But the captain of Springhaven shook his head.



CHAPTER XIII

WHENCE, AND WHEREFORE?


At the rectory, too, ere the end of that week, there was no little
shaking of heads almost as wise as Zebedee Tugwell's. Mrs. Twemlow,
though nearly sixty years of age, and acquainted with many a sorrow, was
as lively and busy and notable as ever, and even more determined to
be the mistress of the house. For by this time her daughter Eliza,
beginning to be twenty-five years old--a job which takes some years in
finishing--began at the same time to approve her birth by a vigorous aim
at the mastery. For, as everybody said, Miss Eliza was a Carne in
blood and breed and fibre. There was little of the Twemlow stock about
her--for the Twemlows were mild and humorous--but plenty of the strength
and dash and wildness and contemptuous spirit of the ancient Carnes.

Carne a carne, as Mr. Twemlow said, when his wife was inclined to be
masterful--a derivation confirmed by the family motto, "Carne non
caret carne." In the case, however, of Mrs. Twemlow, age, affliction,
experience, affection, and perhaps above all her good husband's larger
benevolence and placidity, had wrought a great change for the better,
and made a nice old lady of her. She was tall and straight and slender
still; and knew how to make the most, by grave attire and graceful
attitude, of the bodily excellence entailed for ages on the lineage