"an elderly dragon with cold grey eyes,

tongue that gibes at a lover rash,

ears quite deaf to pathetic sighs

uttered by men who are scant of cash.

"but when a millionaire comes to woo,

the dragon inspires him not with fear.

her sole idea of love that is true

is measured by so many pounds a year."

thornstream manor, the residence of the pethrams for many generations, was a quaint old house, surrounded by pleasant grounds. a grey weather-beaten structure of two stories, built on a slight rise, on which were wide terraces down to the green lawns below, which were girt some distance away by a circle of ancient trees. the house itself was a long, low, embattlemented place between two sharply pointed gables, beneath which were diamond-paned oriel windows. along the front other wide low windows, and a massive door set in a heavy stone porch. the roofs above of deep-red tiles, with twisted chimneys here and there, and the whole house covered with a clinging garment of dark green ivy, as if to shelter it from the cold winds blowing across the park. seen at the end of the drive as it emerged from the trees, the white terraced rise topped by the grey ivy-covered house, with the tint of red afforded by the roof, looked singularly peaceful and pleasant. the goddess with the olive branch had established herself in this pleasant domain, and a brooding air of sunday quiet pervaded the place, as if it were indeed that delightful castle of indolence whereof one james thomson discourseth so pleasantly.

the grounds were also charming--wide stretches of green lawn, flower-beds filled with homely cottage flowers, still stone-rimmed ponds, where broad-leaved water-lilies kept the sun from grilling the hoary carp in the depths below. an antique dial with its warning motto, and on the verge of the lush glass, heavily foliaged trees making pleasant shades for the timid deer browsing round their gnarled boles. white pigeons flashed in the blue sky round the grey walls of thornstream, or nestled among the trees with gentle cooings, while a glimpse could be obtained every now and then of lazy cows in distant meadows, chewing the cud of contentment. it was one of those scenes of intense quiet which are only to be seen in full perfection in the pleasant lands of pastoral england, a home, a veritable home, which one engaged in the turmoil of the world would remember with regretful longing. peace, absolute peace, that most desirable of all blessings was here. peace, which youth scorns but which age prizes, brooded over the homestead, and the sleeping beauty herself might have dreamed away her hundred years in this happy english mansion without being disturbed in any way.

"and on an english home--grey twilight poured,

on dewy pastures, dewy trees,

softer than sleep--all things in order stored,

a haunt of ancient peace."

"i never understood those lines of tennyson until i saw thornstream."

it was kaituna who was speaking--kaituna arrayed in a cool white dress, standing on the terrace in the early morning looking over the peaceful scene spread out before her. the birds were singing joyously in the trees, the cool dew was lying on the grass, and this young girl, reared in a far-distant country, was now viewing with dreamy eyes the pleasant land of england.

beside her was mrs. belswin, in a simple dress of black serge, with all her splendid hair smoothed firmly back, and a pensive look in her fierce eyes--eyes which had now lost in a great measure their savage expression, and which filled with soft maternal love when they rested on the straight slim form of her daughter. in the sordid lodging in bloomsbury, in a gaudy dress, with her real nature unrestrained in any way, she had looked like a savage; but now, with all her feelings well under control, her sombre dress, and her demure look, she appeared quite civilized. the savage was there, however, all the same, and should occasion arise to excite her in any way, a keen observer could easily see that the thin veneer of civilization would vanish, and the true instinct of the uncivilized being would flash forth, with a force all the greater for suppression. her voice also had altered, as it was no longer strident or harsh in its tones, and in replying to kaituna's remark anent tennyson, it was as soft and sweet as that of a quakeress.

"it is very beautiful in a mild way," she said quietly; "but i'm afraid i should grow weary of this everlasting tranquillity."

"oh, mrs. belswin, i'm sure that truer happiness can be found here than in the world."

"i dare say you are right, kaituna; but the sentiment sounds curious, coming from one so young."

"it's the fault of my colonial training," replied kaituna, with a smile. "life in new zealand is very quiet, you know. when i came home with papa i was quite bewildered by the noise and turmoil of london--every one rushing here and there--restless crowds in the streets, chattering women in the houses--no rest, no pause, no quiet. oh, it was terrible."

"and down here?"

"down here it is charming. one can dream dreams in this delicious old place, and take life easily, not at the railroad speed of london folk."

"you are too young for a hermit, kaituna."

"oh, but i'm not a hermit, i assure you. i'm fond of gaiety. i adore balls and garden-parties. i'm never tired of riding and tennis-playing, but i can get all those in the country, and can live slowly, which i like. the hurry-skurry of town life would kill me."

"you like england, then?"

"oh, very much, very much indeed! it's a wonderful country; but my home has my dearest love. life there is so pleasant, so steady-going. you can take pleasure at your own time, if you want to. here in england it is all fever and excitement. when i stayed in london i felt as if it were a nightmare with the gas and glare and endless streets, with their endless crowds rushing on--on, without rest or pause. ah, if you saw new zealand i am sure you would like it. do you know new zealand?"

"no," answered mrs. belswin, quietly. "i do not know new zealand; but i have been in melbourne."

"ah, that's too much like london."

"say rather san francisco. melbourne is wonderfully like 'frisco."

"are you an american, mrs. belswin?"

"yes; i was born in new orleans."

"then you are----"

"a creole," finished mrs. belswin, quickly. "yes, you can tell that from my appearance. i have black blood in my veins. in america it is thought a crime. here it doesn't matter."

"i've got black blood in my veins also," said kaituna, with a flush in her olive-tinted cheek; "that is maori blood. my mother was the granddaughter of a chief."

mrs. belswin moved a few steps away, as she could not trust herself to speak, so tumultuous were the feelings raging in her bosom. her child--her own child, and yet she dare not take her to her bosom and tell her the truth. the girl's innocent words wounded her to the quick, and it needed all the stoical resignation of her savage nature to enable her to preserve a calm demeanour.

"i don't remember my mother at all," went on kaituna, idly leaning her arms on the terrace. "she died when i was a child; but i often picture her to myself."

"and the picture?" asked mrs. belswin, unsteadily, her face turned away.

"oh, a tall, beautiful woman, with dark eyes and haughty bearing. proud to all, but loving to me. i once saw a picture of pocahontas, and i always fancied my mother a woman like that--wild and free and majestic. ah, it was a great sorrow to me that she died. i should have loved her so. i used to envy other girls when i saw them with their mothers, because i have none. oh, it must be very, very beautiful to have a mother to take care of you--to whom you can appeal for comfort and sympathy; but--but--mrs. belswin, why, you are crying!"

she was crying--crying bitterly, and the tears ran down her dark cheeks in great drops that showed how much she was moved by the girl's idle words--tears that were caused by the terrible agony of carrying on the part she was playing. kaituna, in great wonder, approached her; but at the light touch of the girl's fingers the woman shrank back with a low cry of fear.

"don't touch me!--don't touch me, child!"

kaituna paused with a puzzled look on her face, upon which mrs. belswin dried her eyes hurriedly, and took the girl's hand.

"i beg your pardon, kaituna," she said, with forced composure, "but you must not mind me, my dear. i am not very well at present. my nerves are out of order."

"i hope i have said nothing to vex you?"

"no, dear, no! but i--i had a little child of my own once, and--and--and she died."

"oh, i am so sorry!" cried kaituna, touched to the heart by this pathetic confession. "i should not have spoken as i did."

"you did not know, my dear. it was not your fault. i lost my little girl many years ago, but the wound is quite fresh, and it bleeds on occasions. i am all right now, kaituna--don't look so dismayed. we have all our skeletons, you know. mine--mine is a little child!"

"dear mrs. belswin," said kaituna, touching her with tender fingers, "i have only known you a fortnight, it is true, but there is something about you that draws me to you. i don't know what it is, as i don't make friends easily, but with you, why, i feel as if i had known you all my life."

"my dearest!" replied mrs. belswin, taking the girl in her arms with fierce affection, "you do not know how happy your words have made me. if my daughter had lived, she would have been just like you now--just like you. let me give you my love, dear--my dead love that has starved for so many years."

she pressed the girl to her breast, but kaituna hesitated. as she had said, she was not ready in making new friends, but there was something in the tones of mrs. belswin's voice, something about the look in her eyes, in the pressure of her arms, that sent a thrill through her, and, hardly knowing what she did, with sudden impulse she kissed the woman on the mouth, upon which mrs. belswin, with an inarticulate cry, leant her face on the girl's shoulder and burst into tears.

was it nature that was working here to bring mother and daughter together?--nature, that has her secret springs, her mysterious instincts, which enable those of one flesh to recognise one another by some hidden impulse. who can tell? science dissects the body, analyses the brain, gives hard and fast reasons for the emotions, but there is something that escapes her prying eyes, something that no one can describe, that no one has seen--a something which, obeying the laws of being, recognises its affinity in another body, and flies forth to meet it. we boasted scientists of the nineteenth century have discovered a great deal about that wonderful being--man, but there is one secret which is hidden from all save god himself, and that is the secret of maternal instinct.

suddenly they were disturbed by the sound of the gong, and hastily drying their tears--for kaituna had been crying as much as mrs. belswin--they went in to breakfast.

such a pleasant room, with bright, cheerful paper chintz-covered furniture, and the white cloth of the table covered with hearty country fare. mrs. belswin took her seat at the head of the table to pour out the coffee, and kaituna sat at the side, looking over the bunch of homely flowers, brilliant among the dishes, out on to the fair country beyond. by the side of her plate kaituna found a letter with the new zealand postmark on it, and, knowing it came from her father, opened it at once.

"papa will be back in three months," she said, when she had finished reading it. "his business will not take him so long as he expected."

"what is the business, dear?" asked mrs. belswin, with her face bent over her plate.

"selling land. you know, my mother brought him a good deal of property, and he is now going to sell it."

"going to sell it!" reiterated mrs. belswin, in angry surprise. "why is he going to do that?"

kaituna was rather astonished at her tone, on seeing which mrs. belswin hastened to excuse herself.

"i beg your pardon, my dear," she said apologetically, "but i thought land in the colony was so very valuable?"

"so it is; but papa desires to establish himself in england altogether now that he has come in for the title, so he wishes to sell his new zealand property and invest the money in some other way; besides the value of property in the colony has decreased of late years."

"you seem to be well up in the subject, kaituna."

"i could hardly help being so! papa was always talking about the government and their dealings with the land. you see, mrs. belswin, politics with us are more domestic than here. in england they deal with kings and governments, but there we attend to the welfare of the people--the parcelling out of the land, and all those kinds of things. i'm afraid i've got but a hazy idea of the true facts of the case, but you understand what i mean."

"oh, i understand," replied mrs. belswin, composedly--and so she did, a deal better than kaituna herself. "so your papa is coming home in three months. i suppose you will be very pleased to see him?"

"oh, yes. i am very fond of my father. we are more like brother and sister than anything else. people say that papa is supercilious and haughty, but i never saw it myself."

"he could hardly be so to you."

"no! he is all that is good and kind. i try to make him as happy as possible, for it was a heavy blow to him when he lost my mother."

mrs. belswin turned away her head to conceal a sneer.

"so i try to supply my mother's place as much as possible."

"i'm sure you succeed," said mrs. belswin warmly; "he can hardly miss your mother when he has you beside him."

"that's what he says, but of course i know he says it only to please me. a daughter cannot supply the place of a wife."

"in this case it seems she can," said the lady caustically; "but what will he do when you marry?"

kaituna blushed and cast down her eyes.

"well, i--i have not thought of marriage yet."

"oh, kaituna!"

"no, really," said the girl, raising her clear eyes to mrs. belswin's face. "i should not think of marrying without gaining papa's consent."

"then you have not seen the prince yet?"

"the prince?"

"yes, the fairy prince who is to awake the sleeping beauty."

kaituna blushed again, and laughed in rather an embarrassed manner.

"dear mrs. belswin, what curious things you say," she replied evasively. "i have not seen any one in new zealand i cared about, and since my arrival in england i have lived so quietly that i can hardly have met the fairy prince you speak of."

"when the hour arrives the fairy prince comes with it," said mrs. belswin, oracularly. "my dear, you are too charming to remain with your father all your life, as i am sure he must acknowledge himself. have the young men of to-day no eyes or no hearts that they can see my kaituna without falling in love with her?"

"i'm sure i don't know. no one has spoken to me of love yet."

"ah! it's not the speaking alone, dear! you are a woman, and the instinct of a woman can tell what a man means without him using his tongue."

"but you see i am not versed in love lore."

"my dear, you are a delightful girl in the first days of innocence. i am glad to see that the bloom of maidenhood is not rubbed off you by premature wisdom in love-affairs. a girl who flirts from her teens upwards, loses that delightful unconsciousness which is the great charm of a maiden. you have lived secluded in new zealand. you are living secluded in england, and the world has passed you by. but the fairy prince will arrive, my dear, and his kiss will awaken you from the sleep of girlhood into the real life of womanly existence."

"i thought such things only happened in novels."

"no, dear, no. they happen around us every day. when you see a girl with a blushing face and a dreaming eye, or hear a young fellow singing gaily for very joy of life, you will know that love has come to them both, and they are telling each other the beautiful story, in the full belief that such story is quite original, though adam told it to eve in the garden of eden."

"it sounds delightful," sighed the girl, pensively. "i suppose you are telling me your experience."

"my experience," echoed mrs. belswin, flushing acutely. "no, child, no. i have had my romance, like all women, but it ended sadly."

"i understand," said kaituna quietly; "you are thinking of your lost child."

mrs. belswin was about to make some passionate rejoinder, but checked herself suddenly, and went on eating her breakfast with forced composure.

kaituna also became silent, thinking over what had been said, and there was no further conversation until the butler entered and handed the girl a letter.

"from the vicarage, miss," he said ceremoniously, and retired.

the letter proved to be from toby clendon, being a few lines announcing the fact that mr. maxwell was staying with him, and that they would both come on that afternoon to thornstream to renew the acquaintance so pleasantly begun at marsh-on-the sea.

"what is the matter?" asked mrs. belswin, staring in some astonishment at the rosy face and bright eyes of the girl. "nothing is wrong, i hope?"

"no! no! i'm sure i don't look as if anything were wrong. it's this letter from mr. clendon."

"mr. clendon?" repeated mrs. belswin, taking the letter handed to her by kaituna. "is that the charming young fellow we met the other day?"

"yes!"

"oh, i see he has a friend staying with him, and they are going to call this afternoon. kaituna, i am a sorceress--a witch, my dear, i should have been burnt in the middle ages as a practitioner of the black art. give me your hand."

"what for," asked kaituna in some confusion, as mrs. belswin took her by the wrist.

"for a magical ceremony! there! now tell me. is mr. clendon the prince?"

"no! no! no!"

"that's very emphatic. i mistrust emphasis in a girl. well, we will dismiss mr. clendon, though he is very delightful. what about mr. maxwell? ah! now i know! your pulse leaped at the name. your face is rosy, your eyes are bright. by the white witchcraft i practise i interpret these signs. you are in love, my dear."

"no!"

"and with mr. maxwell."

kaituna snatched away her hands with a little laugh and covered her burning face.

"you the sleeping beauty," said mrs. belswin, with mock severity. "my dear, your sleep is over. the true prince has arrived and the hundred years are at an end."

the girl made no reply, but between her fingers one bright eye looked forth at her chaperon.

"i will talk to mr. maxwell this afternoon, and see if he is a man worthy of you."

"oh, i'm sure he is."

"ah! you have betrayed yourself. it is the prince after all. but what about your father?"

"my father will not cross me in this."

"of course not, provided your prince is rich."

"rich or poor; it doesn't matter. papa will deny me nothing. he is the kindest man in the world."

"humph!" muttered mrs. belswin under her breath. "he has altered since my time, then."