summer quarters of the family. Wicker-chairs, some of Indian
origin, little tables of all convenient kinds, Indian rugs in all their subdued
wealth of colour, like moss under the feet, made this open-air apartment
delightful. It combined two kinds of luxury with the daintiest yet most
simple success. If there was a drawback it was only in bad weather, when
the pretty drawing-room behind was by reason of this verandah a little
wanting in light; but no one could think of that in the June weather, when
the sunshine touched everything with pleasantness.
Mrs. Hayward was as proud of the house as the Colonel was of the
garden. After India it cannot be described how delightful it was to them,
both very insular people, to get back to the greenness and comfort of this
English home; and they both watched for the effect it would have upon
Joyce, with highly raised expectations. To bring a girl out of a Scotch
cottage to such a place as this, to open to her all at once, from Peter
Matheson’s kitchen, in which the broth was made and the oatcakes baked,
the glories of that drawing-room, which Mrs. Hayward could scarcely leave
to be tended by a mere housemaid, which she herself pervaded every
morning, giving loving touches everywhere, arranging draperies, altering
the positions of the furniture, laying out those lovely pieces of oriental stuff
and Indian embroideries which, always put carefully away at night, adorned
the sofas and chairs. Though she did not love ‘the girl’ she yet looked
forward to the moment when all this splendour should dawn upon Joyce,
with a feeling half sympathetic, realising the awe and admiration with
which for the first time her untutored eyes must contemplate the beautiful
room, and all the luxury of the place, which to her must look like splendour.
Mrs. Hayward did not pretend that it was splendid—‘our little place’ she
called it, with proud humility; but she knew that it was more perfect than
anything about, and in itself without comparison, a sight to see. That Joyce
would be dazzled, almost overwhelmed, by her sudden introduction into
such a home, she had no manner of doubt. And this anticipation softened
her, and gave her a certain interest in Joyce. She talked to her husband at
night, after their arrival, about his daughter in a more friendly tone than she
had yet employed.
‘I thought of giving her the little west room for herself. She will want a
place to herself to be untidy in—all girls do: a place where she can keep her
work—if she works—or her books: or—whatever she is fond of.’ Mrs.
Hayward had a distinct vision in her eye of a little old-fashioned box—the
ark of the relics which the Colonel had recognised—and made up her mind
that it should be at once endued with a chintz cover, so that it might be
recognisable no more.
‘There is nobody like you, Elizabeth, for kind thoughts,’ he said
gratefully. Then with the same expectation that had softened her, he went on
— ‘She has never been used to anything of the kind. I shouldn’t wonder if it
was too much for her feelings—for she feels strongly, or else I am
mistaken; and she is a girl who—if you once bind her to you by love and
kindness——’ The Colonel’s own voice quivered a little. He was himself
touched by that thought.
‘Don’t speak nonsense, Henry—we know nothing about the girl, neither
you nor I. The thing in her favour is, that all those Scotch friends of yours
thought very well of her: but then the Scotch stick to each other so——’
She has a spirit—and a temper too, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘No, my dear, it was only a flash, because she thought—because she was
taken by surprise.’
 ‘I think none the worse of her for having a little temper; I have one
myself,’ said Mrs. Hayward with candour. ‘People like that are far safer
than the sweet yielding ones who show nothing. And another thing—we
shall have to account for her. I don’t know if you have thought of that.’
‘Account for her?’
‘Yes, to be sure. People will be calling—and they will wonder how it
was they never heard of your daughter before. One of the hardest things in
life is, that whenever you are in any society you must explain. That was one
advantage of being in none.’
‘I never liked it, Elizabeth. I always thought you were too particular—as
the event has proved, my dear, as the event has proved!’
Mrs. Hayward withdrew a little from him and his congratulations. Now
that her position was beyond question, she was unwilling in her impatient
soul that any reference should be made to the doubt which had shadowed
her life before. That was all over. She would have had it forgotten for ever,
and in her heart resented his recollection of it. She resumed the previous
subject without taking any notice of this.
‘Fortunately, we don’t know the people here so well that we need go into
it from the beginning and tell everything. I have been thinking it over, and
this is what I shall say—I shall say, Your daughter has been brought up by
some old relations in Scotland, but that we both felt it was time she should
come home. If they say, “O! we did not know Colonel Hayward had any
family,” I shall answer, “Did I never tell you?” as if it had been quite an
accidental oversight. Now don’t go and contradict me, Henry, and say more
than there is any occasion for. Let us both be in one tale.’
‘My dear,’ he said, ‘to think that you should have settled all that while I
was thinking about nothing; but why should we be in a tale at all? Why
shouldn’t I just say simply——’
‘It is such a simple story, isn’t it?’ she cried, ‘that you should have had a
child—an only child, as you said in Bellendean——’
There was a tone of exasperation in this which made Colonel Hayward
look up. He said, ‘But it was quite true, Elizabeth. Providence has not
thought meet to give us——’
‘As if I did not know that!’ cried the woman whom Providence—that
synonym of all that goes against the wishes of humanity—had not permitted
to be a mother. ‘But,’ she added quickly, taking up the thread again, ‘you
will see, if you think of it, that we can’t go into all that story. There would
be so much to explain. And besides, it’s nobody’s business.’
‘Then why say anything at all, my dear?’ the Colonel said.
‘Why know anybody at all, you mean? As if we could avoid explaining a
thing which is a very strange thing, however you take it! Unless you have
anything better to suggest, that is what I shall say. Brought up by some old
relations in Scotland—you can say her mother’s relations if you please; but
that we felt it was not right to leave her there any longer, now we are quite
settled and she is grown up. Don’t contradict me just when I am in the
middle of my story, Henry. Back me up about the relations—unless you
have anything better to suggest.’
Colonel Hayward, however, had nothing to suggest, though he was much
embarrassed by having a story to tell. ‘I’ll forget what it is you want me to
say—or I’ll go too far—or I’ll—make a muddle of it one way or other,’ he
said. ‘I shall feel as if there was something wrong about it, Elizabeth: and
there is nothing wrong—nothing, nothing! all the time.’
‘Go to bed,’ said Mrs. Hayward; ‘you are too tired to begin to think at
this hour. You know the railway always upsets you. Go to bed, my dear—go
to bed.’
‘Well, perhaps it will be the best thing,’ the Colonel said.
They both got up next morning with one pleasant thought in their minds,
that of dazzling Joyce. It took away the line even from Mrs. Hayward’s
brow. It was pleasant to anticipate the astonishment, the admiration, the
deep impression which all these unaccustomed splendours would make.
Poor girl! it would be almost too much for her; and they both wondered
what she would say—whether she would break down altogether in
amazement and rapture—whether it would be by words or tears that she
would show her sense of this wonderful change in her life.
Alas! Joyce had awoke with a pang of disappointment almost as keen as
that which seized her when she was first told that Colonel Hayward was her
father. She woke in a pretty room all dainty and fresh, with pretty paper,
pretty furniture, everything that was most suitable and becoming for the
character and dimensions of the place; and she hurried to the window and
looked out eagerly upon the pretty English lawn so trim and well cared for,
the trees that formed two long lines down to the river, shutting it out from
other enclosures on either side, the brilliant flower-beds near the house, the
clustering climbers that surrounded her window. And the cottage girl felt
her high-vaulting thoughts go down, down, with a disappointment which
made her giddy. Was ever anything so foolish, so wicked, so thankless?
From the little garret in the cottage to this room filled with convenient and
pretty things, of some of which she did not even understand the use—from
the village street of Bellendean, seen through the open door or greenish bad
glass of the cottage windows, to this warm luxurious landscape, and the
silver Thames, and the noble trees! And yet Joyce was disappointed beyond
what words could say.
She had no knowledge of this limited comfortable luxurious littleness;
all that she knew was the cottage life—and Bellendean. There were, to be
sure, the farmers’ houses, and the manse; but neither of these types
resembled this, nor was either consistent with the image of Colonel
Hayward, the Captain’s colonel, the ‘distinguished soldier’ with whose
name Joyce had begun to flatter herself everybody was acquainted. She
stood half dressed and gazed out upon the long but confined stretch of lawn,
and the low gable which was within sight from the window, with dismay. A
chill struck to her heart. She thought of Bellendean, not half so daintily
cared for as this little demesne, with its groups of great trees, its wide
stretches of park, its careless size and greatness. Poor Joyce! had she been
the minister’s daughter at the manse, she might have been dazzled and
delighted, as was expected from her. But she understood nothing of this.
She knew the poor and their ways, and she knew the great people—the
great houses and big parks, the cottages with a but and a ben and a little
kailyard. The one was all-familiar to her—the other was her ideal, the
natural alternative of poverty: but this she knew nothing about—nothing at
all.
She did not understand it. The toil and care which made that lawn like
velvet, perfect, without a weed, elastic, springing under the foot, soft as
moss, and green as constant waterings and mowings could make it, was
totally lost upon Joyce. She saw the two lines of trees and flowering shrubs,
elaborately masking all more arbitrary lines of limitation on each side,
shutting it off—and the sight of those green bonds made her heart turn back
upon herself. Her father had recovered in her mind the greatness necessary
for her ideal: he was a distinguished soldier—what could be better? He was
finer in his fame (she said to herself) than if he had been a prince or a duke.
But his house! She retired from her window and covered her face with her
hands, and went back into the secret citadel of herself with a dismayed
heart. She had never calculated upon this. To be just one among a crowd, to
be nobody in particular, to have suffered this convulsion in her life and
rending asunder of her being, for nothing—to be nobody. And all the time
these two good people were forestalling each other in their anticipations,
making pictures to themselves of Joyce’s transport and delight!
How she got through the ordeal will be best seen in the long letters
which she wrote that evening to her old home.

‘My dearest old Granny, my own real true Mother—I wonder how you
are, and how the day has passed, and how grandfather is, and even the cat,
and everything at home. Oh what a thing it is to go away from your home,
to be taken from the true place you belong to! You will never know how I
felt when it all melted away into the sky, and Bellendean was a thing I
could see no more. Oh my bonnie little Bellendean, where I’ve lived all my
life, and the old ash-tree, and the rose-bushes, and my garret-window where
I could see the Firth, and our kindly table where we ate our porridge and
where I could see you! O Granny, my own Granny, that’s all gone away into
the skies, and the place that has known me knows me no more: and here I
am in a strange place, and I cannot tell whether I’m Joyce still, or if I’m like
the woman in the old song, “and this is no’ me.”
‘Dear Granny, the journey was well enough: it was the best of all. I got a
paper full of pictures (the Graphic, you know it), and they just talked their
own talks, and did not ask me much: and then the country span along past
the carriage-window, towns and castles, and rivers, and fields of corn, and
all the people going about their business and knowing nothing at all of a
poor lassie carried quick, quick away from her home. I pictured to myself
that I might be going away for a governess to make some money for my
grandfather and you—but that would not have been so bad, for I would
have gone back again when I got the money: and then I tried to think I
might be going to take care of somebody, perhaps a brother I might have
had that was ill, and that you would be anxious at home—very anxious—
but not like the present: for he would have begun to get better as soon as I
was there to nurse him, and every day the time would have come nearer for
taking him home. And I tried a great many other things, but none was bad
enough—till I just came back to the truth, that here I was flying far away to