JOHNNY LUDLOW [Illustration] JOHNNY LUDLOW BY MRS. HENRY WOOD AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," ETC. _FIFTH SERIES_ +London+ MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1899 LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. CONTENTS. PAGE FEATHERSTON'S STORY 1 WATCHING ON ST. MARK'S EVE 205 SANKER'S VISIT 224 ROGER MONK 245 THE EBONY BOX 271 OUR FIRST TERM AT OXFORD 349 "God sent his Singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth, That they might touch the hearts of men, And bring them back to heaven again." LONGFELLOW. JOHNNY LUDLOW. FEATHERSTON'S STORY. I. I have called this Featherston's story, because it was through him that I heard about it--and, indeed, saw a little of it towards the end. * * * * * Buttermead, the wide straggling district to which Featherston enjoyed the honour of being doctor-in-ordinary, was as rural as any that can be found in Worcestershire. Featherston's house stood at the end of the village. Whitney Hall lay close by; as did our school, Dr. Frost's. In the neighbourhood were scattered a few other substantial residences, some farmers' homesteads and labourers' cottages. Featherston was a slim man, with long thin legs and a face grey and careworn. His patients (like the soldier's steam arm) gave him no rest day or night. There is no need to go into details here about Featherston's people. His sister, Mary Ann, lived in his house at one time, and for everyday ailments was almost as good a doctor as he. She was not at all like him: a merry, talkative, sociable little woman, with black hair and quick, kindly dark eyes. Our resident French master in those days at Dr. Frost's was one Monsieur Jules Carimon: a small man with honest blue eyes in his clean-shaven face, and light brown hair cropped close to his head. He was an awful martinet at study, but a genial little gentleman out of it. To the surprise of Buttermead, he and Mary Featherston set up a courtship. It was carried on in sober fashion, as befitted a sober couple who had both left thirty years, and the rest, behind them; and after a summer or two of it they laid plans for their marriage and for living in France. "I'm sure I don't know what on earth I shall do amongst the French, Johnny Ludlow," Mary said to me in her laughing way, when I and Bill Whitney were having tea at Featherston's one half-holiday, the week before the wedding. "Jules protests they are easier to get on with than the English; not so stiff and formal; but I don't pay attention to all he says, you know."