diff options
Diffstat (limited to '1630-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 1630-h/1630-h.htm | 20789 |
1 files changed, 20789 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/1630-h/1630-h.htm b/1630-h/1630-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..231cc32 --- /dev/null +++ b/1630-h/1630-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,20789 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Little Novels, by Wilkie Collins</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify;} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Little Novels, by Wilkie Collins</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Little Novels</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Wilkie Collins</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February, 1999 [eBook #1630]<br /> +[Most recently updated: December 9, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: James Rusk and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE NOVELS ***</div> + + <h1> + LITTLE NOVELS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Wilkie Collins + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> MRS. ZANT AND THE GHOST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> MISS MORRIS AND THE STRANGER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> MR. COSWAY AND THE LANDLADY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> MR. MEDHURST AND THE PRINCESS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> MR. LISMORE AND THE WIDOW. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> MISS JÉROMETTE AND THE CLERGYMAN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> MISS MINA AND THE GROOM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> MR. LEPEL AND THE HOUSEKEEPER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> MR. CAPTAIN AND THE NYMPH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> MR. MARMADUKE AND THE MINISTER. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> MR. PERCY AND THE PROPHET. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART1"> PART 1.—THE PREDICTION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> PART II.—THE FULFILLMENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> MISS BERTHA AND THE YANKEE. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> MISS DULANE AND MY LORD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART11"> Part I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART12"> Part II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART13"> Part III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART14"> Part IV. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> MR. POLICEMAN AND THE COOK. </a> + </p> + + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + MRS. ZANT AND THE GHOST. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> + <p> + The course of this narrative describes the return of a disembodied spirit + to earth, and leads the reader on new and strange ground. + </p> + <p> + Not in the obscurity of midnight, but in the searching light of day, did + the supernatural influence assert itself. Neither revealed by a vision, + nor announced by a voice, it reached mortal knowledge through the sense + which is least easily self-deceived: the sense that feels. + </p> + <p> + The record of this event will of necessity produce conflicting + impressions. It will raise, in some minds, the doubt which reason asserts; + it will invigorate, in other minds, the hope which faith justifies; and it + will leave the terrible question of the destinies of man, where centuries + of vain investigation have left it—in the dark. + </p> + <p> + Having only undertaken in the present narrative to lead the way along a + succession of events, the writer declines to follow modern examples by + thrusting himself and his opinions on the public view. He returns to the + shadow from which he has emerged, and leaves the opposing forces of + incredulity and belief to fight the old battle over again, on the old + ground. + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + THE events happened soon after the first thirty years of the present + century had come to an end. + </p> + <p> + On a fine morning, early in the month of April, a gentleman of middle age + (named Rayburn) took his little daughter Lucy out for a walk in the + woodland pleasure-ground of Western London, called Kensington Gardens. + </p> + <p> + The few friends whom he possessed reported of Mr. Rayburn (not unkindly) + that he was a reserved and solitary man. He might have been more + accurately described as a widower devoted to his only surviving child. + Although he was not more than forty years of age, the one pleasure which + made life enjoyable to Lucy’s father was offered by Lucy herself. + </p> + <p> + Playing with her ball, the child ran on to the southern limit of the + Gardens, at that part of it which still remains nearest to the old Palace + of Kensington. Observing close at hand one of those spacious covered + seats, called in England “alcoves,” Mr. Rayburn was reminded that he had + the morning’s newspaper in his pocket, and that he might do well to rest + and read. At that early hour the place was a solitude. + </p> + <p> + “Go on playing, my dear,” he said; “but take care to keep where I can see + you.” + </p> + <p> + Lucy tossed up her ball; and Lucy’s father opened his newspaper. He had + not been reading for more than ten minutes, when he felt a familiar little + hand laid on his knee. + </p> + <p> + “Tired of playing?” he inquired—with his eyes still on the + newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “I’m frightened, papa.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up directly. The child’s pale face startled him. He took her on + his knee and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “You oughtn’t to be frightened, Lucy, when I am with you,” he said, + gently. “What is it?” He looked out of the alcove as he spoke, and saw a + little dog among the trees. “Is it the dog?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Lucy answered: + </p> + <p> + “It’s not the dog—it’s the lady.” + </p> + <p> + The lady was not visible from the alcove. + </p> + <p> + “Has she said anything to you?” Mr. Rayburn inquired. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “What has she done to frighten you?” + </p> + <p> + The child put her arms round her father’s neck. + </p> + <p> + “Whisper, papa,” she said; “I’m afraid of her hearing us. I think she’s + mad.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you think so, Lucy?” + </p> + <p> + “She came near to me. I thought she was going to say something. She seemed + to be ill.” + </p> + <p> + “Well? And what then?” + </p> + <p> + “She looked at me.” + </p> + <p> + There, Lucy found herself at a loss how to express what she had to say + next—and took refuge in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing very wonderful, so far,” her father suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, papa—but she didn’t seem to see me when she looked.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and what happened then?” + </p> + <p> + “The lady was frightened—and that frightened me. I think,” the child + repeated positively, “she’s mad.” + </p> + <p> + It occurred to Mr. Rayburn that the lady might be blind. He rose at once + to set the doubt at rest. + </p> + <p> + “Wait here,” he said, “and I’ll come back to you.” + </p> + <p> + But Lucy clung to him with both hands; Lucy declared that she was afraid + to be by herself. They left the alcove together. + </p> + <p> + The new point of view at once revealed the stranger, leaning against the + trunk of a tree. She was dressed in the deep mourning of a widow. The + pallor of her face, the glassy stare in her eyes, more than accounted for + the child’s terror—it excused the alarming conclusion at which she + had arrived. + </p> + <p> + “Go nearer to her,” Lucy whispered. + </p> + <p> + They advanced a few steps. It was now easy to see that the lady was young, + and wasted by illness—but (arriving at a doubtful conclusion perhaps + under the present circumstances) apparently possessed of rare personal + attractions in happier days. As the father and daughter advanced a little, + she discovered them. After some hesitation, she left the tree; approached + with an evident intention of speaking; and suddenly paused. A change to + astonishment and fear animated her vacant eyes. If it had not been plain + before, it was now beyond all doubt that she was not a poor blind + creature, deserted and helpless. At the same time, the expression of her + face was not easy to understand. She could hardly have looked more amazed + and bewildered, if the two strangers who were observing her had suddenly + vanished from the place in which they stood. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn spoke to her with the utmost kindness of voice and manner. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid you are not well,” he said. “Is there anything that I can do—” + </p> + <p> + The next words were suspended on his lips. It was impossible to realize + such a state of things; but the strange impression that she had already + produced on him was now confirmed. If he could believe his senses, her + face did certainly tell him that he was invisible and inaudible to the + woman whom he had just addressed! She moved slowly away with a heavy sigh, + like a person disappointed and distressed. Following her with his eyes, he + saw the dog once more—a little smooth-coated terrier of the ordinary + English breed. The dog showed none of the restless activity of his race. + With his head down and his tail depressed, he crouched like a creature + paralyzed by fear. His mistress roused him by a call. He followed her + listlessly as she turned away. + </p> + <p> + After walking a few paces only, she suddenly stood still. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn heard her talking to herself. + </p> + <p> + “Did I feel it again?” she said, as if perplexed by some doubt that awed + or grieved her. After a while her arms rose slowly, and opened with a + gentle caressing action—an embrace strangely offered to the empty + air! “No,” she said to herself, sadly, after waiting a moment. “More + perhaps when to-morrow comes—no more to-day.” She looked up at the + clear blue sky. “The beautiful sunlight! the merciful sunlight!” she + murmured. “I should have died if it had happened in the dark.” + </p> + <p> + Once more she called to the dog; and once more she walked slowly away. + </p> + <p> + “Is she going home, papa?’ the child asked. + </p> + <p> + “We will try and find out,” the father answered. + </p> + <p> + He was by this time convinced that the poor creature was in no condition + to be permitted to go out without some one to take care of her. From + motives of humanity, he was resolved on making the attempt to communicate + with her friends. + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + THE lady left the Gardens by the nearest gate; stopping to lower her veil + before she turned into the busy thoroughfare which leads to Kensington. + Advancing a little way along the High Street, she entered a house of + respectable appearance, with a card in one of the windows which announced + that apartments were to let. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn waited a minute—then knocked at the door, and asked if + he could see the mistress of the house. The servant showed him into a room + on the ground floor, neatly but scantily furnished. One little white + object varied the grim brown monotony of the empty table. It was a + visiting-card. + </p> + <p> + With a child’s unceremonious curiosity Lucy pounced on the card, and + spelled the name, letter by letter: “Z, A, N, T,” she repeated. “What does + that mean?” + </p> + <p> + Her father looked at the card, as he took it away from her, and put it + back on the table. The name was printed, and the address was added in + pencil: “Mr. John Zant, Purley’s Hotel.” + </p> + <p> + The mistress made her appearance. Mr. Rayburn heartily wished himself out + of the house again, the moment he saw her. The ways in which it is + possible to cultivate the social virtues are more numerous and more varied + than is generally supposed. This lady’s way had apparently accustomed her + to meet her fellow-creatures on the hard ground of justice without mercy. + Something in her eyes, when she looked at Lucy, said: “I wonder whether + that child gets punished when she deserves it?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish to see the rooms which I have to let?” she began. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn at once stated the object of his visit—as clearly, as + civilly, and as concisely as a man could do it. He was conscious (he + added) that he had been guilty perhaps of an act of intrusion. + </p> + <p> + The manner of the mistress of the house showed that she entirely agreed + with him. He suggested, however, that his motive might excuse him. The + mistress’s manner changed, and asserted a difference of opinion. + </p> + <p> + “I only know the lady whom you mention,” she said, “as a person of the + highest respectability, in delicate health. She has taken my first-floor + apartments, with excellent references; and she gives remarkably little + trouble. I have no claim to interfere with her proceedings, and no reason + to doubt that she is capable of taking care of herself.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn unwisely attempted to say a word in his own defense. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to remind you—” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Of what, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Of what I observed, when I happened to see the lady in Kensington + Gardens.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not responsible for what you observed in Kensington Gardens. If your + time is of any value, pray don’t let me detain you.” + </p> + <p> + Dismissed in those terms, Mr. Rayburn took Lucy’s hand and withdrew. He + had just reached the door, when it was opened from the outer side. The + Lady of Kensington Gardens stood before him. In the position which he and + his daughter now occupied, their backs were toward the window. Would she + remember having seen them for a moment in the Gardens? + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me for intruding on you,” she said to the landlady. “Your servant + tells me my brother-in-law called while I was out. He sometimes leaves a + message on his card.” + </p> + <p> + She looked for the message, and appeared to be disappointed: there was no + writing on the card. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn lingered a little in the doorway on the chance of hearing + something more. The landlady’s vigilant eyes discovered him. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know this gentleman?” she said maliciously to her lodger. + </p> + <p> + “Not that I remember.” + </p> + <p> + Replying in those words, the lady looked at Mr. Rayburn for the first + time; and suddenly drew back from him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, correcting herself; “I think we met—” + </p> + <p> + Her embarrassment overpowered her; she could say no more. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn compassionately finished the sentence for her. + </p> + <p> + “We met accidentally in Kensington Gardens,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She seemed to be incapable of appreciating the kindness of his motive. + After hesitating a little she addressed a proposal to him, which seemed to + show distrust of the landlady. + </p> + <p> + “Will you let me speak to you upstairs in my own rooms?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for a reply, she led the way to the stairs. Mr. Rayburn + and Lucy followed. They were just beginning the ascent to the first floor, + when the spiteful landlady left the lower room, and called to her lodger + over their heads: “Take care what you say to this man, Mrs. Zant! He + thinks you’re mad.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Zant turned round on the landing, and looked at him. Not a word fell + from her lips. She suffered, she feared, in silence. Something in the sad + submission of her face touched the springs of innocent pity in Lucy’s + heart. The child burst out crying. + </p> + <p> + That artless expression of sympathy drew Mrs. Zant down the few stairs + which separated her from Lucy. + </p> + <p> + “May I kiss your dear little girl?” she said to Mr. Rayburn. The landlady, + standing on the mat below, expressed her opinion of the value of caresses, + as compared with a sounder method of treating young persons in tears: “If + that child was mine,” she remarked, “I would give her something to cry + for.” + </p> + <p> + In the meantime, Mrs. Zant led the way to her rooms. + </p> + <p> + The first words she spoke showed that the landlady had succeeded but too + well in prejudicing her against Mr. Rayburn. + </p> + <p> + “Will you let me ask your child,” she said to him, “why you think me mad?” + </p> + <p> + He met this strange request with a firm answer. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know yet what I really do think. Will you give me a minute’s + attention?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said positively. “The child pities me, I want to speak to the + child. What did you see me do in the Gardens, my dear, that surprised + you?” Lucy turned uneasily to her father; Mrs. Zant persisted. “I first + saw you by yourself, and then I saw you with your father,” she went on. + “When I came nearer to you, did I look very oddly—as if I didn’t see + you at all?” + </p> + <p> + Lucy hesitated again; and Mr. Rayburn interfered. + </p> + <p> + “You are confusing my little girl,” he said. “Allow me to answer your + questions—or excuse me if I leave you.” + </p> + <p> + There was something in his look, or in his tone, that mastered her. She + put her hand to her head. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I’m fit for it,” she answered vacantly. “My courage has + been sorely tried already. If I can get a little rest and sleep, you may + find me a different person. I am left a great deal by myself; and I have + reasons for trying to compose my mind. Can I see you tomorrow? Or write to + you? Where do you live?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn laid his card on the table in silence. She had strongly + excited his interest. He honestly desired to be of some service to this + forlorn creature—abandoned so cruelly, as it seemed, to her own + guidance. But he had no authority to exercise, no sort of claim to direct + her actions, even if she consented to accept his advice. As a last + resource he ventured on an allusion to the relative of whom she had spoken + downstairs. + </p> + <p> + “When do you expect to see your brother-in-law again?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she answered. “I should like to see him—he is so + kind to me.” + </p> + <p> + She turned aside to take leave of Lucy. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, my little friend. If you live to grow up, I hope you will never + be such a miserable woman as I am.” She suddenly looked round at Mr. + Rayburn. “Have you got a wife at home?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “My wife is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “And <i>you</i> have a child to comfort you! Please leave me; you harden + my heart. Oh, sir, don’t you understand? You make me envy you!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn was silent when he and his daughter were out in the street + again. Lucy, as became a dutiful child, was silent, too. But there are + limits to human endurance—and Lucy’s capacity for self-control gave + way at last. + </p> + <p> + “Are you thinking of the lady, papa?” she said. + </p> + <p> + He only answered by nodding his head. His daughter had interrupted him at + that critical moment in a man’s reflections, when he is on the point of + making up his mind. Before they were at home again Mr. Rayburn had arrived + at a decision. Mrs. Zant’s brother-in-law was evidently ignorant of any + serious necessity for his interference—or he would have made + arrangements for immediately repeating his visit. In this state of things, + if any evil happened to Mrs. Zant, silence on Mr. Rayburn’s part might be + indirectly to blame for a serious misfortune. Arriving at that conclusion, + he decided upon running the risk of being rudely received, for the second + time, by another stranger. + </p> + <p> + Leaving Lucy under the care of her governess, he went at once to the + address that had been written on the visiting-card left at the + lodging-house, and sent in his name. A courteous message was returned. Mr. + John Zant was at home, and would be happy to see him. + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + MR. RAYBURN was shown into one of the private sitting-rooms of the hotel. + </p> + <p> + He observed that the customary position of the furniture in a room had + been, in some respects, altered. An armchair, a side-table, and a + footstool had all been removed to one of the windows, and had been placed + as close as possible to the light. On the table lay a large open roll of + morocco leather, containing rows of elegant little instruments in steel + and ivory. Waiting by the table, stood Mr. John Zant. He said + “Good-morning” in a bass voice, so profound and so melodious that those + two commonplace words assumed a new importance, coming from his lips. His + personal appearance was in harmony with his magnificent voice—he was + a tall, finely-made man of dark complexion; with big brilliant black eyes, + and a noble curling beard, which hid the whole lower part of his face. + Having bowed with a happy mingling of dignity and politeness, the + conventional side of this gentleman’s character suddenly vanished; and a + crazy side, to all appearance, took its place. He dropped on his knees in + front of the footstool. Had he forgotten to say his prayers that morning, + and was he in such a hurry to remedy the fault that he had no time to + spare for consulting appearances? The doubt had hardly suggested itself, + before it was set at rest in a most unexpected manner. Mr. Zant looked at + his visitor with a bland smile, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Please let me see your feet.” + </p> + <p> + For the moment, Mr. Rayburn lost his presence of mind. He looked at the + instruments on the side-table. + </p> + <p> + “Are you a corn-cutter?” was all he could say. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, sir,” returned the polite operator, “the term you use is quite + obsolete in our profession.” He rose from his knees, and added modestly: + “I am a Chiropodist.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t mention it! You are not, I imagine, in want of my professional + services. To what motive may I attribute the honor of your visit?” + </p> + <p> + By this time Mr. Rayburn had recovered himself. + </p> + <p> + “I have come here,” he answered, “under circumstances which require + apology as well as explanation.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Zant’s highly polished manner betrayed signs of alarm; his suspicions + pointed to a formidable conclusion—a conclusion that shook him to + the innermost recesses of the pocket in which he kept his money. + </p> + <p> + “The numerous demands on me—” he began. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Make your mind easy,” he replied. “I don’t want money. My object is to + speak with you on the subject of a lady who is a relation of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “My sister-in-law!” Mr. Zant exclaimed. “Pray take a seat.” + </p> + <p> + Doubting if he had chosen a convenient time for his visit, Mr. Rayburn + hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Am I likely to be in the way of persons who wish to consult you?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. My morning hours of attendance on my clients are from + eleven to one.” The clock on the mantelpiece struck the quarter-past one + as he spoke. “I hope you don’t bring me bad news?” he said, very + earnestly. “When I called on Mrs. Zant this morning, I heard that she had + gone out for a walk. Is it indiscreet to ask how you became acquainted + with her?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn at once mentioned what he had seen and heard in Kensington + Gardens; not forgetting to add a few words, which described his interview + afterward with Mrs. Zant. + </p> + <p> + The lady’s brother-in-law listened with an interest and sympathy, which + offered the strongest possible contrast to the unprovoked rudeness of the + mistress of the lodging-house. He declared that he could only do justice + to his sense of obligation by following Mr. Rayburn’s example, and + expressing himself as frankly as if he had been speaking to an old friend. + </p> + <p> + “The sad story of my sister-in-law’s life,” he said, “will, I think, + explain certain things which must have naturally perplexed you. My brother + was introduced to her at the house of an Australian gentleman, on a visit + to England. She was then employed as governess to his daughters. So + sincere was the regard felt for her by the family that the parents had, at + the entreaty of their children, asked her to accompany them when they + returned to the Colony. The governess thankfully accepted the proposal.” + </p> + <p> + “Had she no relations in England?” Mr. Rayburn asked. + </p> + <p> + “She was literally alone in the world, sir. When I tell you that she had + been brought up in the Foundling Hospital, you will understand what I + mean. Oh, there is no romance in my sister-in-law’s story! She never has + known, or will know, who her parents were or why they deserted her. The + happiest moment in her life was the moment when she and my brother first + met. It was an instance, on both sides, of love at first sight. Though not + a rich man, my brother had earned a sufficient income in mercantile + pursuits. His character spoke for itself. In a word, he altered all the + poor girl’s prospects, as we then hoped and believed, for the better. Her + employers deferred their return to Australia, so that she might be married + from their house. After a happy life of a few weeks only—” + </p> + <p> + His voice failed him; he paused, and turned his face from the light. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” he said; “I am not able, even yet, to speak composedly of my + brother’s death. Let me only say that the poor young wife was a widow, + before the happy days of the honeymoon were over. That dreadful calamity + struck her down. Before my brother had been committed to the grave, her + life was in danger from brain-fever.” + </p> + <p> + Those words placed in a new light Mr. Rayburn’s first fear that her + intellect might be deranged. Looking at him attentively, Mr. Zant seemed + to understand what was passing in the mind of his guest. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he said. “If the opinions of the medical men are to be trusted, the + result of the illness is injury to her physical strength—not injury + to her mind. I have observed in her, no doubt, a certain waywardness of + temper since her illness; but that is a trifle. As an example of what I + mean, I may tell you that I invited her, on her recovery, to pay me a + visit. My house is not in London—the air doesn’t agree with me—my + place of residence is at St. Sallins-on-Sea. I am not myself a married + man; but my excellent housekeeper would have received Mrs. Zant with the + utmost kindness. She was resolved—obstinately resolved, poor thing—to + remain in London. It is needless to say that, in her melancholy position, + I am attentive to her slightest wishes. I took a lodging for her; and, at + her special request, I chose a house which was near Kensington Gardens. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any association with the Gardens which led Mrs. Zant to make + that request?” + </p> + <p> + “Some association, I believe, with the memory of her husband. By the way, + I wish to be sure of finding her at home, when I call to-morrow. Did you + say (in the course of your interesting statement) that she intended—as + you supposed—to return to Kensington Gardens to-morrow? Or has my + memory deceived me?” + </p> + <p> + “Your memory is perfectly accurate.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. I confess I am not only distressed by what you have told me of + Mrs. Zant—I am at a loss to know how to act for the best. My only + idea, at present, is to try change of air and scene. What do you think + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you are right.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Zant still hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “It would not be easy for me, just now,” he said, “to leave my patients + and take her abroad.” + </p> + <p> + The obvious reply to this occurred to Mr. Rayburn. A man of larger worldly + experience might have felt certain suspicions, and might have remained + silent. Mr. Rayburn spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Why not renew your invitation and take her to your house at the seaside?” + he said. + </p> + <p> + In the perplexed state of Mr. Zant’s mind, this plain course of action had + apparently failed to present itself. His gloomy face brightened directly. + </p> + <p> + “The very thing!” he said. “I will certainly take your advice. If the air + of St. Sallins does nothing else, it will improve her health and help her + to recover her good looks. Did she strike you as having been (in happier + days) a pretty woman?” + </p> + <p> + This was a strangely familiar question to ask—almost an indelicate + question, under the circumstances A certain furtive expression in Mr. + Zant’s fine dark eyes seemed to imply that it had been put with a purpose. + Was it possible that he suspected Mr. Rayburn’s interest in his + sister-in-law to be inspired by any motive which was not perfectly + unselfish and perfectly pure? To arrive at such a conclusion as this might + be to judge hastily and cruelly of a man who was perhaps only guilty of a + want of delicacy of feeling. Mr. Rayburn honestly did his best to assume + the charitable point of view. At the same time, it is not to be denied + that his words, when he answered, were carefully guarded, and that he rose + to take his leave. + </p> + <p> + Mr. John Zant hospitably protested. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you in such a hurry? Must you really go? I shall have the honor + of returning your visit to-morrow, when I have made arrangements to profit + by that excellent suggestion of yours. Good-by. God bless you.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand: a hand with a smooth surface and a tawny color, that + fervently squeezed the fingers of a departing friend. “Is that man a + scoundrel?” was Mr. Rayburn’s first thought, after he had left the hotel. + His moral sense set all hesitation at rest—and answered: “You’re a + fool if you doubt it.” + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + DISTURBED by presentiments, Mr. Rayburn returned to his house on foot, by + way of trying what exercise would do toward composing his mind. + </p> + <p> + The experiment failed. He went upstairs and played with Lucy; he drank an + extra glass of wine at dinner; he took the child and her governess to a + circus in the evening; he ate a little supper, fortified by another glass + of wine, before he went to bed—and still those vague forebodings of + evil persisted in torturing him. Looking back through his past life, he + asked himself if any woman (his late wife of course excepted!) had ever + taken the predominant place in his thoughts which Mrs. Zant had assumed—without + any discernible reason to account for it? If he had ventured to answer his + own question, the reply would have been: Never! + </p> + <p> + All the next day he waited at home, in expectation of Mr. John Zant’s + promised visit, and waited in vain. + </p> + <p> + Toward evening the parlor-maid appeared at the family tea-table, and + presented to her master an unusually large envelope sealed with black wax, + and addressed in a strange handwriting. The absence of stamp and postmark + showed that it had been left at the house by a messenger. + </p> + <p> + “Who brought this?” Mr. Rayburn asked. + </p> + <p> + “A lady, sir—in deep mourning.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she leave any message?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Having drawn the inevitable conclusion, Mr. Rayburn shut himself up in his + library. He was afraid of Lucy’s curiosity and Lucy’s questions, if he + read Mrs. Zant’s letter in his daughter’s presence. + </p> + <p> + Looking at the open envelope after he had taken out the leaves of writing + which it contained, he noticed these lines traced inside the cover: + </p> + <p> + “My one excuse for troubling you, when I might have consulted my + brother-in-law, will be found in the pages which I inclose. To speak + plainly, you have been led to fear that I am not in my right senses. For + this very reason, I now appeal to you. Your dreadful doubt of me, sir, is + my doubt too. Read what I have written about myself—and then tell + me, I entreat you, which I am: A person who has been the object of a + supernatural revelation? or an unfortunate creature who is only fit for + imprisonment in a mad-house?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn opened the manuscript. With steady attention, which soon + quickened to breathless interest, he read what follows: + </p> + <p> + VI. THE LADY’S MANUSCRIPT. + </p> + <p> + YESTERDAY morning the sun shone in a clear blue sky—after a + succession of cloudy days, counting from the first of the month. + </p> + <p> + The radiant light had its animating effect on my poor spirits. I had + passed the night more peacefully than usual; undisturbed by the dream, so + cruelly familiar to me, that my lost husband is still living—the + dream from which I always wake in tears. Never, since the dark days of my + sorrow, have I been so little troubled by the self-tormenting fancies and + fears which beset miserable women, as when I left the house, and turned my + steps toward Kensington Gardens—for the first time since my + husband’s death. + </p> + <p> + Attended by my only companion, the little dog who had been his favorite as + well as mine, I went to the quiet corner of the Gardens which is nearest + to Kensington. + </p> + <p> + On that soft grass, under the shade of those grand trees, we had loitered + together in the days of our betrothal. It was his favorite walk; and he + had taken me to see it in the early days of our acquaintance. There, he + had first asked me to be his wife. There, we had felt the rapture of our + first kiss. It was surely natural that I should wish to see once more a + place sacred to such memories as these? I am only twenty-three years old; + I have no child to comfort me, no companion of my own age, nothing to love + but the dumb creature who is so faithfully fond of me. + </p> + <p> + I went to the tree under which we stood, when my dear one’s eyes told his + love before he could utter it in words. The sun of that vanished day shone + on me again; it was the same noontide hour; the same solitude was around + me. I had feared the first effect of the dreadful contrast between past + and present. No! I was quiet and resigned. My thoughts, rising higher than + earth, dwelt on the better life beyond the grave. Some tears came into my + eyes. But I was not unhappy. My memory of all that happened may be + trusted, even in trifles which relate only to myself—I was not + unhappy. + </p> + <p> + The first object that I saw, when my eyes were clear again, was the dog. + He crouched a few paces away from me, trembling pitiably, but uttering no + cry. What had caused the fear that overpowered him? + </p> + <p> + I was soon to know. + </p> + <p> + I called to the dog; he remained immovable—conscious of some + mysterious coming thing that held him spellbound. I tried to go to the + poor creature, and fondle and comfort him. + </p> + <p> + At the first step forward that I took, something stopped me. + </p> + <p> + It was not to be seen, and not to be heard. It stopped me. + </p> + <p> + The still figure of the dog disappeared from my view: the lonely scene + round me disappeared—excepting the light from heaven, the tree that + sheltered me, and the grass in front of me. A sense of unutterable + expectation kept my eyes riveted on the grass. Suddenly, I saw its myriad + blades rise erect and shivering. The fear came to me of something passing + over them with the invisible swiftness of the wind. The shivering + advanced. It was all round me. It crept into the leaves of the tree over + my head; they shuddered, without a sound to tell of their agitation; their + pleasant natural rustling was struck dumb. The song of the birds had + ceased. The cries of the water-fowl on the pond were heard no more. There + was a dreadful silence. + </p> + <p> + But the lovely sunshine poured down on me, as brightly as ever. + </p> + <p> + In that dazzling light, in that fearful silence, I felt an Invisible + Presence near me. It touched me gently. + </p> + <p> + At the touch, my heart throbbed with an overwhelming joy. Exquisite + pleasure thrilled through every nerve in my body. I knew him! From the + unseen world—himself unseen—he had returned to me. Oh, I knew + him! + </p> + <p> + And yet, my helpless mortality longed for a sign that might give me + assurance of the truth. The yearning in me shaped itself into words. I + tried to utter the words. I would have said, if I could have spoken: “Oh, + my angel, give me a token that it is You!” But I was like a person struck + dumb—I could only think it. + </p> + <p> + The Invisible Presence read my thought. I felt my lips touched, as my + husband’s lips used to touch them when he kissed me. And that was my + answer. A thought came to me again. I would have said, if I could have + spoken: “Are you here to take me to the better world?” + </p> + <p> + I waited. Nothing that I could feel touched me. + </p> + <p> + I was conscious of thinking once more. I would have said, if I could have + spoken: “Are you here to protect me?” + </p> + <p> + I felt myself held in a gentle embrace, as my husband’s arms used to hold + me when he pressed me to his breast. And that was my answer. + </p> + <p> + The touch that was like the touch of his lips, lingered and was lost; the + clasp that was like the clasp of his arms, pressed me and fell away. The + garden-scene resumed its natural aspect. I saw a human creature near, a + lovely little girl looking at me. + </p> + <p> + At that moment, when I was my own lonely self again, the sight of the + child soothed and attracted me. I advanced, intending to speak to her. To + my horror I suddenly ceased to see her. She disappeared as if I had been + stricken blind. + </p> + <p> + And yet I could see the landscape round me; I could see the heaven above + me. A time passed—only a few minutes, as I thought—and the + child became visible to me again; walking hand-in-hand with her father. I + approached them; I was close enough to see that they were looking at me + with pity and surprise. My impulse was to ask if they saw anything strange + in my face or my manner. Before I could speak, the horrible wonder + happened again. They vanished from my view. + </p> + <p> + Was the Invisible Presence still near? Was it passing between me and my + fellow-mortals; forbidding communication, in that place and at that time? + </p> + <p> + It must have been so. When I turned away in my ignorance, with a heavy + heart, the dreadful blankness which had twice shut out from me the beings + of my own race, was not between me and my dog. The poor little creature + filled me with pity; I called him to me. He moved at the sound of my + voice, and followed me languidly; not quite awakened yet from the trance + of terror that had possessed him. + </p> + <p> + Before I had retired by more than a few steps, I thought I was conscious + of the Presence again. I held out my longing arms to it. I waited in the + hope of a touch to tell me that I might return. Perhaps I was answered by + indirect means? I only know that a resolution to return to the same place, + at the same hour, came to me, and quieted my mind. + </p> + <p> + The morning of the next day was dull and cloudy; but the rain held off. I + set forth again to the Gardens. + </p> + <p> + My dog ran on before me into the street—and stopped: waiting to see + in which direction I might lead the way. When I turned toward the Gardens, + he dropped behind me. In a little while I looked back. He was following me + no longer; he stood irresolute. I called to him. He advanced a few steps—hesitated—and + ran back to the house. + </p> + <p> + I went on by myself. Shall I confess my superstition? I thought the dog’s + desertion of me a bad omen. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the tree, I placed myself under it. The minutes followed each + other uneventfully. The cloudy sky darkened. The dull surface of the grass + showed no shuddering consciousness of an unearthly creature passing over + it. + </p> + <p> + I still waited, with an obstinacy which was fast becoming the obstinacy of + despair. How long an interval elapsed, while I kept watch on the ground + before me, I am not able to say. I only know that a change came. + </p> + <p> + Under the dull gray light I saw the grass move—but not as it had + moved, on the day before. It shriveled as if a flame had scorched it. No + flame appeared. The brown underlying earth showed itself winding onward in + a thin strip—which might have been a footpath traced in fire. It + frightened me. I longed for the protection of the Invisible Presence. I + prayed for a warning of it, if danger was near. + </p> + <p> + A touch answered me. It was as if a hand unseen had taken my hand—had + raised it, little by little—had left it, pointing to the thin brown + path that wound toward me under the shriveled blades of grass. + </p> + <p> + I looked to the far end of the path. + </p> + <p> + The unseen hand closed on my hand with a warning pressure: the revelation + of the coming danger was near me—I waited for it. I saw it. + </p> + <p> + The figure of a man appeared, advancing toward me along the thin brown + path. I looked in his face as he came nearer. It showed me dimly the face + of my husband’s brother—John Zant. + </p> + <p> + The consciousness of myself as a living creature left me. I knew nothing; + I felt nothing. I was dead. + </p> + <p> + When the torture of revival made me open my eyes, I found myself on the + grass. Gentle hands raised my head, at the moment when I recovered my + senses. Who had brought me to life again? Who was taking care of me? + </p> + <p> + I looked upward, and saw—bending over me—John Zant. + </p> + <p> + VII. + </p> + <p> + THERE, the manuscript ended. + </p> + <p> + Some lines had been added on the last page; but they had been so carefully + erased as to be illegible. These words of explanation appeared below the + canceled sentences: + </p> + <p> + “I had begun to write the little that remains to be told, when it struck + me that I might, unintentionally, be exercising an unfair influence on + your opinion. Let me only remind you that I believe absolutely in the + supernatural revelation which I have endeavored to describe. Remember this—and + decide for me what I dare not decide for myself.” + </p> + <p> + There was no serious obstacle in the way of compliance with this request. + </p> + <p> + Judged from the point of view of the materialist, Mrs. Zant might no doubt + be the victim of illusions (produced by a diseased state of the nervous + system), which have been known to exist—as in the celebrated case of + the book-seller, Nicolai, of Berlin—without being accompanied by + derangement of the intellectual powers. But Mr. Rayburn was not asked to + solve any such intricate problem as this. He had been merely instructed to + read the manuscript, and to say what impression it had left on him of the + mental condition of the writer; whose doubt of herself had been, in all + probability, first suggested by remembrance of the illness from which she + had suffered—brain-fever. + </p> + <p> + Under these circumstances, there could be little difficulty in forming an + opinion. The memory which had recalled, and the judgment which had + arranged, the succession of events related in the narrative, revealed a + mind in full possession of its resources. + </p> + <p> + Having satisfied himself so far, Mr. Rayburn abstained from considering + the more serious question suggested by what he had read. + </p> + <p> + At any time his habits of life and his ways of thinking would have + rendered him unfit to weigh the arguments, which assert or deny + supernatural revelation among the creatures of earth. But his mind was now + so disturbed by the startling record of experience which he had just read, + that he was only conscious of feeling certain impressions—without + possessing the capacity to reflect on them. That his anxiety on Mrs. + Zant’s account had been increased, and that his doubts of Mr. John Zant + had been encouraged, were the only practical results of the confidence + placed in him of which he was thus far aware. In the ordinary exigencies + of life a man of hesitating disposition, his interest in Mrs. Zant’s + welfare, and his desire to discover what had passed between her + brother-in-law and herself, after their meeting in the Gardens, urged him + into instant action. In half an hour more, he had arrived at her lodgings. + He was at once admitted. + </p> + <p> + VIII. + </p> + <p> + MRS. ZANT was alone, in an imperfectly lighted room. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will excuse the bad light,” she said; “my head has been + burning as if the fever had come back again. Oh, don’t go away! After what + I have suffered, you don’t know how dreadful it is to be alone.” + </p> + <p> + The tone of her voice told him that she had been crying. He at once tried + the best means of setting the poor lady at ease, by telling her of the + conclusion at which he had arrived, after reading her manuscript. The + happy result showed itself instantly: her face brightened, her manner + changed; she was eager to hear more. + </p> + <p> + “Have I produced any other impression on you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He understood the allusion. Expressing sincere respect for her own + convictions, he told her honestly that he was not prepared to enter on the + obscure and terrible question of supernatural interposition. Grateful for + the tone in which he had answered her, she wisely and delicately changed + the subject. + </p> + <p> + “I must speak to you of my brother-in-law,” she said. “He has told me of + your visit; and I am anxious to know what you think of him. Do you like + Mr. John Zant?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn hesitated. + </p> + <p> + The careworn look appeared again in her face. “If you had felt as kindly + toward him as he feels toward you,” she said, “I might have gone to St. + Sallins with a lighter heart.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn thought of the supernatural appearances, described at the + close of her narrative. “You believe in that terrible warning,” he + remonstrated; “and yet, you go to your brother-in-law’s house!” + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” she answered, “in the spirit of the man who loved me in the + days of his earthly bondage. I am under <i>his</i> protection. What have I + to do but to cast away my fears, and to wait in faith and hope? It might + have helped my resolution if a friend had been near to encourage me.” She + paused and smiled sadly. “I must remember,” she resumed, “that your way of + understanding my position is not my way. I ought to have told you that Mr. + John Zant feels needless anxiety about my health. He declares that he will + not lose sight of me until his mind is at ease. It is useless to attempt + to alter his opinion. He says my nerves are shattered—and who that + sees me can doubt it? He tells me that my only chance of getting better is + to try change of air and perfect repose—how can I contradict him? He + reminds me that I have no relation but himself, and no house open to me + but his own—and God knows he is right!” + </p> + <p> + She said those last words in accents of melancholy resignation, which + grieved the good man whose one merciful purpose was to serve and console + her. He spoke impulsively with the freedom of an old friend, + </p> + <p> + “I want to know more of you and Mr. John Zant than I know now,” he said. + “My motive is a better one than mere curiosity. Do you believe that I feel + a sincere interest in you?” + </p> + <p> + “With my whole heart.” + </p> + <p> + That reply encouraged him to proceed with what he had to say. “When you + recovered from your fainting-fit,” he began, “Mr. John Zant asked + questions, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “He asked what could possibly have happened, in such a quiet place as + Kensington Gardens, to make me faint.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did you answer?” + </p> + <p> + “Answer? I couldn’t even look at him!” + </p> + <p> + “You said nothing?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. I don’t know what he thought of me; he might have been + surprised, or he might have been offended.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he easily offended?” Mr. Rayburn asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not in my experience of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean your experience of him before your illness?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Since my recovery, his engagements with country patients have kept + him away from London. I have not seen him since he took these lodgings for + me. But he is always considerate. He has written more than once to beg + that I will not think him neglectful, and to tell me (what I knew already + through my poor husband) that he has no money of his own, and must live by + his profession.” + </p> + <p> + “In your husband’s lifetime, were the two brothers on good terms?” + </p> + <p> + “Always. The one complaint I ever heard my husband make of John Zant was + that he didn’t come to see us often enough, after our marriage. Is there + some wickedness in him which we have never suspected? It may be—but + <i>how</i> can it be? I have every reason to be grateful to the man + against whom I have been supernaturally warned! His conduct to me has been + always perfect. I can’t tell you what I owe to his influence in quieting + my mind, when a dreadful doubt arose about my husband’s death.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean doubt if he died a natural death?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! no! He was dying of rapid consumption—but his sudden death + took the doctors by surprise. One of them thought that he might have taken + an overdose of his sleeping drops, by mistake. The other disputed this + conclusion, or there might have been an inquest in the house. Oh, don’t + speak of it any more! Let us talk of something else. Tell me when I shall + see you again.” + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know. When do you and your brother-in-law leave London?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow.” She looked at Mr. Rayburn with a piteous entreaty in her + eyes; she said, timidly: “Do you ever go to the seaside, and take your + dear little girl with you?” + </p> + <p> + The request, at which she had only dared to hint, touched on the idea + which was at that moment in Mr. Rayburn’s mind. + </p> + <p> + Interpreted by his strong prejudice against John Zant, what she had said + of her brother-in-law filled him with forebodings of peril to herself; all + the more powerful in their influence, for this reason—that he shrank + from distinctly realizing them. If another person had been present at the + interview, and had said to him afterward: “That man’s reluctance to visit + his sister-in-law, while her husband was living, is associated with a + secret sense of guilt which her innocence cannot even imagine: he, and he + alone, knows the cause of her husband’s sudden death: his feigned anxiety + about her health is adopted as the safest means of enticing her into his + house,”—if those formidable conclusions had been urged on Mr. + Rayburn, he would have felt it his duty to reject them, as unjustifiable + aspersions on an absent man. And yet, when he took leave that evening of + Mrs. Zant, he had pledged himself to give Lucy a holiday at the seaside: + and he had said, without blushing, that the child really deserved it, as a + reward for general good conduct and attention to her lessons! + </p> + <p> + IX. + </p> + <p> + THREE days later, the father and daughter arrived toward evening at St. + Sallins-on-Sea. They found Mrs. Zant at the station. + </p> + <p> + The poor woman’s joy, on seeing them, expressed itself like the joy of a + child. “Oh, I am so glad! so glad!” was all she could say when they met. + Lucy was half-smothered with kisses, and was made supremely happy by a + present of the finest doll she had ever possessed. Mrs. Zant accompanied + her friends to the rooms which had been secured at the hotel. She was able + to speak confidentially to Mr. Rayburn, while Lucy was in the balcony + hugging her doll, and looking at the sea. + </p> + <p> + The one event that had happened during Mrs. Zant’s short residence at St. + Sallins was the departure of her brother-in-law that morning, for London. + He had been called away to operate on the feet of a wealthy patient who + knew the value of his time: his housekeeper expected that he would return + to dinner. + </p> + <p> + As to his conduct toward Mrs. Zant, he was not only as attentive as ever—he + was almost oppressively affectionate in his language and manner. There was + no service that a man could render which he had not eagerly offered to + her. He declared that he already perceived an improvement in her health; + he congratulated her on having decided to stay in his house; and (as a + proof, perhaps, of his sincerity) he had repeatedly pressed her hand. + “Have you any idea what all this means?” she said, simply. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn kept his idea to himself. He professed ignorance; and asked + next what sort of person the housekeeper was. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Zant shook her head ominously. + </p> + <p> + “Such a strange creature,” she said, “and in the habit of taking such + liberties that I begin to be afraid she is a little crazy.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she an old woman?” + </p> + <p> + “No—only middle-aged.” This morning, after her master had left the + house, she actually asked me what I thought of my brother-in-law! I told + her, as coldly as possible, that I thought he was very kind. She was quite + insensible to the tone in which I had spoken; she went on from bad to + worse. “Do you call him the sort of man who would take the fancy of a + young woman?” was her next question. She actually looked at me (I might + have been wrong; and I hope I was) as if the “young woman” she had in her + mind was myself! I said: “I don’t think of such things, and I don’t talk + about them.” Still, she was not in the least discouraged; she made a + personal remark next: “Excuse me—but you do look wretchedly pale.” I + thought she seemed to enjoy the defect in my complexion; I really believe + it raised me in her estimation. “We shall get on better in time,” she + said; “I am beginning to like you.” She walked out humming a tune. Don’t + you agree with me? Don’t you think she’s crazy?” + </p> + <p> + “I can hardly give an opinion until I have seen her. Does she look as if + she might have been a pretty woman at one time of her life?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the sort of pretty woman whom I admire!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn smiled. “I was thinking,” he resumed, “that this person’s odd + conduct may perhaps be accounted for. She is probably jealous of any young + lady who is invited to her master’s house—and (till she noticed your + complexion) she began by being jealous of you.” + </p> + <p> + Innocently at a loss to understand how <i>she</i> could become an object + of the housekeeper’s jealousy, Mrs. Zant looked at Mr. Rayburn in + astonishment. Before she could give expression to her feeling of surprise, + there was an interruption—a welcome interruption. A waiter entered + the room, and announced a visitor; described as “a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Zant at once rose to retire. + </p> + <p> + “Who is the gentleman?” Mr. Rayburn asked—detaining Mrs. Zant as he + spoke. + </p> + <p> + A voice which they both recognized answered gayly, from the outer side of + the door: + </p> + <p> + “A friend from London.” + </p> + <p> + X. + </p> + <p> + “WELCOME to St. Sallins!” cried Mr. John Zant. “I knew that you were + expected, my dear sir, and I took my chance at finding you at the hotel.” + He turned to his sister-in-law, and kissed her hand with an elaborate + gallantry worthy of Sir Charles Grandison himself. “When I reached home, + my dear, and heard that you had gone out, I guessed that your object was + to receive our excellent friend. You have not felt lonely while I have + been away? That’s right! that’s right!” he looked toward the balcony, and + discovered Lucy at the open window, staring at the magnificent stranger. + “Your little daughter, Mr. Rayburn? Dear child! Come and kiss me.” + </p> + <p> + Lucy answered in one positive word: “No.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. John Zant was not easily discouraged. + </p> + <p> + “Show me your doll, darling,” he said. “Sit on my knee.” + </p> + <p> + Lucy answered in two positive words—“I won’t.” + </p> + <p> + Her father approached the window to administer the necessary reproof. Mr. + John Zant interfered in the cause of mercy with his best grace. He held up + his hands in cordial entreaty. “Dear Mr. Rayburn! The fairies are + sometimes shy; and <i>this</i> little fairy doesn’t take to strangers at + first sight. Dear child! All in good time. And what stay do you make at + St. Sallins? May we hope that our poor attractions will tempt you to + prolong your visit?” + </p> + <p> + He put his flattering little question with an ease of manner which was + rather too plainly assumed; and he looked at Mr. Rayburn with a + watchfulness which appeared to attach undue importance to the reply. When + he said: “What stay do you make at St. Sallins?” did he really mean: “How + soon do you leave us?” Inclining to adopt this conclusion, Mr. Rayburn + answered cautiously that his stay at the seaside would depend on + circumstances. Mr. John Zant looked at his sister-in-law, sitting silent + in a corner with Lucy on her lap. “Exert your attractions,” he said; “make + the circumstances agreeable to our good friend. Will you dine with us + to-day, my dear sir, and bring your little fairy with you?” + </p> + <p> + Lucy was far from receiving this complimentary allusion in the spirit in + which it had been offered. “I’m not a fairy,” she declared. “I’m a child.” + </p> + <p> + “And a naughty child,” her father added, with all the severity that he + could assume. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t help it, papa; the man with the big beard puts me out.” + </p> + <p> + The man with the big beard was amused—amiably, paternally amused—by + Lucy’s plain speaking. He repeated his invitation to dinner; and he did + his best to look disappointed when Mr. Rayburn made the necessary excuses. + </p> + <p> + “Another day,” he said (without, however, fixing the day). “I think you + will find my house comfortable. My housekeeper may perhaps be eccentric—but + in all essentials a woman in a thousand. Do you feel the change from + London already? Our air at St. Sallins is really worthy of its reputation. + Invalids who come here are cured as if by magic. What do you think of Mrs. + Zant? How does she look?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn was evidently expected to say that she looked better. He said + it. Mr. John Zant seemed to have anticipated a stronger expression of + opinion. + </p> + <p> + “Surprisingly better!” he pronounced. “Infinitely better! We ought both to + be grateful. Pray believe that we <i>are</i> grateful.” + </p> + <p> + “If you mean grateful to me,” Mr. Rayburn remarked, “I don’t quite + understand—” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t quite understand? Is it possible that you have forgotten our + conversation when I first had the honor of receiving you? Look at Mrs. + Zant again.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn looked; and Mrs. Zant’s brother-in-law explained himself. + </p> + <p> + “You notice the return of her color, the healthy brightness of her eyes. + (No, my dear, I am not paying you idle compliments; I am stating plain + facts.) For that happy result, Mr. Rayburn, we are indebted to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely not?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely yes! It was at your valuable suggestion that I thought of inviting + my sister-in-law to visit me at St. Sallins. Ah, you remember it now. + Forgive me if I look at my watch; the dinner hour is on my mind. Not, as + your dear little daughter there seems to think, because I am greedy, but + because I am always punctual, in justice to the cook. Shall we see you + to-morrow? Call early, and you will find us at home.” + </p> + <p> + He gave Mrs. Zant his arm, and bowed and smiled, and kissed his hand to + Lucy, and left the room. Recalling their interview at the hotel in London, + Mr. Rayburn now understood John Zant’s object (on that occasion) in + assuming the character of a helpless man in need of a sensible suggestion. + If Mrs. Zant’s residence under his roof became associated with evil + consequences, he could declare that she would never have entered the house + but for Mr. Rayburn’s advice. + </p> + <p> + With the next day came the hateful necessity of returning this man’s + visit. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn was placed between two alternatives. In Mrs. Zant’s interests + he must remain, no matter at what sacrifice of his own inclinations, on + good terms with her brother-in-law—or he must return to London, and + leave the poor woman to her fate. His choice, it is needless to say, was + never a matter of doubt. He called at the house, and did his innocent best—without + in the least deceiving Mr. John Zant—to make himself agreeable + during the short duration of his visit. Descending the stairs on his way + out, accompanied by Mrs. Zant, he was surprised to see a middle-aged woman + in the hall, who looked as if she was waiting there expressly to attract + notice. + </p> + <p> + “The housekeeper,” Mrs. Zant whispered. “She is impudent enough to try to + make acquaintance with you.” + </p> + <p> + This was exactly what the housekeeper was waiting in the hall to do. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you like our watering-place, sir,” she began. “If I can be of + service to you, pray command me. Any friend of this lady’s has a claim on + me—and you are an old friend, no doubt. I am only the housekeeper; + but I presume to take a sincere interest in Mrs. Zant; and I am indeed + glad to see you here. We none of us know—do we?—how soon we + may want a friend. No offense, I hope? Thank you, sir. Good-morning.” + </p> + <p> + There was nothing in the woman’s eyes which indicated an unsettled mind; + nothing in the appearance of her lips which suggested habits of + intoxication. That her strange outburst of familiarity proceeded from some + strong motive seemed to be more than probable. Putting together what Mrs. + Zant had already told him, and what he had himself observed, Mr. Rayburn + suspected that the motive might be found in the housekeeper’s jealousy of + her master. + </p> + <p> + XI. + </p> + <p> + REFLECTING in the solitude of his own room, Mr. Rayburn felt that the one + prudent course to take would be to persuade Mrs. Zant to leave St. + Sallins. He tried to prepare her for this strong proceeding, when she came + the next day to take Lucy out for a walk. + </p> + <p> + “If you still regret having forced yourself to accept your + brother-in-law’s invitation,” was all he ventured to say, “don’t forget + that you are perfect mistress of your own actions. You have only to come + to me at the hotel, and I will take you back to London by the next train.” + </p> + <p> + She positively refused to entertain the idea. + </p> + <p> + “I should be a thankless creature, indeed,” she said, “if I accepted your + proposal. Do you think I am ungrateful enough to involve you in a personal + quarrel with John Zant? No! If I find myself forced to leave the house, I + will go away alone.” + </p> + <p> + There was no moving her from this resolution. When she and Lucy had gone + out together, Mr. Rayburn remained at the hotel, with a mind ill at ease. + A man of readier mental resources might have felt at a loss how to act for + the best, in the emergency that now confronted him. While he was still as + far as ever from arriving at a decision, some person knocked at the door. + </p> + <p> + Had Mrs. Zant returned? He looked up as the door was opened, and saw to + his astonishment—Mr. John Zant’s housekeeper. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let me alarm you, sir,” the woman said. “Mrs. Zant has been taken a + little faint, at the door of our house. My master is attending to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is the child?” Mr. Rayburn asked. + </p> + <p> + “I was bringing her back to you, sir, when we met a lady and her little + girl at the door of the hotel. They were on their way to the beach—and + Miss Lucy begged hard to be allowed to go with them. The lady said the two + children were playfellows, and she was sure you would not object.” + </p> + <p> + “The lady is quite right. Mrs. Zant’s illness is not serious, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not, sir. But I should like to say something in her interests. + May I? Thank you.” She advanced a step nearer to him, and spoke her next + words in a whisper. “Take Mrs. Zant away from this place, and lose no time + in doing it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn was on his guard. He merely asked: “Why?” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper answered in a curiously indirect manner—partly in + jest, as it seemed, and partly in earnest. + </p> + <p> + “When a man has lost his wife,” she said, “there’s some difference of + opinion in Parliament, as I hear, whether he does right or wrong, if he + marries his wife’s sister. Wait a bit! I’m coming to the point. My master + is one who has a long head on his shoulders; he sees consequences which + escape the notice of people like me. In his way of thinking, if one man + may marry his wife’s sister, and no harm done, where’s the objection if + another man pays a compliment to the family, and marries his brother’s + widow? My master, if you please, is that other man. Take the widow away + before she marries him.” + </p> + <p> + This was beyond endurance. + </p> + <p> + “You insult Mrs. Zant,” Mr. Rayburn answered, “if you suppose that such a + thing is possible!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I insult her, do I? Listen to me. One of three things will happen. + She will be entrapped into consenting to it—or frightened into + consenting to it—or drugged into consenting to it—” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn was too indignant to let her go on. + </p> + <p> + “You are talking nonsense,” he said. “There can be no marriage; the law + forbids it.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you one of the people who see no further than their noses?” she asked + insolently. “Won’t the law take his money? Is he obliged to mention that + he is related to her by marriage, when he buys the license?” She paused; + her humor changed; she stamped furiously on the floor. The true motive + that animated her showed itself in her next words, and warned Mr. Rayburn + to grant a more favorable hearing than he had accorded to her yet. “If you + won’t stop it,” she burst out, “I will! If he marries anybody, he is bound + to marry ME. Will you take her away? I ask you, for the last time—<i>will</i> + you take her away?” + </p> + <p> + The tone in which she made that final appeal to him had its effect. + </p> + <p> + “I will go back with you to John Zant’s house,” he said, “and judge for + myself.” + </p> + <p> + She laid her hand on his arm: + </p> + <p> + “I must go first—or you may not be let in. Follow me in five + minutes; and don’t knock at the street door.” + </p> + <p> + On the point of leaving him, she abruptly returned. + </p> + <p> + “We have forgotten something,” she said. “Suppose my master refuses to see + you. His temper might get the better of him; he might make it so + unpleasant for you that you would be obliged to go.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>My</i> temper might get the better of <i>me</i>,” Mr. Rayburn replied; + “and—if I thought it was in Mrs. Zant’s interests—I might + refuse to leave the house unless she accompanied me.” + </p> + <p> + “That will never do, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I should be the person to suffer.” + </p> + <p> + “In what way?” + </p> + <p> + “In this way. If you picked a quarrel with my master, I should be blamed + for it because I showed you upstairs. Besides, think of the lady. You + might frighten her out of her senses, if it came to a struggle between you + two men.” + </p> + <p> + The language was exaggerated; but there was a force in this last objection + which Mr. Rayburn was obliged to acknowledge. + </p> + <p> + “And, after all,” the housekeeper continued, “he has more right over her + than you have. He is related to her, and you are only her friend.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn declined to let himself be influenced by this consideration, + “Mr. John Zant is only related to her by marriage,” he said. “If she + prefers trusting in me—come what may of it, I will be worthy of her + confidence.” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “That only means another quarrel,” she answered. “The wise way, with a man + like my master, is the peaceable way. We must manage to deceive him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like deceit.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, sir, I’ll wish you good-by. We will leave Mrs. Zant to do + the best she can for herself.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn was unreasonable. He positively refused to adopt this + alternative. + </p> + <p> + “Will you hear what I have got to say?” the housekeeper asked. + </p> + <p> + “There can be no harm in that,” he admitted. “Go on.” + </p> + <p> + She took him at his word. + </p> + <p> + “When you called at our house,” she began, “did you notice the doors in + the passage, on the first floor? Very well. One of them is the door of the + drawing-room, and the other is the door of the library. Do you remember + the drawing-room, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it a large well-lighted room,” Mr. Rayburn answered. “And I + noticed a doorway in the wall, with a handsome curtain hanging over it.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s enough for our purpose,” the housekeeper resumed. “On the other + side of the curtain, if you had looked in, you would have found the + library. Suppose my master is as polite as usual, and begs to be excused + for not receiving you, because it is an inconvenient time. And suppose you + are polite on your side and take yourself off by the drawing-room door. + You will find me waiting downstairs, on the first landing. Do you see it + now?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t say I do.” + </p> + <p> + “You surprise me, sir. What is to prevent us from getting back softly into + the library, by the door in the passage? And why shouldn’t we use that + second way into the library as a means of discovering what may be going on + in the drawing-room? Safe behind the curtain, you will see him if he + behaves uncivilly to Mrs. Zant, or you will hear her if she calls for + help. In either case, you may be as rough and ready with my master as you + find needful; it will be he who has frightened her, and not you. And who + can blame the poor housekeeper because Mr. Rayburn did his duty, and + protected a helpless woman? There is my plan, sir. Is it worth trying?” + </p> + <p> + He answered, sharply enough: “I don’t like it.” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper opened the door again, and wished him good-by. + </p> + <p> + If Mr. Rayburn had felt no more than an ordinary interest in Mrs. Zant, he + would have let the woman go. As it was, he stopped her; and, after some + further protest (which proved to be useless), he ended in giving way. + </p> + <p> + “You promise to follow my directions?” she stipulated. + </p> + <p> + He gave the promise. She smiled, nodded, and left him. True to his + instructions, Mr. Rayburn reckoned five minutes by his watch, before he + followed her. + </p> + <p> + XII. + </p> + <p> + THE housekeeper was waiting for him, with the street-door ajar. + </p> + <p> + “They are both in the drawing-room,” she whispered, leading the way + upstairs. “Step softly, and take him by surprise.” + </p> + <p> + A table of oblong shape stood midway between the drawing-room walls. At + the end of it which was nearest to the window, Mrs. Zant was pacing to and + fro across the breadth of the room. At the opposite end of the table, John + Zant was seated. Taken completely by surprise, he showed himself in his + true character. He started to his feet, and protested with an oath against + the intrusion which had been committed on him. + </p> + <p> + Heedless of his action and his language, Mr. Rayburn could look at + nothing, could think of nothing, but Mrs. Zant. She was still walking + slowly to and fro, unconscious of the words of sympathy which he addressed + to her, insensible even as it seemed to the presence of other persons in + the room. + </p> + <p> + John Zant’s voice broke the silence. His temper was under control again: + he had his reasons for still remaining on friendly terms with Mr. Rayburn. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry I forgot myself just now,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn’s interest was concentrated on Mrs. Zant; he took no notice of + the apology. + </p> + <p> + “When did this happen?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “About a quarter of an hour ago. I was fortunately at home. Without + speaking to me, without noticing me, she walked upstairs like a person in + a dream.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn suddenly pointed to Mrs. Zant. + </p> + <p> + “Look at her!” he said. “There’s a change!” + </p> + <p> + All restlessness in her movements had come to an end. She was standing at + the further end of the table, which was nearest to the window, in the full + flow of sunlight pouring at that moment over her face. Her eyes looked out + straight before her—void of all expression. Her lips were a little + parted: her head drooped slightly toward her shoulder, in an attitude + which suggested listening for something or waiting for something. In the + warm brilliant light, she stood before the two men, a living creature + self-isolated in a stillness like the stillness of death. + </p> + <p> + John Zant was ready with the expression of his opinion. + </p> + <p> + “A nervous seizure,” he said. “Something resembling catalepsy, as you + see.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you sent for a doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “A doctor is not wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon. It seems to me that medical help is absolutely + necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Be so good as to remember,” Mr. John Zant answered, “that the decision + rests with me, as the lady’s relative. I am sensible of the honor which + your visit confers on me. But the time has been unhappily chosen. Forgive + me if I suggest that you will do well to retire.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rayburn had not forgotten the housekeeper’s advice, or the promise + which she had exacted from him. But the expression in John Zant’s face was + a serious trial to his self-control. He hesitated, and looked back at Mrs. + Zant. + </p> + <p> + If he provoked a quarrel by remaining in the room, the one alternative + would be the removal of her by force. Fear of the consequences to herself, + if she was suddenly and roughly roused from her trance, was the one + consideration which reconciled him to submission. He withdrew. + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper was waiting for him below, on the first landing. When the + door of the drawing-room had been closed again, she signed to him to + follow her, and returned up the stairs. After another struggle with + himself, he obeyed. They entered the library from the corridor—and + placed themselves behind the closed curtain which hung over the doorway. + It was easy so to arrange the edge of the drapery as to observe, without + exciting suspicion, whatever was going on in the next room. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Zant’s brother-in-law was approaching her at the time when Mr. + Rayburn saw him again. + </p> + <p> + In the instant afterward, she moved—before he had completely passed + over the space between them. Her still figure began to tremble. She lifted + her drooping head. For a moment there was a shrinking in her—as if + she had been touched by something. She seemed to recognize the touch: she + was still again. + </p> + <p> + John Zant watched the change. It suggested to him that she was beginning + to recover her senses. He tried the experiment of speaking to her. + </p> + <p> + “My love, my sweet angel, come to the heart that adores you!” + </p> + <p> + He advanced again; he passed into the flood of sunlight pouring over her. + </p> + <p> + “Rouse yourself!” he said. + </p> + <p> + She still remained in the same position; apparently at his mercy, neither + hearing him nor seeing him. + </p> + <p> + “Rouse yourself!” he repeated. “My darling, come to me!” + </p> + <p> + At the instant when he attempted to embrace her—at the instant when + Mr. Rayburn rushed into the room—John Zant’s arms, suddenly turning + rigid, remained outstretched. With a shriek of horror, he struggled to + draw them back—struggled, in the empty brightness of the sunshine, + as if some invisible grip had seized him. + </p> + <p> + “What has got me?” the wretch screamed. “Who is holding my hands? Oh, the + cold of it! the cold of it!” + </p> + <p> + His features became convulsed; his eyes turned upward until only the white + eyeballs were visible. He fell prostrate with a crash that shook the room. + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper ran in. She knelt by her master’s body. With one hand she + loosened his cravat. With the other she pointed to the end of the table. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Zant still kept her place; but there was another change. Little by + little, her eyes recovered their natural living expression—then + slowly closed. She tottered backward from the table, and lifted her hands + wildly, as if to grasp at something which might support her. Mr. Rayburn + hurried to her before she fell—lifted her in his arms—and + carried her out of the room. + </p> + <p> + One of the servants met them in the hall. He sent her for a carriage. In a + quarter of an hour more, Mrs. Zant was safe under his care at the hotel. + </p> + <p> + XIII. + </p> + <p> + THAT night a note, written by the housekeeper, was delivered to Mrs. Zant. + </p> + <p> + “The doctors give little hope. The paralytic stroke is spreading upward to + his face. If death spares him, he will live a helpless man. I shall take + care of him to the last. As for you—forget him.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Zant gave the note to Mr. Rayburn. + </p> + <p> + “Read it, and destroy it,” she said. “It is written in ignorance of the + terrible truth.” + </p> + <p> + He obeyed—and looked at her in silence, waiting to hear more. She + hid her face. The few words she had addressed to him, after a struggle + with herself, fell slowly and reluctantly from her lips. + </p> + <p> + She said: “No mortal hand held the hands of John Zant. The guardian spirit + was with me. The promised protection was with me. I know it. I wish to + know no more.” + </p> + <p> + Having spoken, she rose to retire. He opened the door for her, seeing that + she needed rest in her own room. + </p> + <p> + Left by himself, he began to consider the prospect that was before him in + the future. How was he to regard the woman who had just left him? As a + poor creature weakened by disease, the victim of her own nervous delusion? + or as the chosen object of a supernatural revelation—unparalleled by + any similar revelation that he had heard of, or had found recorded in + books? His first discovery of the place that she really held in his + estimation dawned on his mind, when he felt himself recoiling from the + conclusion which presented her to his pity, and yielding to the nobler + conviction which felt with her faith, and raised her to a place apart + among other women. + </p> + <p> + XIV. + </p> + <p> + THEY left St. Sallins the next day. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the end of the journey, Lucy held fast by Mrs. Zant’s hand. + Tears were rising in the child’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Are we to bid her good-by?” she said sadly to her father. + </p> + <p> + He seemed to be unwilling to trust himself to speak; he only said: + </p> + <p> + “My dear, ask her yourself.” + </p> + <p> + But the result justified him. Lucy was happy again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MISS MORRIS AND THE STRANGER. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> + <p> + WHEN I first saw him, he was lost in one of the Dead Cities of England—situated + on the South Coast, and called Sandwich. + </p> + <p> + Shall I describe Sandwich? I think not. Let us own the truth; descriptions + of places, however nicely they may be written, are always more or less + dull. Being a woman, I naturally hate dullness. Perhaps some description + of Sandwich may drop out, as it were, from my report of our conversation + when we first met as strangers in the street. + </p> + <p> + He began irritably. “I’ve lost myself,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “People who don’t know the town often do that,” I remarked. + </p> + <p> + He went on: “Which is my way to the Fleur de Lys Inn?” + </p> + <p> + His way was, in the first place, to retrace his steps. Then to turn to the + left. Then to go on until he found two streets meeting. Then to take the + street on the right. Then to look out for the second turning on the left. + Then to follow the turning until he smelled stables—and there was + the inn. I put it in the clearest manner, and never stumbled over a word. + </p> + <p> + “How the devil am I to remember all that?” he said. + </p> + <p> + This was rude. We are naturally and properly indignant with any man who is + rude to us. But whether we turn our backs on him in contempt, or whether + we are merciful and give him a lesson in politeness, depends entirely on + the man. He may be a bear, but he may also have his redeeming qualities. + This man had redeeming qualities. I cannot positively say that he was + either handsome or ugly, young or old, well or ill dressed. But I can + speak with certainty to the personal attractions which recommended him to + notice. For instance, the tone of his voice was persuasive. (Did you ever + read a story, written by one of <i>us</i>, in which we failed to dwell on + our hero’s voice?) Then, again, his hair was reasonably long. (Are you + acquainted with any woman who can endure a man with a cropped head?) + Moreover, he was of a good height. (It must be a very tall woman who can + feel favorably inclined toward a short man.) Lastly, although his eyes + were not more than fairly presentable in form and color, the wretch had in + some unaccountable manner become possessed of beautiful eyelashes. They + were even better eyelashes than mine. I write quite seriously. There is + one woman who is above the common weakness of vanity—and she holds + the present pen. + </p> + <p> + So I gave my lost stranger a lesson in politeness. The lesson took the + form of a trap. I asked him if he would like me to show him the way to the + inn. He was still annoyed at losing himself. As I had anticipated, he + bluntly answered: “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “When you were a boy, and you wanted something,” I said, “did your mother + teach you to say ‘Please’?” + </p> + <p> + He positively blushed. “She did,” he admitted; “and she taught me to say + ‘Beg your pardon’ when I was rude. I’ll say it now: ‘Beg your pardon.’” + </p> + <p> + This curious apology increased my belief in his redeeming qualities. I led + the way to the inn. He followed me in silence. No woman who respects + herself can endure silence when she is in the company of a man. I made him + talk. + </p> + <p> + “Do you come to us from Ramsgate?” I began. He only nodded his head. “We + don’t think much of Ramsgate here,” I went on. “There is not an old + building in the place. And their first Mayor was only elected the other + day!” + </p> + <p> + This point of view seemed to be new to him. He made no attempt to dispute + it; he only looked around him, and said: “Sandwich is a melancholy place, + miss.” He was so rapidly improving in politeness, that I encouraged him by + a smile. As a citizen of Sandwich, I may say that we take it as a + compliment when we are told that our town is a melancholy place. And why + not? Melancholy is connected with dignity. And dignity is associated with + age. And <i>we</i> are old. I teach my pupils logic, among other things—there + is a specimen. Whatever may be said to the contrary, women can reason. + They can also wander; and I must admit that <i>I</i> am wandering. Did I + mention, at starting, that I was a governess? If not, that allusion to + “pupils” must have come in rather abruptly. Let me make my excuses, and + return to my lost stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any such thing as a straight street in all Sandwich?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not one straight street in the whole town.” + </p> + <p> + “Any trade, miss?” + </p> + <p> + “As little as possible—and <i>that</i> is expiring.” + </p> + <p> + “A decayed place, in short?” + </p> + <p> + “Thoroughly decayed.” + </p> + <p> + My tone seemed to astonish him. “You speak as if you were proud of its + being a decayed place,” he said. + </p> + <p> + I quite respected him; this was such an intelligent remark to make. We do + enjoy our decay: it is our chief distinction. Progress and prosperity + everywhere else; decay and dissolution here. As a necessary consequence, + we produce our own impression, and we like to be original. The sea + deserted us long ago: it once washed our walls, it is now two miles away + from us—we don’t regret the sea. We had sometimes ninety-five ships + in our harbor, Heaven only knows how many centuries ago; we now have one + or two small coasting vessels, half their time aground in a muddy little + river—we don’t regret our harbor. But one house in the town is + daring enough to anticipate the arrival of resident visitors, and + announces furnished apartments to let. What a becoming contrast to our + modern neighbor, Ramsgate! Our noble market-place exhibits the laws made + by the corporation; and every week there are fewer and fewer people to + obey the laws. How convenient! Look at our one warehouse by the river side—with + the crane generally idle, and the windows mostly boarded up; and perhaps + one man at the door, looking out for the job which his better sense tells + him cannot possibly come. What a wholesome protest against the devastating + hurry and over-work elsewhere, which has shattered the nerves of the + nation! “Far from me and from my friends” (to borrow the eloquent language + of Doctor Johnson) “be such frigid enthusiasm as shall conduct us + indifferent and unmoved” over the bridge by which you enter Sandwich, and + pay a toll if you do it in a carriage. “That man is little to be envied + (Doctor Johnson again) who can lose himself in our labyrinthine streets, + and not feel that he has reached the welcome limits of progress, and found + a haven of rest in an age of hurry.” + </p> + <p> + I am wandering again. Bear with the unpremeditated enthusiasm of a citizen + who only attained years of discretion at her last birthday. We shall soon + have done with Sandwich; we are close to the door of the inn. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t mistake it now, sir,” I said. “Good-morning.” + </p> + <p> + He looked down at me from under his beautiful eyelashes (have I mentioned + that I am a little woman?), and he asked in his persuasive tones: “Must we + say good-by?” + </p> + <p> + I made him a bow. + </p> + <p> + “Would you allow me to see you safe home?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + Any other man would have offended me. This man blushed like a boy, and + looked at the pavement instead of looking at me. By this time I had made + up my mind about him. He was not only a gentleman beyond all doubt, but a + shy gentleman as well. His bluntness and his odd remarks were, as I + thought, partly efforts to disguise his shyness, and partly refuges in + which he tried to forget his own sense of it. I answered his audacious + proposal amiably and pleasantly. “You would only lose your way again,” I + said, “and I should have to take you back to the inn for the second time.” + </p> + <p> + Wasted words! My obstinate stranger only made another proposal. + </p> + <p> + “I have ordered lunch here,” he said, “and I am quite alone.” He stopped + in confusion, and looked as if he rather expected me to box his ears. “I + shall be forty next birthday,” he went on; “I am old enough to be your + father.” I all but burst out laughing, and stepped across the street, on + my way home. He followed me. “We might invite the landlady to join us,” he + said, looking the picture of a headlong man, dismayed by the consciousness + of his own imprudence. “Couldn’t you honor me by lunching with me if we + had the landlady?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + This was a little too much. “Quite out of the question, sir—and you + ought to know it,” I said with severity. He half put out his hand. “Won’t + you even shake hands with me?” he inquired piteously. When we have most + properly administered a reproof to a man, what is the perversity which + makes us weakly pity him the minute afterward? I was fool enough to shake + hands with this perfect stranger. And, having done it, I completed the + total loss of my dignity by running away. Our dear crooked little streets + hid me from him directly. + </p> + <p> + As I rang at the door-bell of my employer’s house, a thought occurred to + me which might have been alarming to a better regulated mind than mine. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose he should come back to Sandwich?” + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + BEFORE many more days passed I had troubles of my own to contend with, + which put the eccentric stranger out of my head for the time. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, my troubles are part of my story; and my early life mixes + itself up with them. In consideration of what is to follow, may I say two + words relating to the period before I was a governess? + </p> + <p> + I am the orphan daughter of a shopkeeper of Sandwich. My father died, + leaving to his widow and child an honest name and a little income of L80 a + year. We kept on the shop—neither gaining nor losing by it. The + truth is nobody would buy our poor little business. I was thirteen years + old at the time; and I was able to help my mother, whose health was then + beginning to fail. Never shall I forget a certain bright summer’s day, + when I saw a new customer enter our shop. He was an elderly gentleman; and + he seemed surprised to find so young a girl as myself in charge of the + business, and, what is more, competent to support the charge. I answered + his questions in a manner which seemed to please him. He soon discovered + that my education (excepting my knowledge of the business) had been sadly + neglected; and he inquired if he could see my mother. She was resting on + the sofa in the back parlor—and she received him there. When he came + out, he patted me on the cheek. “I have taken a fancy to you,” he said, + “and perhaps I shall come back again.” He did come back again. My mother + had referred him to the rector for our characters in the town, and he had + heard what our clergyman could say for us. Our only relations had + emigrated to Australia, and were not doing well there. My mother’s death + would leave me, so far as relatives were concerned, literally alone in the + world. “Give this girl a first-rate education,” said our elderly customer, + sitting at our tea-table in the back parlor, “and she will do. If you will + send her to school, ma’am, I’ll pay for her education.” My poor mother + began to cry at the prospect of parting with me. The old gentleman said: + “Think of it,” and got up to go. He gave me his card as I opened the + shop-door for him. “If you find yourself in trouble,” he whispered, so + that my mother could not hear him, “be a wise child, and write and tell me + of it.” I looked at the card. Our kind-hearted customer was no less a + person than Sir Gervase Damian, of Garrum Park, Sussex—with landed + property in our county as well! He had made himself (through the rector, + no doubt) far better acquainted than I was with the true state of my + mother’s health. In four months from the memorable day when the great man + had taken tea with us, my time had come to be alone in the world. I have + no courage to dwell on it; my spirits sink, even at this distance of time, + when I think of myself in those days. The good rector helped me with his + advice—I wrote to Sir Gervase Damian. + </p> + <p> + A change had come over his life as well as mine in the interval since we + had met. + </p> + <p> + Sir Gervase had married for the second time—and, what was more + foolish still, perhaps, at his age, had married a young woman. She was + said to be consumptive, and of a jealous temper as well. Her husband’s + only child by his first wife, a son and heir, was so angry at his father’s + second marriage that he left the house. The landed property being + entailed, Sir Gervase could only express his sense of his son’s conduct by + making a new will, which left all his property in money to his young wife. + </p> + <p> + These particulars I gathered from the steward, who was expressly sent to + visit me at Sandwich. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Gervase never makes a promise without keeping it,” this gentleman + informed me. “I am directed to take you to a first-rate ladies’ school in + the neighborhood of London, and to make all the necessary arrangements for + your remaining there until you are eighteen years of age. Any written + communications in the future are to pass, if you please, through the hands + of the rector of Sandwich. The delicate health of the new Lady Damian + makes it only too likely that the lives of her husband and herself will be + passed, for the most part, in a milder climate than the climate of + England. I am instructed to say this, and to convey to you Sir Gervase’s + best wishes.” + </p> + <p> + By the rector’s advice, I accepted the position offered to me in this + unpleasantly formal manner—concluding (quite correctly, as I + afterward discovered) that I was indebted to Lady Damian for the + arrangement which personally separated me from my benefactor. Her + husband’s kindness and my gratitude, meeting on the neutral ground of + Garrum Park, were objects of conjugal distrust to this lady. Shocking! + shocking! I left a sincerely grateful letter to be forwarded to Sir + Gervase; and, escorted by the steward, I went to school—being then + just fourteen years old. + </p> + <p> + I know I am a fool. Never mind. There is some pride in me, though I am + only a small shopkeeper’s daughter. My new life had its trials—my + pride held me up. + </p> + <p> + For the four years during which I remained at the school, my poor welfare + might be a subject of inquiry to the rector, and sometimes even the + steward—never to Sir Gervase himself. His winters were no doubt + passed abroad; but in the summer time he and Lady Damian were at home + again. Not even for a day or two in the holiday time was there pity enough + felt for my lonely position to ask me to be the guest of the housekeeper + (I expected nothing more) at Garrum Park. But for my pride, I might have + felt it bitterly. My pride said to me, “Do justice to yourself.” I worked + so hard, I behaved so well, that the mistress of the school wrote to Sir + Gervase to tell him how thoroughly I had deserved the kindness that he had + shown to me. No answer was received. (Oh, Lady Damian!) No change varied + the monotony of my life—except when one of my schoolgirl friends + sometimes took me home with her for a few days at vacation time. Never + mind. My pride held me up. + </p> + <p> + As the last half-year of my time at school approached, I began to consider + the serious question of my future life. + </p> + <p> + Of course, I could have lived on my eighty pounds a year; but what a + lonely, barren existence it promised to be!—unless somebody married + me; and where, if you please, was I to find him? My education had + thoroughly fitted me to be a governess. Why not try my fortune, and see a + little of the world in that way? Even if I fell among ill-conditioned + people, I could be independent of them, and retire on my income. + </p> + <p> + The rector, visiting London, came to see me. He not only approved of my + idea—he offered me a means of carrying it out. A worthy family, + recently settled at Sandwich, were in want of a governess. The head of the + household was partner in a business (the exact nature of which it is + needless to mention) having “branches” out of London. He had become + superintendent of a new “branch”—tried as a commercial experiment, + under special circumstances, at Sandwich. The idea of returning to my + native place pleased me—dull as the place was to others. I accepted + the situation. + </p> + <p> + When the steward’s usual half-yearly letter arrived soon afterward, + inquiring what plans I had formed on leaving school, and what he could do + to help them, acting on behalf of Sir Gervase, a delicious tingling filled + me from head to foot when I thought of my own independence. It was not + ingratitude toward my benefactor; it was only my little private triumph + over Lady Damian. Oh, my sisters of the sex, can you not understand and + forgive me? + </p> + <p> + So to Sandwich I returned; and there, for three years, I remained with the + kindest people who ever breathed the breath of life. Under their roof I + was still living when I met with my lost gentleman in the street. + </p> + <p> + Ah, me! the end of that quiet, pleasant life was near. When I lightly + spoke to the odd stranger of the expiring trade of the town, I never + expected that my employer’s trade was expiring too. The speculation had + turned out to be a losing one; and all his savings had been embarked in + it. He could no longer remain at Sandwich, or afford to keep a governess. + His wife broke the sad news to me. I was so fond of the children, I + proposed to her to give up my salary. Her husband refused even to consider + the proposal. It was the old story of poor humanity over again. We cried, + we kissed, we parted. + </p> + <p> + What was I to do next?—Write to Sir Gervase? + </p> + <p> + I had already written, soon after my return to Sandwich; breaking through + the regulations by directly addressing Sir Gervase. I expressed my + grateful sense of his generosity to a poor girl who had no family claim on + him; and I promised to make the one return in my power by trying to be + worthy of the interest he had taken in me. The letter was written without + any alloy of mental reserve. My new life as a governess was such a happy + one that I had forgotten my paltry bitterness of feeling against Lady + Damian. + </p> + <p> + It was a relief to think of this change for the better, when the secretary + at Garrum Park informed me that he had forwarded my letter to Sir Gervase, + then at Madeira with his sick wife. She was slowly and steadily wasting + away in a decline. Before another year had passed, Sir Gervase was left a + widower for the second time, with no child to console him under his loss. + No answer came to my grateful letter. I should have been unreasonable + indeed if I had expected the bereaved husband to remember me in his grief + and loneliness. Could I write to him again, in my own trumpery little + interests, under these circumstances? I thought (and still think) that the + commonest feeling of delicacy forbade it. The only other alternative was + to appeal to the ever-ready friends of the obscure and helpless public. I + advertised in the newspapers. + </p> + <p> + The tone of one of the answers which I received impressed me so favorably, + that I forwarded my references. The next post brought my written + engagement, and the offer of a salary which doubled my income. + </p> + <p> + The story of the past is told; and now we may travel on again, with no + more stoppages by the way. + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + THE residence of my present employer was in the north of England. Having + to pass through London, I arranged to stay in town for a few days to make + some necessary additions to my wardrobe. An old servant of the rector, who + kept a lodging-house in the suburbs, received me kindly, and guided my + choice in the serious matter of a dressmaker. On the second morning after + my arrival an event happened. The post brought me a letter forwarded from + the rectory. Imagine my astonishment when my correspondent proved to be + Sir Gervase Damian himself! + </p> + <p> + The letter was dated from his house in London. It briefly invited me to + call and see him, for a reason which I should hear from his own lips. He + naturally supposed that I was still at Sandwich, and requested me, in a + postscript, to consider my journey as made at his expense. + </p> + <p> + I went to the house the same day. While I was giving my name, a gentleman + came out into the hall. He spoke to me without ceremony. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Gervase,” he said, “believes he is going to die. Don’t encourage him + in that idea. He may live for another year or more, if his friends will + only persuade him to be hopeful about himself.” + </p> + <p> + With that, the gentleman left me; the servant said it was the doctor. + </p> + <p> + The change in my benefactor, since I had seen him last, startled and + distressed me. He lay back in a large arm-chair, wearing a grim black + dressing-gown, and looking pitiably thin and pinched and worn. I do not + think I should have known him again, if we had met by accident. He signed + to me to be seated on a little chair by his side. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to see you,” he said quietly, “before I die. You must have + thought me neglectful and unkind, with good reason. My child, you have not + been forgotten. If years have passed without a meeting between us, it has + not been altogether my fault—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. A pained expression passed over his poor worn face; he was + evidently thinking of the young wife whom he had lost. I repeated—fervently + and sincerely repeated—what I had already said to him in writing. “I + owe everything, sir, to your fatherly kindness.” Saying this, I ventured a + little further. I took his wan white hand, hanging over the arm of the + chair, and respectfully put it to my lips. + </p> + <p> + He gently drew his hand away from me, and sighed as he did it. Perhaps <i>she</i> + had sometimes kissed his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me about yourself,” he said. + </p> + <p> + I told him of my new situation, and how I had got it. He listened with + evident interest. + </p> + <p> + “I was not self-deceived,” he said, “when I first took a fancy to you in + the shop. I admire your independent feeling; it’s the right kind of + courage in a girl like you. But you must let me do something more for you—some + little service to remember me by when the end has come. What shall it be?” + </p> + <p> + “Try to get better, sir; and let me write to you now and then,” I + answered. “Indeed, indeed, I want nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “You will accept a little present, at least?” With those words he took + from the breast-pocket of his dressing-gown an enameled cross attached to + a gold chain. “Think of me sometimes,” he said, as he put the chain round + my neck. He drew me to him gently, and kissed my forehead. It was too much + for me. “Don’t cry, my dear,” he said; “don’t remind me of another sad + young face—” + </p> + <p> + Once more he stopped; once more he was thinking of the lost wife. I pulled + down my veil, and ran out of the room. + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + THE next day I was on my way to the north. My narrative brightens again—but + let us not forget Sir Gervase Damian. + </p> + <p> + I ask permission to introduce some persons of distinction:—Mrs. + Fosdyke, of Carsham Hall, widow of General Fosdyke; also Master Frederick, + Miss Ellen, and Miss Eva, the pupils of the new governess; also two ladies + and three gentlemen, guests staying in the house. + </p> + <p> + Discreet and dignified; handsome and well-bred—such was my + impression of Mrs. Fosdyke, while she harangued me on the subject of her + children, and communicated her views on education. Having heard the views + before from others, I assumed a listening position, and privately formed + my opinion of the schoolroom. It was large, lofty, perfectly furnished for + the purpose; it had a big window and a balcony looking out over the garden + terrace and the park beyond—a wonderful schoolroom, in my limited + experience. One of the two doors which it possessed was left open, and + showed me a sweet little bedroom, with amber draperies and maplewood + furniture, devoted to myself. Here were wealth and liberality, in the + harmonious combination so seldom discovered by the spectator of small + means. I controlled my first feeling of bewilderment just in time to + answer Mrs. Fosdyke on the subject of reading and recitation—viewed + as minor accomplishments which a good governess might be expected to + teach. + </p> + <p> + “While the organs are young and pliable,” the lady remarked, “I regard it + as of great importance to practice children in the art of reading aloud, + with an agreeable variety of tone and correctness of emphasis. Trained in + this way, they will produce a favorable impression on others, even in + ordinary conversation, when they grow up. Poetry, committed to memory and + recited, is a valuable means toward this end. May I hope that your studies + have enabled you to carry out my views?” + </p> + <p> + Formal enough in language, but courteous and kind in manner. I relieved + Mrs. Fosdyke from anxiety by informing her that we had a professor of + elocution at school. And then I was left to improve my acquaintance with + my three pupils. + </p> + <p> + They were fairly intelligent children; the boy, as usual, being slower + than the girls. I did my best—with many a sad remembrance of the far + dearer pupils whom I had left—to make them like me and trust me; and + I succeeded in winning their confidence. In a week from the time of my + arrival at Carsham Hall, we began to understand each other. + </p> + <p> + The first day in the week was one of our days for reciting poetry, in + obedience to the instructions with which I had been favored by Mrs. + Fosdyke. I had done with the girls, and had just opened (perhaps I ought + to say profaned) Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar,” in the elocutionary + interests of Master Freddy. Half of Mark Antony’s first glorious speech + over Caesar’s dead body he had learned by heart; and it was now my duty to + teach him, to the best of my small ability, how to speak it. The morning + was warm. We had our big window open; the delicious perfume of flowers in + the garden beneath filled the room. + </p> + <p> + I recited the first eight lines, and stopped there feeling that I must not + exact too much from the boy at first. “Now, Freddy,” I said, “try if you + can speak the poetry as I have spoken it.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t do anything of the kind, Freddy,” said a voice from the garden; + “it’s all spoken wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Who was this insolent person? A man unquestionably—and, strange to + say, there was something not entirely unfamiliar to me in his voice. The + girls began to giggle. Their brother was more explicit. “Oh,” says Freddy, + “it’s only Mr. Sax.” + </p> + <p> + The one becoming course to pursue was to take no notice of the + interruption. “Go on,” I said. Freddy recited the lines, like a dear good + boy, with as near an imitation of my style of elocution as could be + expected from him. + </p> + <p> + “Poor devil!” cried the voice from the garden, insolently pitying my + attentive pupil. + </p> + <p> + I imposed silence on the girls by a look—and then, without stirring + from my chair, expressed my sense of the insolence of Mr. Sax in clear and + commanding tones. “I shall be obliged to close the window if this is + repeated.” Having spoken to that effect, I waited in expectation of an + apology. Silence was the only apology. It was enough for me that I had + produced the right impression. I went on with my recitation. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest + (For Brutus is an honorable man; + So are they all, all honorable men), + Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral. + He was my friend, faithful and just to me—” + </pre> + <p> + “Oh, good heavens, I can’t stand <i>that!</i> Why don’t you speak the last + line properly? Listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + Dignity is a valuable quality, especially in a governess. But there are + limits to the most highly trained endurance. I bounced out into the + balcony—and there, on the terrace, smoking a cigar, was my lost + stranger in the streets of Sandwich! + </p> + <p> + He recognized me, on his side, the instant I appeared. “Oh, Lord!” he + cried in tones of horror, and ran round the corner of the terrace as if my + eyes had been mad bulls in close pursuit of him. By this time it is, I + fear, useless for me to set myself up as a discreet person in emergencies. + Another woman might have controlled herself. I burst into fits of + laughter. Freddy and the girls joined me. For the time, it was plainly + useless to pursue the business of education. I shut up Shakespeare, and + allowed—no, let me tell the truth, encouraged—the children to + talk about Mr. Sax. + </p> + <p> + They only seemed to know what Mr. Sax himself had told them. His father + and mother and brothers and sisters had all died in course of time. He was + the sixth and last of the children, and he had been christened “Sextus” in + consequence, which is Latin (here Freddy interposed) for sixth. Also + christened “Cyril” (here the girls recovered the lead) by his mother’s + request; “Sextus” being such a hideous name. And which of his Christian + names does he use? You wouldn’t ask if you knew him! “Sextus,” of course, + because it is the ugliest. Sextus Sax? Not the romantic sort of name that + one likes, when one is a woman. But I have no right to be particular. My + own name (is it possible that I have not mentioned it in these pages yet?) + is only Nancy Morris. Do not despise me—and let us return to Mr. + Sax. + </p> + <p> + Is he married? The eldest girl thought not. She had heard mamma say to a + lady, “An old German family, my dear, and, in spite of his oddities, an + excellent man; but so poor—barely enough to live on—and blurts + out the truth, if people ask his opinion, as if he had twenty thousand a + year!” “Your mamma knows him well, of course?” “I should think so, and so + do we. He often comes here. They say he’s not good company among grown-up + people. <i>We</i> think him jolly. He understands dolls, and he’s the best + back at leap-frog in the whole of England.” Thus far we had advanced in + the praise of Sextus Sax, when one of the maids came in with a note for + me. She smiled mysteriously, and said, “I’m to wait for an answer, miss.” + </p> + <p> + I opened the note, and read these lines:— + </p> + <p> + “I am so ashamed of myself, I daren’t attempt to make my apologies + personally. Will you accept my written excuses? Upon my honor, nobody told + me when I got here yesterday that you were in the house. I heard the + recitation, and—can you excuse my stupidity?—I thought it was + a stage-struck housemaid amusing herself with the children. May I + accompany you when you go out with the young ones for your daily walk? One + word will do. Yes or no. Penitently yours—S. S.” + </p> + <p> + In my position, there was but one possible answer to this. Governesses + must not make appointments with strange gentlemen—even when the + children are present in the capacity of witnesses. I said, No. Am I + claiming too much for my readiness to forgive injuries, when I add that I + should have preferred saying Yes? + </p> + <p> + We had our early dinner, and then got ready to go out walking as usual. + These pages contain a true confession. Let me own that I hoped Mr. Sax + would understand my refusal, and ask Mrs. Fosdyke’s leave to accompany us. + Lingering a little as we went downstairs, I heard him in the hall—actually + speaking to Mrs. Fosdyke! What was he saying? That darling boy, Freddy, + got into a difficulty with one of his boot-laces exactly at the right + moment. I could help him, and listen—and be sadly disappointed by + the result. Mr. Sax was offended with me. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t introduce me to the new governess,” I heard him say. “We have + met on a former occasion, and I produced a disagreeable impression on her. + I beg you will not speak of me to Miss Morris.” + </p> + <p> + Before Mrs. Fosdyke could say a word in reply, Master Freddy changed + suddenly from a darling boy to a detestable imp. “I say, Mr. Sax!” he + called out, “Miss Morris doesn’t mind you a bit—she only laughs at + you.” + </p> + <p> + The answer to this was the sudden closing of a door. Mr. Sax had taken + refuge from me in one of the ground-floor rooms. I was so mortified, I + could almost have cried. + </p> + <p> + Getting down into the hall, we found Mrs. Fosdyke with her garden hat on, + and one of the two ladies who were staying in the house (the unmarried + one) whispering to her at the door of the morning-room. The lady—Miss + Melbury—looked at me with a certain appearance of curiosity which I + was quite at a loss to understand, and suddenly turned away toward the + further end of the hall. + </p> + <p> + “I will walk with you and the children,” Mrs. Fosdyke said to me. “Freddy, + you can ride your tricycle if you like.” She turned to the girls. “My + dears, it’s cool under the trees. You may take your skipping-ropes.” + </p> + <p> + She had evidently something special to say to me; and she had adopted the + necessary measures for keeping the children in front of us, well out of + hearing. Freddy led the way on his horse on three wheels; the girls + followed, skipping merrily. Mrs. Fosdyke opened the business by the most + embarrassing remark that she could possibly have made under the + circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “I find that you are acquainted with Mr. Sax,” she began; “and I am + surprised to hear that you dislike him.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled pleasantly, as if my supposed dislike of Mr. Sax rather amused + her. What “the ruling passion” may be among men, I cannot presume to + consider. My own sex, however, I may claim to understand. The ruling + passion among women is Conceit. My ridiculous notion of my own consequence + was wounded in some way. I assumed a position of the loftiest + indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Really, ma’am,” I said, “I can’t undertake to answer for any impression + that Mr. Sax may have formed. We met by the merest accident. I know + nothing about him.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fosdyke eyed me slyly, and appeared to be more amused than ever. + </p> + <p> + “He is a very odd man,” she admitted, “but I can tell you there is a fine + nature under that strange surface of his. However,” she went on, “I am + forgetting that he forbids me to talk about him in your presence. When the + opportunity offers, I shall take my own way of teaching you two to + understand each other: you will both be grateful to me when I have + succeeded. In the meantime, there is a third person who will be sadly + disappointed to hear that you know nothing about Mr. Sax.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask, ma’am, who the person is?” + </p> + <p> + “Can you keep a secret, Miss Morris? Of course you can! The person is Miss + Melbury.” + </p> + <p> + (Miss Melbury was a dark woman. It cannot be because I am a fair woman + myself—I hope I am above such narrow prejudices as that—but it + is certainly true that I don’t admire dark women.) + </p> + <p> + “She heard Mr. Sax telling me that you particularly disliked him,” Mrs. + Fosdyke proceeded. “And just as you appeared in the hall, she was asking + me to find out what your reason was. My own opinion of Mr. Sax, I ought to + tell you, doesn’t satisfy her; I am his old friend, and I present him of + course from my own favorable point of view. Miss Melbury is anxious to be + made acquainted with his faults—and she expected you to be a + valuable witness against him.” + </p> + <p> + Thus far we had been walking on. We now stopped, as if by common consent, + and looked at one another. + </p> + <p> + In my previous experience of Mrs. Fosdyke, I had only seen the more + constrained and formal side of her character. Without being aware of my + own success, I had won the mother’s heart in winning the goodwill of her + children. Constraint now seized its first opportunity of melting away; the + latent sense of humor in the great lady showed itself, while I was + inwardly wondering what the nature of Miss Melbury’s extraordinary + interest in Mr. Sax might be. Easily penetrating my thoughts, she + satisfied my curiosity without committing herself to a reply in words. Her + large gray eyes sparkled as they rested on my face, and she hummed the + tune of the old French song, <i>“C’est l’amour, l’amour, l’amour!”</i> + There is no disguising it—something in this disclosure made me + excessively angry. Was I angry with Miss Melbury? or with Mr. Sax? or with + myself? I think it must have been with myself. + </p> + <p> + Finding that I had nothing to say on my side, Mrs. Fosdyke looked at her + watch, and remembered her domestic duties. To my relief, our interview + came to an end. + </p> + <p> + “I have a dinner-party to-day,” she said, “and I have not seen the + housekeeper yet. Make yourself beautiful, Miss Morris, and join us in the + drawing-room after dinner.” + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + I WORE my best dress; and, in all my life before, I never took such pains + with my hair. Nobody will be foolish enough, I hope, to suppose that I did + this on Mr. Sax’s account. How could I possibly care about a man who was + little better than a stranger to me? No! the person I dressed at was Miss + Melbury. + </p> + <p> + She gave me a look, as I modestly placed myself in a corner, which amply + rewarded me for the time spent on my toilet. The gentlemen came in. I + looked at Mr. Sax (mere curiosity) under shelter of my fan. His appearance + was greatly improved by evening dress. He discovered me in my corner, and + seemed doubtful whether to approach me or not. I was reminded of our first + odd meeting; and I could not help smiling as I called it to mind. Did he + presume to think that I was encouraging him? Before I could decide that + question, he took the vacant place on the sofa. In any other man—after + what had passed in the morning—this would have been an audacious + proceeding. <i>He</i> looked so painfully embarrassed, that it became a + species of Christian duty to pity him. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you shake hands?” he said, just as he had said it at Sandwich. + </p> + <p> + I peeped round the corner of my fan at Miss Melbury. She was looking at + us. I shook hands with Mr. Sax. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of sensation is it,” he asked, “when you shake hands with a man + whom you hate?” + </p> + <p> + “I really can’t tell you,” I answered innocently; “I have never done such + a thing.” + </p> + <p> + “You would not lunch with me at Sandwich,” he protested; “and, after the + humblest apology on my part, you won’t forgive me for what I did this + morning. Do you expect me to believe that I am not the special object of + your antipathy? I wish I had never met with you! At my age, a man gets + angry when he is treated cruelly and doesn’t deserve it. You don’t + understand that, I dare say.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I do. I heard what you said about me to Mrs. Fosdyke, and I + heard you bang the door when you got out of my way.” + </p> + <p> + He received this reply with every appearance of satisfaction. “So you + listened, did you? I’m glad to hear that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “It shows you take some interest in me, after all.” + </p> + <p> + Throughout this frivolous talk (I only venture to report it because it + shows that I bore no malice on my side) Miss Melbury was looking at us + like the basilisk of the ancients. She owned to being on the wrong side of + thirty; and she had a little money—but these were surely no reasons + why she should glare at a poor governess. Had some secret understanding of + the tender sort been already established between Mr. Sax and herself? She + provoked me into trying to find out—especially as the last words he + had said offered me the opportunity. + </p> + <p> + “I can prove that I feel a sincere interest in you,” I resumed. “I can + resign you to a lady who has a far better claim to your attention than + mine. You are neglecting her shamefully.” + </p> + <p> + He stared at me with an appearance of bewilderment, which seemed to imply + that the attachment was on the lady’s side, so far. It was of course + impossible to mention names; I merely turned my eyes in the right + direction. He looked where I looked—and his shyness revealed itself, + in spite of his resolution to conceal it. His face flushed; he looked + mortified and surprised. Miss Melbury could endure it no longer. She rose, + took a song from the music-stand, and approached us. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to sing,” she said, handing the music to him. “Please turn + over for me, Mr. Sax.” + </p> + <p> + I think he hesitated—but I cannot feel sure that I observed him + correctly. It matters little. With or without hesitation, he followed her + to the piano. + </p> + <p> + Miss Melbury sang—with perfect self-possession, and an immense + compass of voice. A gentleman near me said she ought to be on the stage. I + thought so too. Big as it was, our drawing-room was not large enough for + her. The gentleman sang next. No voice at all—but so sweet, such + true feeling! I turned over the leaves for him. A dear old lady, sitting + near the piano, entered into conversation with me. She spoke of the great + singers at the beginning of the present century. Mr. Sax hovered about, + with Miss Melbury’s eye on him. I was so entranced by the anecdotes of my + venerable friend, that I could take no notice of Mr. Sax. Later, when the + dinner-party was over, and we were retiring for the night, he still + hovered about, and ended in offering me a bedroom candle. I immediately + handed it to Miss Melbury. Really a most enjoyable evening! + </p> + <p> + VI. + </p> + <p> + THE next morning we were startled by an extraordinary proceeding on the + part of one of the guests. Mr. Sax had left Carsham Hall by the first + train—nobody knew why. + </p> + <p> + Nature has laid—so, at least, philosophers say—some heavy + burdens upon women. Do those learned persons include in their list the + burden of hysterics? If so, I cordially agree with them. It is hardly + worth speaking of in my case—a constitutional outbreak in the + solitude of my own room, treated with eau-de-cologne and water, and quite + forgotten afterward in the absorbing employment of education. My favorite + pupil, Freddy, had been up earlier than the rest of us—breathing the + morning air in the fruit-garden. He had seen Mr. Sax and had asked him + when he was coming back again. And Mr. Sax had said, “I shall be back + again next month.” (Dear little Freddy!) + </p> + <p> + In the meanwhile we, in the schoolroom, had the prospect before us of a + dull time in an empty house. The remaining guests were to go away at the + end of the week, their hostess being engaged to pay a visit to some old + friends in Scotland. + </p> + <p> + During the next three or four days, though I was often alone with Mrs. + Fosdyke, she never said one word on the subject of Mr. Sax. Once or twice + I caught her looking at me with that unendurably significant smile of + hers. Miss Melbury was equally unpleasant in another way. When we + accidentally met on the stairs, her black eyes shot at me passing glances + of hatred and scorn. Did these two ladies presume to think—? + </p> + <p> + No; I abstained from completing that inquiry at the time, and I abstain + from completing it here. + </p> + <p> + The end of the week came, and I and the children were left alone at + Carsham Hall. + </p> + <p> + I took advantage of the leisure hours at my disposal to write to Sir + Gervase; respectfully inquiring after his health, and informing him that I + had been again most fortunate in my engagement as a governess. By return + of post an answer arrived. I eagerly opened it. The first lines informed + me of Sir Gervase Damian’s death. + </p> + <p> + The letter dropped from my hand. I looked at my little enameled cross. It + is not for me to say what I felt. Think of all that I owed to him; and + remember how lonely my lot was in the world. I gave the children a + holiday; it was only the truth to tell them that I was not well. + </p> + <p> + How long an interval passed before I could call to mind that I had only + read the first lines of the letter, I am not able to say. When I did take + it up I was surprised to see that the writing covered two pages. Beginning + again where I had left off, my head, in a moment more, began to swim. A + horrid fear overpowered me that I might not be in my right mind, after I + had read the first three sentences. Here they are, to answer for me that I + exaggerate nothing:— + </p> + <p> + “The will of our deceased client is not yet proved. But, with the sanction + of the executors, I inform you confidentially that you are the person + chiefly interested in it. Sir Gervase Damian bequeaths to you, absolutely, + the whole of his personal property, amounting to the sum of seventy + thousand pounds.” + </p> + <p> + If the letter had ended there, I really cannot imagine what extravagances + I might not have committed. But the writer (head partner in the firm of + Sir Gervase’s lawyers) had something more to say on his own behalf. The + manner in which he said it strung up my nerves in an instant. I can not, + and will not, copy the words here. It is quite revolting enough to give + the substance of them. + </p> + <p> + The man’s object was evidently to let me perceive that he disapproved of + the will. So far I do not complain of him—he had, no doubt, good + reason for the view he took. But, in expressing his surprise “at this + extraordinary proof of the testator’s interest in a perfect stranger to + the family,” he hinted his suspicion of an influence, on my part, + exercised over Sir Gervase, so utterly shameful, that I cannot dwell on + the subject. The language, I should add, was cunningly guarded. Even I + could see that it would bear more than one interpretation, and would thus + put me in the wrong if I openly resented it. But the meaning was plain; + and part at least of the motive came out in the following sentences: + </p> + <p> + “The present Sir Gervase, as you are doubtless aware, is not seriously + affected by his father’s will. He is already more liberally provided for, + as heir under the entail to the whole of the landed property. But, to say + nothing of old friends who are forgotten, there is a surviving relative of + the late Sir Gervase passed over, who is nearly akin to him by blood. In + the event of this person disputing the will, you will of course hear from + us again, and refer us to your legal adviser.” + </p> + <p> + The letter ended with an apology for delay in writing to me, caused by + difficulty in discovering my address. + </p> + <p> + And what did I do?—Write to the rector, or to Mrs. Fosdyke, for + advice? Not I! + </p> + <p> + At first I was too indignant to be able to think of what I ought to do. + Our post-time was late, and my head ached as if it would burst into + pieces. I had plenty of leisure to rest and compose myself. When I got + cool again, I felt able to take my own part, without asking any one to + help me. + </p> + <p> + Even if I had been treated kindly, I should certainly not have taken the + money when there was a relative living with a claim to it. What did <i>I</i> + want with a large fortune! To buy a husband with it, perhaps? No, no! from + all that I have heard, the great Lord Chancellor was quite right when he + said that a woman with money at her own disposal was “either kissed out of + it or kicked out of it, six weeks after her marriage.” The one difficulty + before me was not to give up my legacy, but to express my reply with + sufficient severity, and at the same time with due regard to my own + self-respect. Here is what I wrote: + </p> + <p> + “SIR—I will not trouble you by attempting to express my sorrow on + hearing of Sir Gervase Damian’s death. You would probably form your own + opinion on that subject also; and I have no wish to be judged by your + unenviable experience of humanity for the second time. + </p> + <p> + “With regard to the legacy, feeling the sincerest gratitude to my generous + benefactor, I nevertheless refuse to receive the money. + </p> + <p> + “Be pleased to send me the necessary document to sign, for transferring my + fortune to that relative of Sir Gervase mentioned in your letter. The one + condition on which I insist is, that no expression of thanks shall be + addressed to me by the person in whose favor I resign the money. I do not + desire (even supposing that justice is done to my motives on this + occasion) to be made the object of expressions of gratitude for only doing + my duty.” + </p> + <p> + So it ended. I may be wrong, but I call that strong writing. + </p> + <p> + In due course of post a formal acknowledgment arrived. I was requested to + wait for the document until the will had been proved, and was informed + that my name should be kept strictly secret in the interval. On this + occasion the executors were almost as insolent as the lawyer. They felt it + their duty to give me time to reconsider a decision which had been + evidently formed on impulse. Ah, how hard men are—at least, some of + them! I locked up the acknowledgment in disgust, resolved to think no more + of it until the time came for getting rid of my legacy. I kissed poor Sir + Gervase’s little keepsake. While I was still looking at it, the good + children came in, of their own accord, to ask how I was. I was obliged to + draw down the blind in my room, or they would have seen the tears in my + eyes. For the first time since my mother’s death, I felt the heartache. + Perhaps the children made me think of the happier time when I was a child + myself. + </p> + <p> + VII. + </p> + <p> + THE will had been proved, and I was informed that the document was in + course of preparation when Mrs. Fosdyke returned from her visit to + Scotland. + </p> + <p> + She thought me looking pale and worn. + </p> + <p> + “The time seems to me to have come,” she said, “when I had better make you + and Mr. Sax understand each other. Have you been thinking penitently of + your own bad behavior?” + </p> + <p> + I felt myself blushing. I <i>had</i> been thinking of my conduct to Mr. + Sax—and I was heartily ashamed of it, too. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fosdyke went on, half in jest, half in earnest. “Consult your own + sense of propriety!” she said. “Was the poor man to blame for not being + rude enough to say No, when a lady asked him to turn over her music? Could + <i>he</i> help it, if the same lady persisted in flirting with him? He ran + away from her the next morning. Did you deserve to be told why he left us? + Certainly not—after the vixenish manner in which you handed the + bedroom candle to Miss Melbury. You foolish girl! Do you think I couldn’t + see that you were in love with him? Thank Heaven, he’s too poor to marry + you, and take you away from my children, for some time to come. There will + be a long marriage engagement, even if he is magnanimous enough to forgive + you. Shall I ask Miss Melbury to come back with him?” + </p> + <p> + She took pity on me at last, and sat down to write to Mr. Sax. His reply, + dated from a country house some twenty miles distant, announced that he + would be at Carsham Hall in three days’ time. + </p> + <p> + On that third day the legal paper that I was to sign arrived by post. It + was Sunday morning; I was alone in the schoolroom. + </p> + <p> + In writing to me, the lawyer had only alluded to “a surviving relative of + Sir Gervase, nearly akin to him by blood.” The document was more explicit. + It described the relative as being a nephew of Sir Gervase, the son of his + sister. The name followed. + </p> + <p> + It was Sextus Cyril Sax. + </p> + <p> + I have tried on three different sheets of paper to describe the effect + which this discovery produced on me—and I have torn them up one + after another. When I only think of it, my mind seems to fall back into + the helpless surprise and confusion of that time. After all that had + passed between us—the man himself being then on his way to the + house! what would he think of me when he saw my name at the bottom of the + document? what, in Heaven’s name, was I to do? + </p> + <p> + How long I sat petrified, with the document on my lap, I never knew. + Somebody knocked at the schoolroom door, and looked in and said something, + and went out again. Then there was an interval. Then the door was opened + again. A hand was laid kindly on my shoulder. I looked up—and there + was Mrs. Fosdyke, asking, in the greatest alarm, what was the matter with + me. + </p> + <p> + The tone of her voice roused me into speaking. I could think of nothing + but Mr. Sax; I could only say, “Has he come?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and waiting to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Answering in those terms, she glanced at the paper in my lap. In the + extremity of my helplessness, I acted like a sensible creature at last. I + told Mrs. Fosdyke all that I have told here. + </p> + <p> + She neither moved nor spoke until I had done. Her first proceeding, after + that, was to take me in her arms and give me a kiss. Having so far + encouraged me, she next spoke of poor Sir Gervase. + </p> + <p> + “We all acted like fools,” she announced, “in needlessly offending him by + protesting against his second marriage. I don’t mean you—I mean his + son, his nephew, and myself. If his second marriage made him happy, what + business had we with the disparity of years between husband and wife? I + can tell you this, Sextus was the first of us to regret what he had done. + But for his stupid fear of being suspected of an interested motive, Sir + Gervase might have known there was that much good in his sister’s son.” + </p> + <p> + She snatched up a copy of the will, which I had not even noticed thus far. + </p> + <p> + “See what the kind old man says of you,” she went on, pointing to the + words. I could not see them; she was obliged to read them for me. “I leave + my money to the one person living who has been more than worthy of the + little I have done for her, and whose simple unselfish nature I know that + I can trust.” + </p> + <p> + I pressed Mrs. Fosdyke’s hand; I was not able to speak. She took up the + legal paper next. + </p> + <p> + “Do justice to yourself, and be above contemptible scruples,” she said. + “Sextus is fond enough of you to be almost worthy of the sacrifice that + you are making. Sign—and I will sign next as the witness.” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “What will he think of me?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Sign!” she repeated, “and we will see to that.” + </p> + <p> + I obeyed. She asked for the lawyer’s letter. I gave it to her, with the + lines which contained the man’s vile insinuation folded down, so that only + the words above were visible, which proved that I had renounced my legacy, + not even knowing whether the person to be benefited was a man or a woman. + She took this, with the rough draft of my own letter, and the signed + renunciation—and opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Pray come back, and tell me about it!” I pleaded. + </p> + <p> + She smiled, nodded, and went out. + </p> + <p> + Oh, what a long time passed before I heard the long-expected knock at the + door! “Come in,” I cried impatiently. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fosdyke had deceived me. Mr. Sax had returned in her place. He closed + the door. We two were alone. + </p> + <p> + He was deadly pale; his eyes, as they rested on me, had a wild startled + look. With icy cold fingers he took my hand, and lifted it in silence to + his lips. The sight of his agitation encouraged me—I don’t to this + day know why, unless it appealed in some way to my compassion. I was bold + enough to look at him. Still silent, he placed the letters on the table—and + then he laid the signed paper beside them. When I saw that, I was bolder + still. I spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “Surely you don’t refuse me?” I said. + </p> + <p> + He answered, “I thank you with my whole heart; I admire you more than + words can say. But I can’t take it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “The fortune is yours,” he said gently. “Remember how poor I am, and feel + for me if I say no more.” + </p> + <p> + His head sank on his breast. He stretched out one hand, silently imploring + me to understand him. I could endure it no longer. I forgot every + consideration which a woman, in my position, ought to have remembered. Out + came the desperate words, before I could stop them. + </p> + <p> + “You won’t take my gift by itself?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you take Me with it?” + </p> + <p> + That evening, Mrs. Fosdyke indulged her sly sense of humor in a new way. + She handed me an almanac. + </p> + <p> + “After all, my dear,” she remarked, “you needn’t be ashamed of having + spoken first. You have only used the ancient privilege of the sex. This is + Leap Year.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MR. COSWAY AND THE LANDLADY. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> + <p> + THE guests would have enjoyed their visit to Sir Peter’s country house—but + for Mr. Cosway. And to make matters worse, it was not Mr. Cosway but the + guests who were to blame. They repeated the old story of Adam and Eve, on + a larger scale. The women were the first sinners; and the men were + demoralized by the women. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cosway’s bitterest enemy could not have denied that he was a handsome, + well-bred, unassuming man. No mystery of any sort attached to him. He had + adopted the Navy as a profession—had grown weary of it after a few + years’ service—and now lived on the moderate income left to him, + after the death of his parents. Out of this unpromising material the + lively imaginations of the women built up a romance. The men only noticed + that Mr. Cosway was rather silent and thoughtful; that he was not ready + with his laugh; and that he had a fancy for taking long walks by himself. + Harmless peculiarities, surely? And yet, they excited the curiosity of the + women as signs of a mystery in Mr. Cosway’s past life, in which some + beloved object unknown must have played a chief part. + </p> + <p> + As a matter of course, the influence of the sex was tried, under every + indirect and delicate form of approach, to induce Mr. Cosway to open his + heart, and tell the tale of his sorrows. With perfect courtesy, he baffled + curiosity, and kept his supposed secret to himself. The most beautiful + girl in the house was ready to offer herself and her fortune as + consolations, if this impenetrable bachelor would only have taken her into + his confidence. He smiled sadly, and changed the subject. + </p> + <p> + Defeated so far, the women accepted the next alternative. + </p> + <p> + One of the guests staying in the house was Mr. Cosway’s intimate friend—formerly + his brother-officer on board ship. This gentleman was now subjected to the + delicately directed system of investigation which had failed with his + friend. With unruffled composure he referred the ladies, one after + another, to Mr. Cosway. His name was Stone. The ladies decided that his + nature was worthy of his name. + </p> + <p> + The last resource left to our fair friends was to rouse the dormant + interest of the men, and to trust to the confidential intercourse of the + smoking-room for the enlightenment which they had failed to obtain by + other means. + </p> + <p> + In the accomplishment of this purpose, the degree of success which + rewarded their efforts was due to a favoring state of affairs in the + house. The shooting was not good for much; the billiard-table was under + repair; and there were but two really skilled whist-players among the + guests. In the atmosphere of dullness thus engendered, the men not only + caught the infection of the women’s curiosity, but were even ready to + listen to the gossip of the servants’ hall, repeated to their mistresses + by the ladies’ maids. The result of such an essentially debased state of + feeling as this was not slow in declaring itself. But for a lucky + accident, Mr. Cosway would have discovered to what extremities of ill-bred + curiosity idleness and folly can lead persons holding the position of + ladies and gentlemen, when he joined the company at breakfast on the next + morning. + </p> + <p> + The newspapers came in before the guests had risen from the table. Sir + Peter handed one of them to the lady who sat on his right hand. + </p> + <p> + She first looked, it is needless to say, at the list of births, deaths, + and marriages; and then she turned to the general news—the fires, + accidents, fashionable departures, and so on. In a few minutes, she + indignantly dropped the newspaper in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Here is another unfortunate man,” she exclaimed, “sacrificed to the + stupidity of women! If I had been in his place, I would have used my + knowledge of swimming to save myself, and would have left the women to go + to the bottom of the river as they deserved!” + </p> + <p> + “A boat accident, I suppose?” said Sir Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes—the old story. A gentleman takes two ladies out in a boat. + After a while they get fidgety, and feel an idiotic impulse to change + places. The boat upsets as usual; the poor dear man tries to save them—and + is drowned along with them for his pains. Shameful! shameful!” + </p> + <p> + “Are the names mentioned?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. They are all strangers to me; I speak on principle.” Asserting + herself in those words, the indignant lady handed the newspaper to Mr. + Cosway, who happened to sit next to her. “When you were in the navy,” she + continued, “I dare say <i>your</i> life was put in jeopardy by taking + women in boats. Read it yourself, and let it be a warning to you for the + future.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cosway looked at the narrative of the accident—and revealed the + romantic mystery of his life by a burst of devout exclamation, expressed + in the words: + </p> + <p> + “Thank God, my wife’s drowned!” + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + To declare that Sir Peter and his guests were all struck speechless, by + discovering in this way that Mr. Cosway was a married man, is to say very + little. The general impression appeared to be that he was mad. His + neighbors at the table all drew back from him, with the one exception of + his friend. Mr. Stone looked at the newspaper: pressed Mr. Cosway’s hand + in silent sympathy—and addressed himself to his host. + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to make my friend’s apologies,” he said, “until he is composed + enough to act for himself. The circumstances are so extraordinary that I + venture to think they excuse him. Will you allow us to speak to you + privately?” + </p> + <p> + Sir Peter, with more apologies addressed to his visitors, opened the door + which communicated with his study. Mr. Stone took Mr. Cosway’s arm, and + led him out of the room. He noticed no one, spoke to no one—he moved + mechanically, like a man walking in his sleep. + </p> + <p> + After an unendurable interval of nearly an hour’s duration, Sir Peter + returned alone to the breakfast-room. Mr. Cosway and Mr. Stone had already + taken their departure for London, with their host’s entire approval. + </p> + <p> + “It is left to my discretion,” Sir Peter proceeded, “to repeat to you what + I have heard in my study. I will do so, on one condition—that you + all consider yourselves bound in honor not to mention the true names and + the real places, when you tell the story to others.” + </p> + <p> + Subject to this wise reservation, the narrative is here repeated by one of + the company. Considering how he may perform his task to the best + advantage, he finds that the events which preceded and followed Mr. + Cosway’s disastrous marriage resolve themselves into certain well-marked + divisions. Adopting this arrangement, he proceeds to relate: + </p> + <p> + <i>The First Epoch in Mr. Cosway’s Life.</i> + </p> + <p> + The sailing of her Majesty’s ship <i>Albicore</i> was deferred by the + severe illness of the captain. A gentleman not possessed of political + influence might, after the doctor’s unpromising report of him, have been + superseded by another commanding officer. In the present case, the Lords + of the Admiralty showed themselves to be models of patience and sympathy. + They kept the vessel in port, waiting the captain’s recovery. + </p> + <p> + Among the unimportant junior officers, not wanted on board under these + circumstances, and favored accordingly by obtaining leave to wait for + orders on shore, were two young men, aged respectively twenty-two and + twenty-three years, and known by the names of Cosway and Stone. The scene + which now introduces them opens at a famous seaport on the south coast of + England, and discloses the two young gentlemen at dinner in a private room + at their inn. + </p> + <p> + “I think that last bottle of champagne was corked,” Cosway remarked. + “Let’s try another. You’re nearest the bell, Stone. Ring.” + </p> + <p> + Stone rang, under protest. He was the elder of the two by a year, and he + set an example of discretion. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid we are running up a terrible bill,” he said. “We have been + here more than three weeks—” + </p> + <p> + “And we have denied ourselves nothing,” Cosway added. “We have lived like + princes. Another bottle of champagne, waiter. We have our riding-horses, + and our carriage, and the best box at the theater, and such cigars as + London itself could not produce. I call that making the most of life. Try + the new bottle. Glorious drink, isn’t it? Why doesn’t my father have + champagne at the family dinner-table?” + </p> + <p> + “Is your father a rich man, Cosway?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say not. He didn’t give me anything like the money I expected, + when I said good-by—and I rather think he warned me solemnly, at + parting, to take the greatest care of it.’ There’s not a farthing more for + you,’ he said, ‘till your ship returns from her South American station.’ + <i>Your</i> father is a clergyman, Stone.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and what of that?” + </p> + <p> + “And some clergymen are rich.” + </p> + <p> + “My father is not one of them, Cosway.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let us say no more about him. Help yourself, and pass the bottle.” + </p> + <p> + Instead of adopting this suggestion, Stone rose with a very grave face, + and once more rang the bell. “Ask the landlady to step up,” he said, when + the waiter appeared. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want with the landlady?” Cosway inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I want the bill.” + </p> + <p> + The landlady—otherwise Mrs. Pounce—entered the room. She was + short, and old, and fat, and painted, and a widow. Students of character, + as revealed in the face, would have discovered malice and cunning in her + bright black eyes, and a bitter vindictive temper in the lines about her + thin red lips. Incapable of such subtleties of analysis as these, the two + young officers differed widely, nevertheless, in their opinions of Mrs. + Pounce. Cosway’s reckless sense of humor delighted in pretending to be in + love with her. Stone took a dislike to her from the first. When his friend + asked for the reason, he made a strangely obscure answer. “Do you remember + that morning in the wood when you killed the snake?” he said. “I took a + dislike to the snake.” Cosway made no further inquiries. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my young heroes,” said Mrs. Pounce (always loud, always cheerful, + and always familiar with her guests), “what do you want with me now?” + </p> + <p> + “Take a glass of champagne, my darling,” said Cosway; “and let me try if I + can get my arm round your waist. That’s all <i>I</i> want with you.” + </p> + <p> + The landlady passed this over without notice. Though she had spoken to + both of them, her cunning little eyes rested on Stone from the moment when + she appeared in the room. She knew by instinct the man who disliked her—and + she waited deliberately for Stone to reply. + </p> + <p> + “We have been here some time,” he said, “and we shall be obliged, ma’am, + if you will let us have our bill.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Pounce lifted her eyebrows with an expression of innocent surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Has the captain got well, and must you go on board to-night?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of the sort!” Cosway interposed. “We have no news of the captain, + and we are going to the theater to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” persisted Stone, “we want, if you please, to have the bill.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, sir,” said Mrs. Pounce, with a sudden assumption of respect. + “But we are very busy downstairs, and we hope you will not press us for it + to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not!” cried Cosway. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Pounce instantly left the room, without waiting for any further + remark from Cosway’s friend. + </p> + <p> + “I wish we had gone to some other house,” said Stone. “You mark my words—that + woman means to cheat us.” + </p> + <p> + Cosway expressed his dissent from this opinion in the most amiable manner. + He filled his friend’s glass, and begged him not to say ill-natured things + of Mrs. Pounce. + </p> + <p> + But Stone’s usually smooth temper seemed to be ruffled; he insisted on his + own view. “She’s impudent and inquisitive, if she is not downright + dishonest,” he said. “What right had she to ask you where we lived when we + were at home; and what our Christian names were; and which of us was + oldest, you or I? Oh, yes—it’s all very well to say she only showed + a flattering interest in us! I suppose she showed a flattering interest in + my affairs, when I awoke a little earlier than usual, and caught her in my + bedroom with my pocketbook in her hand. Do you believe she was going to + lock it up for safety’s sake? She knows how much money we have got as well + as we know it ourselves. Every half-penny we have will be in her pocket + tomorrow. And a good thing, too—we shall be obliged to leave the + house.” + </p> + <p> + Even this cogent reasoning failed in provoking Cosway to reply. He took + Stone’s hat, and handed it with the utmost politeness to his foreboding + friend. “There’s only one remedy for such a state of mind as yours,” he + said. “Come to the theater.” + </p> + <p> + At ten o’clock the next morning Cosway found himself alone at the + breakfast-table. He was informed that Mr. Stone had gone out for a little + walk, and would be back directly. Seating himself at the table, he + perceived an envelope on his plate, which evidently inclosed the bill. He + took up the envelope, considered a little, and put it back again unopened. + At the same moment Stone burst into the room in a high state of + excitement. + </p> + <p> + “News that will astonish you!” he cried. “The captain arrived yesterday + evening. His doctors say that the sea-voyage will complete his recovery. + The ship sails to-day—and we are ordered to report ourselves on + board in an hour’s time. Where’s the bill?” + </p> + <p> + Cosway pointed to it. Stone took it out of the envelope. + </p> + <p> + It covered two sides of a prodigiously long sheet of paper. The sum total + was brightly decorated with lines in red ink. Stone looked at the total, + and passed it in silence to Cosway. For once, even Cosway was prostrated. + In dreadful stillness the two young men produced their pocketbooks; added + up their joint stores of money, and compared the result with the bill. + Their united resources amounted to a little more than one-third of their + debt to the landlady of the inn. + </p> + <p> + The only alternative that presented itself was to send for Mrs. Pounce; to + state the circumstances plainly; and to propose a compromise on the grand + commercial basis of credit. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Pounce presented herself superbly dressed in walking costume. Was she + going out; or had she just returned to the inn? Not a word escaped her; + she waited gravely to hear what the gentlemen wanted. Cosway, presuming on + his position as favorite, produced the contents of the two pocketbooks and + revealed the melancholy truth. + </p> + <p> + “There is all the money we have,” he concluded. “We hope you will not + object to receive the balance in a bill at three months.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Pounce answered with a stern composure of voice and manner entirely + new in the experience of Cosway and Stone. + </p> + <p> + “I have paid ready money, gentlemen, for the hire of your horses and + carriages,” she said; “here are the receipts from the livery stables to + vouch for me; I never accept bills unless I am quite sure beforehand that + they will be honored. I defy you to find an overcharge in the account now + rendered; and I expect you to pay it before you leave my house.” + </p> + <p> + Stone looked at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “In three-quarters of an hour,” he said, “we must be on board.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Pounce entirely agreed with him. “And if you are not on board,” she + remarked “you will be tried by court-martial, and dismissed the service + with your characters ruined for life.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear creature, we haven’t time to send home, and we know nobody in the + town,” pleaded Cosway. “For God’s sake take our watches and jewelry, and + our luggage—and let us go.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not a pawnbroker,” said the inflexible lady. “You must either pay + your lawful debt to me in honest money, or—” + </p> + <p> + She paused and looked at Cosway. Her fat face brightened—she smiled + graciously for the first time. + </p> + <p> + Cosway stared at her in unconcealed perplexity. He helplessly repeated her + last words. “We must either pay the bill,” he said, “or what?” + </p> + <p> + “Or,” answered Mrs. Pounce, “one of you must marry ME.” + </p> + <p> + Was she joking? Was she intoxicated? Was she out of her senses? Neither of + the three; she was in perfect possession of herself; her explanation was a + model of lucid and convincing arrangement of facts. + </p> + <p> + “My position here has its drawbacks,” she began. “I am a lone widow; I am + known to have an excellent business, and to have saved money. The result + is that I am pestered to death by a set of needy vagabonds who want to + marry me. In this position, I am exposed to slanders and insults. Even if + I didn’t know that the men were after my money, there is not one of them + whom I would venture to marry. He might turn out a tyrant and beat me; or + a drunkard, and disgrace me; or a betting man, and ruin me. What I want, + you see, for my own peace and protection, is to be able to declare myself + married, and to produce the proof in the shape of a certificate. A born + gentleman, with a character to lose, and so much younger in years than + myself that he wouldn’t think of living with me—there is the sort of + husband who suits my book! I’m a reasonable woman, gentlemen. I would + undertake to part with my husband at the church door—never to + attempt to see him or write to him afterward—and only to show my + certificate when necessary, without giving any explanations. Your secret + would be quite safe in my keeping. I don’t care a straw for either of you, + so long as you answer my purpose. What do you say to paying my bill (one + or the other of you) in this way? I am ready dressed for the altar; and + the clergyman has notice at the church. My preference is for Mr. Cosway,” + proceeded this terrible woman with the cruelest irony, “because he has + been so particular in his attentions toward me. The license (which I + provided on the chance a fortnight since) is made out in his name. Such is + my weakness for Mr. Cosway. But that don’t matter if Mr. Stone would like + to take his place. He can hail by his friend’s name. Oh, yes, he can! I + have consulted my lawyer. So long as the bride and bridegroom agree to it, + they may be married in any name they like, and it stands good. Look at + your watch again, Mr. Stone. The church is in the next street. By my + calculation, you have just got five minutes to decide. I’m a punctual + woman, my little dears; and I will be back to the moment.” + </p> + <p> + She opened the door, paused, and returned to the room. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to have mentioned,” she resumed, “that I shall make you a present + of the bill, receipted, on the conclusion of the ceremony. You will be + taken to the ship in my own boat, with all your money in your pockets, and + a hamper of good things for the mess. After that I wash my hands of you. + You may go to the devil your own way.” + </p> + <p> + With this parting benediction, she left them. + </p> + <p> + Caught in the landlady’s trap, the two victims looked at each other in + expressive silence. Without time enough to take legal advice; without + friends on shore; without any claim on officers of their own standing in + the ship, the prospect before them was literally limited to Marriage or + Ruin. Stone made a proposal worthy of a hero. + </p> + <p> + “One of us must marry her,” he said; “I’m ready to toss up for it.” + </p> + <p> + Cosway matched him in generosity. “No,” he answered. “It was I who brought + you here; and I who led you into these infernal expenses. I ought to pay + the penalty—and I will.” + </p> + <p> + Before Stone could remonstrate, the five minutes expired. Punctual Mrs. + Pounce appeared again in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she inquired, “which is it to be—Cosway, or Stone?” + </p> + <p> + Cosway advanced as reckless as ever, and offered his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, Fatsides,” he said, “come and be married!” + </p> + <p> + In five-and-twenty minutes more, Mrs. Pounce had become Mrs. Cosway; and + the two officers were on their way to the ship. + </p> + <p> + <i>The Second Epoch in Mr. Cosway’s Life.</i> + </p> + <p> + Four years elapsed before the <i>Albicore</i> returned to the port from + which she had sailed. + </p> + <p> + In that interval, the death of Cosway’s parents had taken place. The + lawyer who had managed his affairs, during his absence from England, wrote + to inform him that his inheritance from his late father’s “estate” was + eight hundred a year. His mother only possessed a life interest in her + fortune; she had left her jewels to her son, and that was all. + </p> + <p> + Cosway’s experience of the life of a naval officer on foreign stations + (without political influence to hasten his promotion) had thoroughly + disappointed him. He decided on retiring from the service when the ship + was “paid off.” In the meantime, to the astonishment of his comrades, he + seemed to be in no hurry to make use of the leave granted him to go on + shore. The faithful Stone was the only man on board who knew that he was + afraid of meeting his “wife.” This good friend volunteered to go to the + inn, and make the necessary investigation with all needful prudence. “Four + years is a long time, at <i>her</i> age,” he said. “Many things may happen + in four years.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later, Stone returned to the ship, and sent a written message on + board, addressed to his brother-officer, in these words: “Pack up your + things at once, and join me on shore.” + </p> + <p> + “What news?” asked the anxious husband. + </p> + <p> + Stone looked significantly at the idlers on the landing-place. “Wait,” he + said, “till we are by ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + “To the railway station.” + </p> + <p> + They got into an empty carriage; and Stone at once relieved his friend of + all further suspense. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody is acquainted with the secret of your marriage, but our two + selves,” he began quietly. “I don’t think, Cosway, you need go into + mourning.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean to say she’s dead!” + </p> + <p> + “I have seen a letter (written by her own lawyer) which announces her + death,” Stone replied. “It was so short that I believe I can repeat it + word for word: ‘Dear Sir—I have received information of the death of + my client. Please address your next and last payment, on account of the + lease and goodwill of the inn, to the executors of the late Mrs. Cosway.’ + There, that is the letter. ‘Dear Sir’ means the present proprietor of the + inn. He told me your wife’s previous history in two words. After carrying + on the business with her customary intelligence for more than three years, + her health failed, and she went to London to consult a physician. There + she remained under the doctor’s care. The next event was the appearance of + an agent, instructed to sell the business in consequence of the landlady’s + declining health. Add the death at a later time—and there is the + beginning and the end of the story. Fortune owed you a good turn, Cosway—and + Fortune has paid the debt. Accept my best congratulations.” + </p> + <p> + Arrived in London, Stone went on at once to his relations in the North. + Cosway proceeded to the office of the family lawyer (Mr. Atherton), who + had taken care of his interests in his absence. His father and Mr. + Atherton had been schoolfellows and old friends. He was affectionately + received, and was invited to pay a visit the next day to the lawyer’s + villa at Richmond. + </p> + <p> + “You will be near enough to London to attend to your business at the + Admiralty,” said Mr. Atherton, “and you will meet a visitor at my house, + who is one of the most charming girls in England—the only daughter + of the great Mr. Restall. Good heavens! have you never heard of him? My + dear sir, he’s one of the partners in the famous firm of Benshaw, Restall, + and Benshaw.” + </p> + <p> + Cosway was wise enough to accept this last piece of information as quite + conclusive. The next day, Mrs. Atherton presented him to the charming Miss + Restall; and Mrs. Atherton’s young married daughter (who had been his + playfellow when they were children) whispered to him, half in jest, half + in earnest: “Make the best use of your time; she isn’t engaged yet.” + </p> + <p> + Cosway shuddered inwardly at the bare idea of a second marriage. Was Miss + Restall the sort of woman to restore his confidence? + </p> + <p> + She was small and slim and dark—a graceful, well-bred, brightly + intelligent person, with a voice exquisitely sweet and winning in tone. + Her ears, hands, and feet were objects to worship; and she had an + attraction, irresistibly rare among the women of the present time—the + attraction of a perfectly natural smile. Before Cosway had been an hour in + the house, she discovered that his long term of service on foreign + stations had furnished him with subjects of conversation which favorably + contrasted with the commonplace gossip addressed to her by other men. + Cosway at once became a favorite, as Othello became a favorite in his day. + </p> + <p> + The ladies of the household all rejoiced in the young officer’s success, + with the exception of Miss Restall’s companion (supposed to hold the place + of her lost mother, at a large salary), one Mrs. Margery. + </p> + <p> + Too cautious to commit herself in words, this lady expressed doubt and + disapprobation by her looks. She had white hair, iron-gray eyebrows, and + protuberant eyes; her looks were unusually expressive. One evening, she + caught poor Mr. Atherton alone, and consulted him confidentially on the + subject of Mr. Cosway’s income. This was the first warning which opened + the eyes of the good lawyer to the nature of the “friendship” already + established between his two guests. He knew Miss Restall’s illustrious + father well, and he feared that it might soon be his disagreeable duty to + bring Cosway’s visit to an end. + </p> + <p> + On a certain Saturday afternoon, while Mr. Atherton was still considering + how he could most kindly and delicately suggest to Cosway that it was time + to say good-by, an empty carriage arrived at the villa. A note from Mr. + Restall was delivered to Mrs. Atherton, thanking her with perfect + politeness for her kindness to his daughter. “Circumstances,” he added, + “rendered it necessary that Miss Restall should return home that + afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + The “circumstances” were supposed to refer to a garden-party to be given + by Mr. Restall in the ensuing week. But why was his daughter wanted at + home before the day of the party? + </p> + <p> + The ladies of the family, still devoted to Cosway’s interests, entertained + no doubt that Mrs. Margery had privately communicated with Mr. Restall, + and that the appearance of the carriage was the natural result. Mrs. + Atherton’s married daughter did all that could be done: she got rid of + Mrs. Margery for one minute, and so arranged it that Cosway and Miss + Restall took leave of each other in her own sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + When the young lady appeared in the hall she had drawn her veil down. + Cosway escaped to the road and saw the last of the carriage as it drove + away. In a little more than a fortnight his horror of a second marriage + had become one of the dead and buried emotions of his nature. He stayed at + the villa until Monday morning, as an act of gratitude to his good + friends, and then accompanied Mr. Atherton to London. Business at the + Admiralty was the excuse. It imposed on nobody. He was evidently on his + way to Miss Restall. + </p> + <p> + “Leave your business in my hands,” said the lawyer, on the journey to + town, “and go and amuse yourself on the Continent. I can’t blame you for + falling in love with Miss Restall; I ought to have foreseen the danger, + and waited till she had left us before I invited you to my house. But I + may at least warn you to carry the matter no further. If you had eight + thousand instead of eight hundred a year, Mr. Restall would think it an + act of presumption on your part to aspire to his daughter’s hand, unless + you had a title to throw into the bargain. Look at it in the true light, + my dear boy; and one of these days you will thank me for speaking + plainly.” + </p> + <p> + Cosway promised to “look at it in the true light.” + </p> + <p> + The result, from his point of view, led him into a change of residence. He + left his hotel and took a lodging in the nearest bystreet to Mr. Restall’s + palace at Kensington. + </p> + <p> + On the same evening he applied (with the confidence due to a previous + arrangement) for a letter at the neighboring post-office, addressed to E. + C.—the initials of Edwin Cosway. “Pray be careful,” Miss Restall + wrote; “I have tried to get you a card for our garden party. But that + hateful creature, Margery, has evidently spoken to my father; I am not + trusted with any invitation cards. Bear it patiently, dear, as I do, and + let me hear if you have succeeded in finding a lodging near us.” + </p> + <p> + Not submitting to this first disappointment very patiently, Cosway sent + his reply to the post-office, addressed to A. R.—the initials of + Adela Restall. The next day the impatient lover applied for another + letter. It was waiting for him, but it was not directed in Adela’s + handwriting. Had their correspondence been discovered? He opened the + letter in the street; and read, with amazement, these lines: + </p> + <p> + “Dear Mr. Cosway, my heart sympathizes with two faithful lovers, in spite + of my age and my duty. I inclose an invitation to the party tomorrow. Pray + don’t betray me, and don’t pay too marked attention to Adela. Discretion + is easy. There will be twelve hundred guests. Your friend, in spite of + appearances, Louisa Margery.” + </p> + <p> + How infamously they had all misjudged this excellent woman! Cosway went to + the party a grateful, as well as a happy man. The first persons known to + him, whom he discovered among the crowd of strangers, were the Athertons. + They looked, as well they might, astonished to see him. Fidelity to Mrs. + Margery forbade him to enter into any explanations. Where was that best + and truest friend? With some difficulty he succeeded in finding her. Was + there any impropriety in seizing her hand and cordially pressing it? The + result of this expression of gratitude was, to say the least of it, + perplexing. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Margery behaved like the Athertons! She looked astonished to see him + and she put precisely the same question: “How did you get here?” Cosway + could only conclude that she was joking. “Who should know that, dear lady, + better than yourself?” he rejoined. “I don’t understand you,” Mrs. Margery + answered, sharply. After a moment’s reflection, Cosway hit on another + solution of the mystery. Visitors were near them; and Mrs. Margery had + made her own private use of one of Mr. Restall’s invitation cards. She + might have serious reasons for pushing caution to its last extreme. Cosway + looked at her significantly. “The least I can do is not to be indiscreet,” + he whispered—and left her. + </p> + <p> + He turned into a side walk; and there he met Adela at last! + </p> + <p> + It seemed like a fatality. <i>She</i> looked astonished; and <i>she</i> + said: “How did you get here?” No intrusive visitors were within hearing, + this time. “My dear!” Cosway remonstrated, “Mrs. Margery must have told + you, when she sent me my invitation.” Adela turned pale. “Mrs. Margery?” + she repeated. “Mrs. Margery has said nothing to me; Mrs. Margery detests + you. We must have this cleared up. No; not now—I must attend to our + guests. Expect a letter; and, for heaven’s sake, Edwin, keep out of my + father’s way. One of our visitors whom he particularly wished to see has + sent an excuse—and he is dreadfully angry about it.” + </p> + <p> + She left him before Cosway could explain that he and Mr. Restall had thus + far never seen each other. + </p> + <p> + He wandered away toward the extremity of the grounds, troubled by vague + suspicions; hurt at Adela’s cold reception of him. Entering a shrubbery, + which seemed intended to screen the grounds, at this point, from a lane + outside, he suddenly discovered a pretty little summer-house among the + trees. A stout gentleman, of mature years, was seated alone in this + retreat. He looked up with a frown. Cosway apologized for disturbing him, + and entered into conversation as an act of politeness. + </p> + <p> + “A brilliant assembly to-day, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The stout gentleman replied by an inarticulate sound—something + between a grunt and a cough. + </p> + <p> + “And a splendid house and grounds,” Cosway continued. + </p> + <p> + The stout gentleman repeated the inarticulate sound. + </p> + <p> + Cosway began to feel amused. Was this curious old man deaf and dumb? + </p> + <p> + “Excuse my entering into conversation,” he persisted. “I feel like a + stranger here. There are so many people whom I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + The stout gentleman suddenly burst into speech. Cosway had touched a + sympathetic fiber at last. + </p> + <p> + “There are a good many people here whom <i>I</i> don’t know,” he said, + gruffly. “You are one of them. What’s your name?” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Cosway, sir. What’s yours?” + </p> + <p> + The stout gentleman rose with fury in his looks. He burst out with an + oath; and added the intolerable question, already three times repeated by + others: “How did you get here?” The tone was even more offensive than the + oath. “Your age protects you, sir,” said Cosway, with the loftiest + composure. “I’m sorry I gave my name to so rude a person.” + </p> + <p> + “Rude?” shouted the old gentleman. “You want my name in return, I suppose? + You young puppy, you shall have it! My name is Restall.” + </p> + <p> + He turned his back and walked off. Cosway took the only course now open to + him. He returned to his lodgings. + </p> + <p> + The next day no letter reached him from Adela. He went to the postoffice. + No letter was there. The day wore on to evening—and, with the + evening, there appeared a woman who was a stranger to him. She looked like + a servant; and she was the bearer of a mysterious message. + </p> + <p> + “Please be at the garden-door that opens on the lane, at ten o’clock + to-morrow morning. Knock three times at the door—and then say + ‘Adela.’ Some one who wishes you well will be alone in the shrubbery, and + will let you in. No, sir! I am not to take anything; and I am not to say a + word more.” She spoke—and vanished. + </p> + <p> + Cosway was punctual to his appointment. He knocked three times; he + pronounced Miss Restall’s Christian name. Nothing happened. He waited a + while, and tried again. This time Adela’s voice answered strangely from + the shrubbery in tones of surprise: “Edwin, is it really you?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you expect any one else?” Cosway asked. “My darling, your message + said ten o’clock—and here I am.” + </p> + <p> + The door was suddenly unlocked. + </p> + <p> + “I sent no message,” said Adela, as they confronted each other on the + threshold. + </p> + <p> + In the silence of utter bewilderment they went together into the + summer-house. At Adela’s request, Cosway repeated the message that he had + received, and described the woman who had delivered it. The description + applied to no person known to Miss Restall. “Mrs. Margery never sent you + the invitation; and I repeat, I never sent you the message. This meeting + has been arranged by some one who knows that I always walk in the + shrubbery after breakfast. There is some underhand work going on—” + </p> + <p> + Still mentally in search of the enemy who had betrayed them, she checked + herself, and considered a little. “Is it possible—?” she began, and + paused again. Her eyes filled with tears. “My mind is so completely + upset,” she said, “that I can’t think clearly of anything. Oh, Edwin, we + have had a happy dream, and it has come to an end. My father knows more + than we think for. Some friends of ours are going abroad tomorrow—and + I am to go with them. Nothing I can say has the least effect upon my + father. He means to part us forever—and this is his cruel way of + doing it!” + </p> + <p> + She put her arm round Cosway’s neck and lovingly laid her head on his + shoulder. With tenderest kisses they reiterated their vows of eternal + fidelity until their voices faltered and failed them. Cosway filled up the + pause by the only useful suggestion which it was now in his power to make—he + proposed an elopement. + </p> + <p> + Adela received this bold solution of the difficulty in which they were + placed exactly as thousands of other young ladies have received similar + proposals before her time, and after. + </p> + <p> + She first said positively No. Cosway persisted. She began to cry, and + asked if he had no respect for her. Cosway declared that his respect was + equal to any sacrifice except the sacrifice of parting with her forever. + He could, and would, if she preferred it, die for her, but while he was + alive he must refuse to give her up. Upon this she shifted her ground. Did + he expect her to go away with him alone? Certainly not. Her maid could go + with her, or, if her maid was not to be trusted, he would apply to his + landlady, and engage “a respectable elderly person” to attend on her until + the day of their marriage. Would she have some mercy on him, and just + consider it? No: she was afraid to consider it. Did she prefer misery for + the rest of her life? Never mind <i>his</i> happiness: it was <i>her</i> + happiness only that he had in his mind. Traveling with unsympathetic + people; absent from England, no one could say for how long; married, when + she did return, to some rich man whom she hated—would she, could + she, contemplate that prospect? She contemplated it through tears; she + contemplated it to an accompaniment of sighs, kisses, and protestations—she + trembled, hesitated, gave way. At an appointed hour of the coming night, + when her father would be in the smoking-room, and Mrs. Margery would be in + bed, Cosway was to knock at the door in the lane once more; leaving time + to make all the necessary arrangements in the interval. + </p> + <p> + The one pressing necessity, under these circumstances, was to guard + against the possibility of betrayal and surprise. Cosway discreetly + alluded to the unsolved mysteries of the invitation and the message. “Have + you taken anybody into our confidence?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Adela answered with some embarrassment. “Only one person,” She said—“dear + Miss Benshaw.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Miss Benshaw?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you really know, Edwin? She is richer even than papa—she has + inherited from her late brother one half-share in the great business in + the City. Miss Benshaw is the lady who disappointed papa by not coming to + the garden-party. You remember, dear, how happy we were when we were + together at Mr. Atherton’s? I was very miserable when they took me away. + Miss Benshaw happened to call the next day and she noticed it. ‘My dear,’ + she said (Miss Benshaw is quite an elderly lady now), ‘I am an old maid, + who has missed the happiness of her life, through not having had a friend + to guide and advise her when she was young. Are you suffering as I once + suffered?’ She spoke so nicely—and I was so wretched—that I + really couldn’t help it. I opened my heart to her.” + </p> + <p> + Cosway looked grave. “Are you sure she is to be trusted?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, my love, she has spoken about us (not meaning any harm) to some + friend of hers? Old ladies are so fond of gossip. It’s just possible—don’t + you think so?” + </p> + <p> + Adela hung her head. + </p> + <p> + “I have thought it just possible myself,” she admitted. “There is plenty + of time to call on her to-day. I will set our doubts at rest before Miss + Benshaw goes out for her afternoon drive.” + </p> + <p> + On that understanding they parted. + </p> + <p> + Toward evening Cosway’s arrangements for the elopement were completed. He + was eating his solitary dinner when a note was brought to him. It had been + left at the door by a messenger. The man had gone away without waiting for + an answer. The note ran thus: + </p> + <p> + “Miss Benshaw presents her compliments to Mr. Cosway, and will be obliged + if he can call on her at nine o’clock this evening, on business which + concerns himself.” + </p> + <p> + This invitation was evidently the result of Adela’s visit earlier in the + day. Cosway presented himself at the house, troubled by natural emotions + of anxiety and suspense. His reception was not of a nature to compose him. + He was shown into a darkened room. The one lamp on the table was turned + down low, and the little light thus given was still further obscured by a + shade. The corners of the room were in almost absolute darkness. + </p> + <p> + A voice out of one of the corners addressed him in a whisper: + </p> + <p> + “I must beg you to excuse the darkened room. I am suffering from a severe + cold. My eyes are inflamed, and my throat is so bad that I can only speak + in a whisper. Sit down, sir. I have got news for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not bad news, I hope, ma’am?” Cosway ventured to inquire. + </p> + <p> + “The worst possible news,” said the whispering voice. “You have an enemy + striking at you in the dark.” + </p> + <p> + Cosway asked who it was, and received no answer. He varied the form of + inquiry, and asked why the unnamed person struck at him in the dark. The + experiment succeeded; he obtained a reply. + </p> + <p> + “It is reported to me,” said Miss Benshaw, “that the person thinks it + necessary to give you a lesson, and takes a spiteful pleasure in doing it + as mischievously as possible. The person, as I happen to know, sent you + your invitation to the party, and made the appointment which took you to + the door in the lane. Wait a little, sir; I have not done yet. The person + has put it into Mr. Restall’s head to send his daughter abroad tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + Cosway attempted to make her speak more plainly. + </p> + <p> + “Is this wretch a man or a woman?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Miss Benshaw proceeded without noticing the interruption. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t be afraid, Mr. Cosway; Miss Restall will not leave England. + Your enemy is all-powerful. Your enemy’s object could only be to provoke + you into planning an elopement—and, your arrangements once + completed, to inform Mr. Restall, and to part you and Miss Adela quite as + effectually as if you were at opposite ends of the world. Oh, you will + undoubtedly be parted! Spiteful, isn’t it? And, what is worse, the + mischief is as good as done already.” + </p> + <p> + Cosway rose from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish for any further explanation?” asked Miss Benshaw. + </p> + <p> + “One thing more,” he replied. “Does Adela know of this?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Miss Benshaw; “it is left to you to tell her.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment of silence. Cosway looked at the lamp. Once roused, as + usual with men of his character, his temper was not to be trifled with. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Benshaw,” he said, “I dare say you think me a fool; but I can draw + my own conclusion, for all that. <i>You</i> are my enemy.” + </p> + <p> + The only reply was a chuckling laugh. All voices can be more or less + effectually disguised by a whisper but a laugh carries the revelation of + its own identity with it. Cosway suddenly threw off the shade over the + lamp and turned up the wick. + </p> + <p> + The light flooded the room, and showed him—His Wife. + </p> + <p> + <i>The Third Epoch in Mr. Cosway’s Life.</i> + </p> + <p> + Three days had passed. Cosway sat alone in his lodging—pale and + worn: the shadow already of his former self. + </p> + <p> + He had not seen Adela since the discovery. There was but one way in which + he could venture to make the inevitable disclosure—he wrote to her; + and Mr. Atherton’s daughter took care that the letter should be received. + Inquiries made afterward, by help of the same good friend, informed him + that Miss Restall was suffering from illness. + </p> + <p> + The mistress of the house came in. + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up, sir,” said the good woman. “There is better news of Miss + Restall to-day.” + </p> + <p> + He raised his head. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t trifle with me!” he answered fretfully; “tell me exactly what the + servant said.” + </p> + <p> + The mistress repeated the words. Miss Restall had passed a quieter night, + and had been able for a few hours to leave her room. He asked next if any + reply to his letter had arrived. No reply had been received. + </p> + <p> + If Adela definitely abstained from writing to him, the conclusion would be + too plain to be mistaken. She had given him up—and who could blame + her? + </p> + <p> + There was a knock at the street-door. The mistress looked out. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s Mr. Stone come back, sir!” she exclaimed joyfully—and + hurried away to let him in. + </p> + <p> + Cosway never looked up when his friend appeared. + </p> + <p> + “I knew I should succeed,” said Stone. “I have seen your wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t speak of her,” cried Cosway. “I should have murdered her when I saw + her face, if I had not instantly left the house. I may be the death of the + wretch yet, if you presist in speaking of her!” + </p> + <p> + Stone put his hand kindly on his friend’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Must I remind you that you owe something to your old comrade?” he asked. + “I left my father and mother, the morning I got your letter—and my + one thought has been to serve you. Reward me. Be a man, and hear what is + your right and duty to know. After that, if you like, we will never refer + to the woman again.” + </p> + <p> + Cosway took his hand, in silent acknowledgment that he was right. They sat + down together. Stone began. + </p> + <p> + “She is so entirely shameless,” he said, “that I had no difficulty in + getting her to speak. And she so cordially hates you that she glories in + her own falsehood and treachery.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, she lies,” Cosway said bitterly, “when she calls herself Miss + Benshaw?” + </p> + <p> + “No; she is really the daughter of the man who founded the great house in + the City. With every advantage that wealth and position could give her the + perverse creature married one of her father’s clerks, who had been + deservedly dismissed from his situation. From that moment her family + discarded her. With the money procured by the sale of her jewels, her + husband took the inn which we have such bitter cause to remember—and + she managed the house after his death. So much for the past. Carry your + mind on now to the time when our ship brought us back to England. At that + date, the last surviving member of your wife’s family—her elder + brother—lay at the point of death. He had taken his father’s place + in the business, besides inheriting his father’s fortune. After a happy + married life he was left a widower, without children; and it became + necessary that he should alter his will. He deferred performing his duty. + It was only at the time of his last illness that he had dictated + instructions for a new will, leaving his wealth (excepting certain + legacies to old friends) to the hospitals of Great Britain and Ireland. + His lawyer lost no time in carrying out the instructions. The new will was + ready for signature (the old will having been destroyed by his own hand), + when the doctors sent a message to say that their patient was insensible, + and might die in that condition.” + </p> + <p> + “Did the doctors prove to be right?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly right. Our wretched landlady, as next of kin, succeeded, not + only to the fortune, but (under the deed of partnership) to her late + brother’s place in the firm: on the one easy condition of resuming the + family name. She calls herself “Miss Benshaw.” But as a matter of legal + necessity she is set down in the deed as “Mrs. Cosway Benshaw.” Her + partners only now know that her husband is living, and that you are the + Cosway whom she privately married. Will you take a little breathing time? + or shall I go on, and get done with it?” + </p> + <p> + Cosway signed to him to go on. + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t in the least care,” Stone proceeded, “for the exposure. ‘I am + the head partner,’ she says ‘and the rich one of the firm; they daren’t + turn their backs on Me.’ You remember the information I received—in + perfect good faith on his part—from the man who keeps the inn? The + visit to the London doctor, and the assertion of failing health, were + adopted as the best means of plausibly severing the lady’s connection (the + great lady now!) with a calling so unworthy of her as the keeping of an + inn. Her neighbors at the seaport were all deceived by the stratagem, with + two exceptions. They were both men—vagabonds who had pertinaciously + tried to delude her into marrying them in the days when she was a widow. + They refused to believe in the doctor and the declining health; they had + their own suspicion of the motives which had led to the sale of the inn, + under very unfavorable circumstances; and they decided on going to London, + inspired by the same base hope of making discoveries which might be turned + into a means of extorting money.” + </p> + <p> + “She escaped them, of course,” said Cosway. “How?” + </p> + <p> + “By the help of her lawyer, who was not above accepting a handsome private + fee. He wrote to the new landlord of the inn, falsely announcing his + client’s death, in the letter which I repeated to you in the railway + carriage on our journey to London. Other precautions were taken to keep up + the deception, on which it is needless to dwell. Your natural conclusion + that you were free to pay your addresses to Miss Restall, and the poor + young lady’s innocent confidence in ‘Miss Benshaw’s’ sympathy, gave this + unscrupulous woman the means of playing the heartless trick on you which + is now exposed. Malice and jealousy—I have it, mind, from herself!—were + not her only motives. ‘But for that Cosway,’ she said (I spare you the + epithet which she put before your name), ‘with my money and position, I + might have married a needy lord, and sunned myself in my old age in the + full blaze of the peerage.’ Do you understand how she hated you, now? + Enough of the subject! The moral of it, my dear Cosway, is to leave this + place, and try what change of scene will do for you. I have time to spare; + and I will go abroad with you. When shall it be?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me wait a day or two more,” Cosway pleaded. + </p> + <p> + Stone shook his head. “Still hoping, my poor friend, for a line from Miss + Restall? You distress me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to distress you, Stone. If I can get one pitying word from <i>her</i>, + I can submit to the miserable life that lies before me.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you not expecting too much?” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn’t say so, if you were as fond of her as I am.” + </p> + <p> + They were silent. The evening slowly darkened; and the mistress came in as + usual with the candles. She brought with her a letter for Cosway. + </p> + <p> + He tore it open; read it in an instant; and devoured it with kisses. His + highly wrought feelings found their vent in a little allowable + exaggeration. “She has saved my life!” he said, as he handed the letter to + Stone. + </p> + <p> + It only contained these lines: + </p> + <p> + “My love is yours, my promise is yours. Through all trouble, through all + profanation, through the hopeless separation that may be before us in this + world, I live yours—and die yours. My Edwin, God bless and comfort + you.” + </p> + <p> + <i>The Fourth Epoch in Mr. Cosway’s Life.</i> + </p> + <p> + The separation had lasted for nearly two years, when Cosway and Stone paid + that visit to the country house which is recorded at the outset of the + present narrative. In the interval nothing had been heard of Miss Restall, + except through Mr. Atherton. He reported that Adela was leading a very + quiet life. The one remarkable event had been an interview between “Miss + Benshaw” and herself. No other person had been present; but the little + that was reported placed Miss Restall’s character above all praise. She + had forgiven the woman who had so cruelly injured her! + </p> + <p> + The two friends, it may be remembered, had traveled to London, immediately + after completing the fullest explanation of Cosway’s startling behavior at + the breakfast-table. Stone was not by nature a sanguine man. “I don’t + believe in our luck,” he said. “Let us be quite sure that we are not the + victims of another deception.” + </p> + <p> + The accident had happened on the Thames; and the newspaper narrative + proved to be accurate in every respect. Stone personally attended the + inquest. From a natural feeling of delicacy toward Adela, Cosway hesitated + to write to her on the subject. The ever-helpful Stone wrote in his place. + </p> + <p> + After some delay, the answer was received. It inclosed a brief statement + (communicated officially by legal authority) of the last act of malice on + the part of the late head-partner in the house of Benshaw and Company. She + had not died intestate, like her brother. The first clause of her will + contained the testator’s grateful recognition of Adela Restall’s Christian + act of forgiveness. The second clause (after stating that there were + neither relatives nor children to be benefited by the will) left Adela + Restall mistress of Mrs. Cosway Benshaw’s fortune—on the one + merciless condition that she did <i>not</i> marry Edwin Cosway. The third + clause—if Adela Restall violated the condition—handed over the + whole of the money to the firm in the City, “for the extension of the + business, and the benefit of the surviving partners.” + </p> + <p> + Some months later, Adela came of age. To the indignation of Mr. Restall, + and the astonishment of the “Company,” the money actually went to the + firm. The fourth epoch in Mr. Cosway’s life witnessed his marriage to a + woman who cheerfully paid half a million of money for the happiness of + passing her life, on eight hundred a year, with the man whom she loved. + </p> + <p> + But Cosway felt bound in gratitude to make a rich woman of his wife, if + work and resolution could do it. When Stone last heard of him, he was + reading for the bar; and Mr. Atherton was ready to give him his first + brief. + </p> + <p> + NOTE.—That “most improbable” part of the present narrative, which is + contained in the division called The First Epoch, is founded on an + adventure which actually occurred to no less a person than a cousin of Sir + Walter Scott. In Lockhart’s delightful “Life,” the anecdote will be found + as told by Sir Walter to Captain Basil Hall. The remainder of the present + story is entirely imaginary. The writer wondered what such a woman as the + landlady would do under certain given circumstances, after her marriage to + the young midshipman—and here is the result. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MR. MEDHURST AND THE PRINCESS. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> + <p> + THE day before I left London, to occupy the post of second secretary of + legation at a small German Court, I took leave of my excellent French + singing-master, Monsieur Bonnefoy, and of his young and pretty daughter + named Jeanne. + </p> + <p> + Our farewell interview was saddened by Monsieur Bonnefoy’s family + anxieties. His elder brother, known in the household as Uncle David, had + been secretly summoned to Paris by order of a republican society. Anxious + relations in London (whether reasonably or not, I am unable to say) were + in some fear of the political consequences that might follow. + </p> + <p> + At parting, I made Mademoiselle Jeanne a present, in the shape of a plain + gold brooch. For some time past, I had taken my lessons at Monsieur + Bonnefoy’s house; his daughter and I often sang together under his + direction. Seeing much of Jeanne, under these circumstances, the little + gift that I had offered to her was only the natural expression of a true + interest in her welfare. Idle rumor asserted—quite falsely—that + I was in love with her. I was sincerely the young lady’s friend: no more, + no less. + </p> + <p> + Having alluded to my lessons in singing, it may not be out of place to + mention the circumstances under which I became Monsieur Bonnefoy’s pupil, + and to allude to the change in my life that followed in due course of + time. + </p> + <p> + Our family property—excepting the sum of five thousand pounds left + to me by my mother—is landed property strictly entailed. The estates + were inherited by my only brother, Lord Medhurst; the kindest, the best, + and, I grieve to say it, the unhappiest of men. He lived separated from a + bad wife; he had no children to console him; and he only enjoyed at rare + intervals the blessing of good health. Having myself nothing to live on + but the interest of my mother’s little fortune, I had to make my own way + in the world. Poor younger sons, not possessed of the commanding ability + which achieves distinction, find the roads that lead to prosperity closed + to them, with one exception. They can always apply themselves to the + social arts which make a man agreeable in society. I had naturally a good + voice, and I cultivated it. I was ready to sing, without being subject to + the wretched vanity which makes objections and excuses—I pleased the + ladies—the ladies spoke favorably of me to their husbands—and + some of their husbands were persons of rank and influence. After no very + long lapse of time, the result of this combination of circumstances + declared itself. Monsieur Bonnefoy’s lessons became the indirect means of + starting me on a diplomatic career—and the diplomatic career made + poor Ernest Medhurst, to his own unutterable astonishment, the hero of a + love story! + </p> + <p> + The story being true, I must beg to be excused, if I abstain from + mentioning names, places, and dates, when I enter on German ground. Let it + be enough to say that I am writing of a bygone year in the present + century, when no such thing as a German Empire existed, and when the + revolutionary spirit of France was still an object of well-founded + suspicion to tyrants by right divine on the continent of Europe. + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + ON joining the legation, I was not particularly attracted by my chief, the + Minister. His manners were oppressively polite; and his sense of his own + importance was not sufficiently influenced by diplomatic reserve. I + venture to describe him (mentally speaking) as an empty man, carefully + trained to look full on public occasions. + </p> + <p> + My colleague, the first secretary, was a far more interesting person. + Bright, unaffected, and agreeable, he at once interested me when we were + introduced to each other. I pay myself a compliment, as I consider, when I + add that he became my firm and true friend. + </p> + <p> + We took a walk together in the palace gardens on the evening of my + arrival. Reaching a remote part of the grounds, we were passed by a lean, + sallow, sour-looking old man, drawn by a servant in a chair on wheels. My + companion stopped, whispered to me, “Here is the Prince,” and bowed + bareheaded. I followed his example as a matter of course. The Prince + feebly returned our salutation. “Is he ill?” I asked, when we had put our + hats on again. + </p> + <p> + “Shakespeare,” the secretary replied, “tells us that ‘one man in his time + plays many parts.’ Under what various aspects the Prince’s character may + have presented itself, in his younger days, I am not able to tell you. + Since I have been here, he has played the part of a martyr to illness, + misunderstood by his doctors.” + </p> + <p> + “And his daughter, the Princess—what do you say of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, she is not so easily described! I can only appeal to your memory of + other women like her, whom you must often have seen—women who are + tall and fair, and fragile and elegant; who have delicate aquiline noses + and melting blue eyes—women who have often charmed you by their + tender smiles and their supple graces of movement. As for the character of + this popular young lady, I must not influence you either way; study it for + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Without a hint to guide me?” + </p> + <p> + “With a suggestion,” he replied, “which may be worth considering. If you + wish to please the Princess, begin by endeavoring to win the good graces + of the Baroness.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is the Baroness?” + </p> + <p> + “One of the ladies in waiting—bosom friend of her Highness, and + chosen repository of all her secrets. Personally, not likely to attract + you; short and fat, and ill-tempered and ugly. Just at this time, I happen + myself to get on with her better than usual. We have discovered that we + possess one sympathy in common—we are the only people at Court who + don’t believe in the Prince’s new doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the new doctor a quack?” + </p> + <p> + The secretary looked round, before he answered, to see that nobody was + near us. + </p> + <p> + “It strikes me,” he said, “that the Doctor is a spy. Mind! I have no right + to speak of him in that way; it is only my impression—and I ought to + add that appearances are all in his favor. He is in the service of our + nearest royal neighbor, the Grand Duke; and he has been sent here + expressly to relieve the sufferings of the Duke’s good friend and brother, + our invalid Prince. This is an honorable mission no doubt. And the man + himself is handsome, well-bred, and (I don’t quite know whether this is an + additional recommendation) a countryman of ours. Nevertheless I doubt him, + and the Baroness doubts him. You are an independent witness; I shall be + anxious to hear if your opinion agrees with ours.” + </p> + <p> + I was presented at Court, toward the end of the week; and, in the course + of the next two or three days, I more than once saw the Doctor. The + impression that he produced on me surprised my colleague. It was my + opinion that he and the Baroness had mistaken the character of a worthy + and capable man. + </p> + <p> + The secretary obstinately adhered to his own view. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little,” he answered, “and we shall see.” + </p> + <p> + He was quite right. We did see. + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + BUT the Princess—the gentle, gracious, beautiful Princess—what + can I say of her Highness? + </p> + <p> + I can only say that she enchanted me. + </p> + <p> + I had been a little discouraged by the reception that I met with from her + father. Strictly confining himself within the limits of politeness, he + bade me welcome to his Court in the fewest possible words, and then passed + me by without further notice. He afterward informed the English Minister + that I had been so unfortunate as to try his temper: “Your new secretary + irritates me, sir—he is a person in an offensively perfect state of + health.” The Prince’s charming daughter was not of her father’s way of + thinking; it is impossible to say how graciously, how sweetly I was + received. She honored me by speaking to me in my own language, of which + she showed herself to be a perfect mistress. I was not only permitted, but + encouraged, to talk of my family, and to dwell on my own tastes, + amusements, and pursuits. Even when her Highness’s attention was claimed + by other persons waiting to be presented, I was not forgotten. The + Baroness was instructed to invite me for the next evening to the + Princess’s tea-table; and it was hinted that I should be especially + welcome if I brought my music with me, and sang. + </p> + <p> + My friend the secretary, standing near us at the time, looked at me with a + mysterious smile. He had suggested that I should make advances to the + Baroness—and here was the Baroness (under royal instructions) making + advances to Me! + </p> + <p> + “We know what <i>that</i> means,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + In justice to myself, I must declare that I entirely failed to understand + him. + </p> + <p> + On the occasion of my second reception by the Princess, at her little + evening party, I detected the Baroness, more than once, in the act of + watching her Highness and myself, with an appearance of disapproval in her + manner, which puzzled me. When I had taken my leave, she followed me out + of the room. + </p> + <p> + “I have a word of advice to give you,” she said. “The best thing you can + do, sir, is to make an excuse to your Minister, and go back to England.” + </p> + <p> + I declare again, that I entirely failed to understand the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + BEFORE the season came to an end, the Court removed to the Prince’s + country-seat, in the interests of his Highness’s health. Entertainments + were given (at the Doctor’s suggestion), with a view of raising the + patient’s depressed spirits. The members of the English legation were + among the guests invited. To me it was a delightful visit. I had again + every reason to feel gratefully sensible of the Princess’s condescending + kindness. Meeting the secretary one day in the library, I said that I + thought her a perfect creature. Was this an absurd remark to make? I could + see nothing absurd in it—and yet my friend burst out laughing. + </p> + <p> + “My good fellow, nobody is a perfect creature,” he said. “The Princess has + her faults and failings, like the rest of us.” + </p> + <p> + I denied it positively. + </p> + <p> + “Use your eyes,” he went on; “and you will see, for example, that she is + shallow and frivolous. Yesterday was a day of rain. We were all obliged to + employ ourselves somehow indoors. Didn’t you notice that she had no + resources in herself? She can’t even read.” + </p> + <p> + “There you are wrong at any rate,” I declared. “I saw her reading the + newspaper.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw her with the newspaper in her hand. If you had not been deaf and + blind to her defects, you would have noticed that she couldn’t fix her + attention on it. She was always ready to join in the chatter of the ladies + about her. When even their stores of gossip were exhausted, she let the + newspaper drop on her lap, and sat in vacant idleness smiling at nothing.” + </p> + <p> + I reminded him that she might have met with a dull number of the + newspaper. He took no notice of this unanswerable reply. + </p> + <p> + “You were talking the other day of her warmth of feeling,” he proceeded. + “She has plenty of sentiment (German sentiment), I grant you, but no true + feeling. What happened only this morning, when the Prince was in the + breakfast-room, and when the Princess and her ladies were dressed to go + out riding? Even she noticed the wretchedly depressed state of her + father’s spirits. A man of that hypochondriacal temperament suffers + acutely, though he may only fancy himself to be ill. The Princess + overflowed with sympathy, but she never proposed to stay at home, and try + to cheer the old man. Her filial duty was performed to her own entire + satisfaction when she had kissed her hand to the Prince. The moment after, + she was out of the room—eager to enjoy her ride. We all heard her + laughing gayly among the ladies in the hall.” + </p> + <p> + I could have answered this also, if our discussion had not been + interrupted at the moment. The Doctor came into the library in search of a + book. When he had left us, my colleague’s strong prejudice against him + instantly declared itself. + </p> + <p> + “Be on your guard with that man,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you noticed,” he replied, “that when the Princess is talking to + you, the Doctor always happens to be in that part of the room?” + </p> + <p> + “What does it matter where the Doctor is?” + </p> + <p> + My friend looked at me with an oddly mingled expression of doubt and + surprise. “Do you really not understand me?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Ernest, you are a rare and admirable example to the rest of us—you + are a truly modest man.” + </p> + <p> + What did he mean? + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + EVENTS followed, on the next day, which (as will presently be seen) I have + a personal interest in relating. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness left us suddenly, on leave of absence. The Prince wearied of + his residence in the country; and the Court returned to the capital. The + charming Princess was reported to be “indisposed,” and retired to the + seclusion of her own apartments. + </p> + <p> + A week later, I received a note from the Baroness, marked “private and + confidential.” It informed me that she had resumed her duties as + lady-in-waiting, and that she wished to see me at my earliest convenience. + I obeyed at once; and naturally asked if there were better accounts of her + Highness’s health. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness’s reply a little surprised me. She said, “The Princess is + perfectly well.” + </p> + <p> + “Recovered already!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “She has never been ill,” the Baroness answered. “Her indisposition was a + sham; forced on her by me, in her own interests. Her reputation is in + peril; and you—you hateful Englishman—are the cause of it.” + </p> + <p> + Not feeling disposed to put up with such language as this, even when it + was used by a lady, I requested that she would explain herself. She + complied without hesitation. In another minute my eyes were opened to the + truth. I knew—no; that is too positive—let me say I had reason + to believe that the Princess loved me! + </p> + <p> + It is simply impossible to convey to the minds of others any idea of the + emotions that overwhelmed me at that critical moment of my life. I was in + a state of confusion at the time; and, when my memory tries to realize it, + I am in a state of confusion now. The one thing I can do is to repeat what + the Baroness said to me when I had in some degree recovered my composure. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you are aware,” she began, “of the disgrace to which the + Princess’s infatuation exposes her, if it is discovered? On my own + responsibility I repeat what I said to you a short time since. Do you + refuse to leave this place immediately?” + </p> + <p> + Does the man live, honored as I was, who would have hesitated to refuse? + Find him if you can! + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” she resumed. “As the friend of the Princess, I have no choice + now but to take things as they are, and to make the best of them. Let us + realize your position to begin with. If you were (like your elder brother) + a nobleman possessed of vast estates, my royal mistress might be excused. + As it is, whatever you may be in the future, you are nothing now but an + obscure young man, without fortune or title. Do you see your duty to the + Princess? or must I explain it to you?” + </p> + <p> + I saw my duty as plainly as she did. “Her Highness’s secret is a sacred + secret,” I said. “I am bound to shrink from no sacrifice which may + preserve it.” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness smiled maliciously. “I may have occasion,” she answered, “to + remind you of what you have just said. In the meanwhile the Princess’s + secret is in danger of discovery.” + </p> + <p> + “By her father?” + </p> + <p> + “No. By the Doctor.” + </p> + <p> + At first, I doubted whether she was in jest or in earnest. The next + instant, I remembered that the secretary had expressly cautioned me + against that man. + </p> + <p> + “It is evidently one of your virtues,” the Baroness proceeded, “to be slow + to suspect. Prepare yourself for a disagreeable surprise. The Doctor has + been watching the Princess, on every occasion when she speaks to you, with + some object of his own in view. During my absence, young sir, I have been + engaged in discovering what that object is. My excellent mother lives at + the Court of the Grand Duke, and enjoys the confidence of his Ministers. + He is still a bachelor; and, in the interests of the succession to the + throne, the time has arrived when he must marry. With my mother’s + assistance, I have found out that the Doctor’s medical errand here is a + pretense. Influenced by the Princess’s beauty the Grand Duke has thought + of her first as his future duchess. Whether he has heard slanderous + stories, or whether he is only a cautious man, I can’t tell you. But this + I know: he has instructed his physician—if he had employed a + professed diplomatist his motive might have been suspected—to + observe her Highness privately, and to communicate the result. The object + of the report is to satisfy the Duke that the Princess’s reputation is + above the reach of scandal; that she is free from entanglements of a + certain kind; and that she is in every respect a person to whom he can + with propriety offer his hand in marriage. The Doctor, Mr. Ernest, is not + disposed to allow you to prevent him from sending in a favorable report. + He has drawn his conclusions from the Princess’s extraordinary kindness to + the second secretary of the English legation; and he is only waiting for a + little plainer evidence to communicate his suspicions to the Prince. It + rests with you to save the Princess.” + </p> + <p> + “Only tell me how I am to do it!” I said. + </p> + <p> + “There is but one way of doing it,” she answered; “and that way has + (comically enough) been suggested to me by the Doctor himself.” + </p> + <p> + Her tone and manner tried my patience. + </p> + <p> + “Come to the point!” I said. + </p> + <p> + She seemed to enjoy provoking me. + </p> + <p> + “No hurry, Mr. Ernest—no hurry! You shall be fully enlightened, if + you will only wait a little. The Prince, I must tell you, believes in his + daughter’s indisposition. When he visited her this morning, he was + attended by his medical adviser. I was present at the interview. To do him + justice, the Doctor is worthy of the trust reposed in him—he boldly + attempted to verify his suspicions of the daughter in the father’s + presence.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, in the well-known way that has been tried over and over again, under + similar circumstances! He merely invented a report that you were engaged + in a love-affair with some charming person in the town. Don’t be angry; + there’s no harm done.” + </p> + <p> + “But there <i>is</i> harm done,” I insisted. “What must the Princess think + of me?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose she is weak enough to believe the Doctor? Her Highness + beat him at his own weapons; not the slightest sign of agitation on her + part rewarded his ingenuity. All that you have to do is to help her to + mislead this medical spy. It’s as easy as lying: and easier. The Doctor’s + slander declares that you have a love-affair in the town. Take the hint—and + astonish the Doctor by proving that he has hit on the truth.” + </p> + <p> + It was a hot day; the Baroness was beginning to get excited. She paused + and fanned herself. + </p> + <p> + “Do I startle you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “You disgust me.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed. + </p> + <p> + “What a thick-headed man this is!” she said, pleasantly. “Must I put it + more plainly still? Engage in what your English prudery calls a + ‘flirtation,’ with some woman here—the lower in degree the better, + or the Princess might be jealous—and let the affair be seen and + known by everybody about the Court. Sly as he is, the Doctor is not + prepared for that! At your age, and with your personal advantages, he will + take appearances for granted; he will conclude that he has wronged you, + and misinterpreted the motives of the Princess. The secret of her + Highness’s weakness will be preserved—thanks to that sacrifice, Mr. + Ernest, which you are so willing and so eager to make.” + </p> + <p> + It was useless to remonstrate with such a woman as this. I simply stated + my own objection to her artfully devised scheme. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wish to appear vain,” I said; “but the woman to whom I am to pay + these attentions may believe that I really admire her—and it is just + possible that she may honestly return the feeling which I am only + assuming.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—and what then?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s hard on the woman, surely?” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was shocked, unaffectedly shocked. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” she exclaimed, “how can anything that you do for the + Princess be hard on a woman of the lower orders? There must be an end of + this nonsense, sir! You have heard what I propose, and you know what the + circumstances are. My mistress is waiting for your answer. What am I to + say?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see her Highness, and speak for myself,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Quite impossible to-day, without running too great a risk. Your reply + must be made through me.” + </p> + <p> + There was to be a Court concert at the end of the week. On that occasion I + should be able to make my own reply. In the meanwhile I only told the + Baroness I wanted time to consider. + </p> + <p> + “What time?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Until to-morrow. Do you object?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I cordially agree. Your base hesitation may lead to + results which I have not hitherto dared to anticipate.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Between this and to-morrow,” the horrid woman replied, “the Princess may + end in seeing you with my eyes. In that hope I wish you good-morning.” + </p> + <p> + VI. + </p> + <p> + MY enemies say that I am a weak man, unduly influenced by persons of rank—because + of their rank. If this we re true, I should have found little difficulty + in consenting to adopt the Baroness’s suggestion. As it was, the longer I + reflected on the scheme the less I liked it. I tried to think of some + alternative that might be acceptably proposed. The time passed, and + nothing occurred to me. In this embarrassing position my mind became + seriously disturbed; I felt the necessity of obtaining some relief, which + might turn my thoughts for a while into a new channel. The secretary + called on me, while I was still in doubt what to do. He reminded me that a + new prima donna was advertised to appear on that night; and he suggested + that we should go to the opera. Feeling as I did at the time, I readily + agreed. + </p> + <p> + We found the theater already filled, before the performance began. Two + French gentlemen were seated in the row of stalls behind us. They were + talking of the new singer. + </p> + <p> + “She is advertised as ‘Mademoiselle Fontenay,’” one of them said. “That + sounds like an assumed name.” + </p> + <p> + “It <i>is</i> an assumed name,” the other replied. “She is the daughter of + a French singing-master, named Bonnefoy.” + </p> + <p> + To my friend’s astonishment I started to my feet, and left him without a + word of apology. In another minute I was at the stage-door, and had sent + in my card to “Mademoiselle Fontenay.” While I was waiting, I had time to + think. Was it possible that Jeanne had gone on the stage? Or were there + two singing-masters in existence named Bonnefoy? My doubts were soon + decided. The French woman-servant whom I remembered when I was Monsieur + Bonnefoy’s pupil, made her appearance, and conducted me to her young + mistress’s dressing-room. Dear good Jeanne, how glad she was to see me! + </p> + <p> + I found her standing before the glass, having just completed her + preparations for appearing on the stage. Dressed in her picturesque + costume, she was so charming that I expressed my admiration heartily, as + became her old friend. “Do you really like me?” she said, with the + innocent familiarity which I recollected so well. “See how I look in the + glass—that is the great test.” It was not easy to apply the test. + Instead of looking at her image in the glass, it was far more agreeable to + look at herself. We were interrupted—too soon interrupted—by + the call-boy. He knocked at the door, and announced that the overture had + begun. + </p> + <p> + “I have a thousand things to ask you,” I told her. “What has made this + wonderful change in your life? How is it that I don’t see your father—” + </p> + <p> + Her face instantly saddened; her hand trembled as she laid it on my arm to + silence me. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t speak of him now,” she said, “or you will unnerve me. Come to me + to-morrow when the stage will not be waiting; Annette will give you my + address.” She opened the door to go out, and returned. “Will you think me + very unreasonable if I ask you not to make one of my audience to-night? + You have reminded me of the dear old days that can never come again. If I + feel that I am singing to <i>you</i>—” She left me to understand the + rest, and turned away again to the door. As I followed her out, to say + good-by, she drew from her bosom the little brooch which had been my + parting gift, and held it out to me. “On the stage, or off,” she said, “I + always wear it. Good-night, Ernest.” + </p> + <p> + I was prepared to hear sad news when we met the next morning. + </p> + <p> + My good old friend and master had died suddenly. To add to the bitterness + of that affliction, he had died in debt to a dear and intimate friend. For + his daughter’s sake he had endeavored to add to his little savings by + speculating with borrowed money on the Stock Exchange. He had failed, and + the loan advanced had not been repaid, when a fit of apoplexy struck him + down. Offered the opportunity of trying her fortune on the operatic stage, + Jeanne made the attempt, and was now nobly employed in earning the money + to pay her father’s debt. + </p> + <p> + “It was the only way in which I could do justice to his memory,” she said, + simply. “I hope you don’t object to my going on the stage?” + </p> + <p> + I took her hand, poor child—and let that simple action answer for + me. I was too deeply affected to be able to speak. + </p> + <p> + “It is not in me to be a great actress,” she resumed; “but you know what + an admirable musician my father was. He has taught me to sing, so that I + can satisfy the critics, as well as please the public. There was what they + call a great success last night. It has earned me an engagement for + another year to come, and an increase of salary. I have already sent some + money to our good old friend at home, and I shall soon send more. It is my + one consolation—I feel almost happy again when I am paying my poor + father’s debt. No more now of my sad story! I want to hear all that you + can tell me of yourself.” She moved to the window, and looked out. “Oh, + the beautiful blue sky! We used sometimes to take a walk, when we were in + London, on fine days like this. Is there a park here?” + </p> + <p> + I took her to the palace gardens, famous for their beauty in that part of + Germany. + </p> + <p> + Arm in arm we loitered along the pleasant walks. The lovely flowers, the + bright sun, the fresh fragrant breeze, all helped her to recover her + spirits. She began to be like the happy Jeanne of my past experience, as + easily pleased as a child. When we sat down to rest, the lap of her dress + was full of daisies. “Do you remember,” she said, “when you first taught + me to make a daisy-chain? Are you too great a man to help me again now?” + </p> + <p> + We were still engaged with our chain, seated close together, when the + smell of tobacco-smoke was wafted to us on the air. + </p> + <p> + I looked up and saw the Doctor passing us, enjoying his cigar. He bowed; + eyed my pretty companion with a malicious smile; and passed on. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that man?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “The Prince’s physician,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like him,” she said; “why did he smile when he looked at me?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” I suggested, “he thought we were lovers.” + </p> + <p> + She blushed. “Don’t let him think that! tell him we are only old friends.” + </p> + <p> + We were not destined to finish our flower chain on that day. + </p> + <p> + Another person interrupted us, whom I recognized as the elder brother of + Monsieur Bonnefoy—already mentioned in these pages, under the name + of Uncle David. Having left France for political reasons, the old + republican had taken care of his niece after her father’s death, and had + accepted the position of Jeanne’s business manager in her relations with + the stage. Uncle David’s object, when he joined us in the garden, was to + remind her that she was wanted at rehearsal, and must at once return with + him to the theater. We parted, having arranged that I was to see the + performance on that night. + </p> + <p> + Later in the day, the Baroness sent for me again. + </p> + <p> + “Let me apologize for having misunderstood you yesterday,” she said: “and + let me offer you my best congratulations. You have done wonders already in + the way of misleading the Doctor. There is only one objection to that girl + at the theater—I hear she is so pretty that she may possibly + displease the Princess. In other respects, she is just in the public + position which will make your attentions to her look like the beginning of + a serious intrigue. Bravo, Mr. Ernest—bravo!” + </p> + <p> + I was too indignant to place any restraint on the language in which I + answered her. + </p> + <p> + “Understand, if you please,” I said, “that I am renewing an old friendship + with Mademoiselle Jeanne—begun under the sanction of her father. + Respect that young lady, madam, as I respect her.” + </p> + <p> + The detestable Baroness clapped her hands, as if she had been at the + theater. + </p> + <p> + “If you only say that to the Princess,” she remarked, “as well as you have + said it to me, there will be no danger of arousing her Highness’s + jealousy. I have a message for you. At the concert, on Saturday, you are + to retire to the conservatory, and you may hope for an interview when the + singers begin the second part of the programme. Don’t let me detain you + any longer. Go back to your young lady, Mr. Ernest—pray go back!” + </p> + <p> + VII. + </p> + <p> + ON the second night of the opera the applications for places were too + numerous to be received. Among the crowded audience, I recognized many of + my friends. They persisted in believing an absurd report (first + circulated, as I imagine, by the Doctor), which asserted that my interest + in the new singer was something more than the interest of an old friend. + When I went behind the scenes to congratulate Jeanne on her success, I was + annoyed in another way—and by the Doctor again. He followed me to + Jeanne’s room, to offer <i>his</i> congratulations; and he begged that I + would introduce him to the charming prima donna. Having expressed his + admiration, he looked at me with his insolently suggestive smile, and said + he could not think of prolonging his intrusion. On leaving the room, he + noticed Uncle David, waiting as usual to take care of Jeanne on her return + from the theater—looked at him attentively—bowed, and went + out. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, I received a note from the Baroness, expressed in these + terms: + </p> + <p> + “More news! My rooms look out on the wing of the palace in which the + Doctor is lodged. Half an hour since, I discovered him at his window, + giving a letter to a person who is a stranger to me. The man left the + palace immediately afterward. My maid followed him, by my directions. + Instead of putting the letter in the post, he took a ticket at the + railway-station—for what place the servant was unable to discover. + Here, you will observe, is a letter important enough to be dispatched by + special messenger, and written at a time when we have succeeded in freeing + ourselves from the Doctor’s suspicions. It is at least possible that he + has decided on sending a favorable report of the Princess to the Grand + Duke. If this is the case, please consider whether you will not act wisely + (in her Highness’s interests) by keeping away from the concert.” + </p> + <p> + Viewing this suggestion as another act of impertinence on the part of the + Baroness, I persisted in my intention of going to the concert. It was for + the Princess to decide what course of conduct I was bound to follow. What + did I care for the Doctor’s report to the Duke! Shall I own my folly? I do + really believe I was jealous of the Duke. + </p> + <p> + VIII. + </p> + <p> + ENTERING the Concert Room, I found the Princess alone on the dais, + receiving the company. “Nervous prostration” had made it impossible for + the Prince to be present. He was confined to his bed-chamber; and the + Doctor was in attendance on him. + </p> + <p> + I bowed to the Baroness, but she was too seriously offended with me for + declining to take her advice to notice my salutation. Passing into the + conservatory, it occurred to me that I might be seen, and possibly + suspected, in the interval between the first and second parts of the + programme, when the music no longer absorbed the attention of the + audience. I went on, and waited outside on the steps that led to the + garden; keeping the glass door open, so as to hear when the music of the + second part of the concert began. + </p> + <p> + After an interval which seemed to be endless, I saw the Princess + approaching me. + </p> + <p> + She had made the heat in the Concert Room an excuse for retiring for a + while; and she had the Baroness in attendance on her to save appearances. + Instead of leaving us to ourselves, the malicious creature persisted in + paying the most respectful attentions to her mistress. It was impossible + to make her understand that she was not wanted any longer until the + Princess said sharply, “Go back to the music!” Even then, the detestable + woman made a low curtsey, and answered: “I will return, Madam, in five + minutes.” + </p> + <p> + I ventured to present myself in the conservatory. + </p> + <p> + The Princess was dressed with exquisite simplicity, entirely in white. Her + only ornaments were white roses in her hair and in her bosom. To say that + she looked lovely is to say nothing. She seemed to be the ethereal + creature of some higher sphere; too exquisitely delicate and pure to be + approached by a mere mortal man like myself. I was awed; I was silent. Her + Highness’s sweet smile encouraged me to venture a little nearer. She + pointed to a footstool which the Baroness had placed for her. “Are you + afraid of me, Ernest?” she asked softly. + </p> + <p> + Her divinely beautiful eyes rested on me with a look of encouragement. I + dropped on my knees at her feet. She had asked if I was afraid of her. + This, if I may use such an expression, roused my manhood. My own boldness + astonished me. I answered: “Madam, I adore you.” + </p> + <p> + She laid her fair hand on my head, and looked at me thoughtfully. “Forget + my rank,” she whispered—“have I not set you the example? Suppose + that I am nothing but an English Miss. What would you say to Miss?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say, I love you.” + </p> + <p> + “Say it to Me.” + </p> + <p> + My lips said it on her hand. She bent forward. My heart beats fast at the + bare remembrance of it. Oh, heavens, her Highness kissed me! + </p> + <p> + “There is your reward,” she murmured, “for all you have sacrificed for my + sake. What an effort it must have been to offer the pretense of love to an + obscure stranger! The Baroness tells me this actress—this singer—what + is she?—is pretty. Is it true?” + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was quite mischievous enough to have also mentioned the false + impression, prevalent about the Court, that I was in love with Jeanne. I + attempted to explain. The gracious Princess refused to hear me. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I doubt you?” she said. “Distinguished by me, could you + waste a look on a person in <i>that</i> rank of life?” She laughed softly, + as if the mere idea of such a thing amused her. It was only for a moment: + her thoughts took a new direction—they contemplated the uncertain + future. “How is this to end?” she asked. “Dear Ernest, we are not in + Paradise; we are in a hard cruel world which insists on distinctions in + rank. To what unhappy destiny does the fascination which you exercise over + me condemn us both?” + </p> + <p> + She paused—took one of the white roses out of her bosom—touched + it with her lips—and gave it to me. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder whether you feel the burden of life as I feel it?” she resumed. + “It is immaterial to me, whether we are united in this world or in the + next. Accept my rose, Ernest, as an assurance that I speak with perfect + sincerity. I see but two alternatives before us. One of them (beset with + dangers) is elopement. And the other,” she added, with truly majestic + composure, “is suicide.” + </p> + <p> + Would Englishmen in general have rightly understood such fearless + confidence in them as this language implied? I am afraid they might have + attributed it to what my friend the secretary called “German sentiment.” + Perhaps they might even have suspected the Princess of quoting from some + old-fashioned German play. Under the irresistible influence of that + glorious creature, I contemplated with such equal serenity the perils of + elopement and the martyrdom of love, that I was for the moment at a loss + how to reply. In that moment, the evil genius of my life appeared in the + conservatory. With haste in her steps, with alarm in her face, the + Baroness rushed up to her royal mistress, and said, “For God’s sake, + Madam, come away! The Prince desires to speak with you instantly.” + </p> + <p> + Her Highness rose, calmly superior to the vulgar excitement of her lady in + waiting. “Think of it to-night,” she said to me, “and let me hear from you + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed my hand; she gave me a farewell look. I sank into the chair + that she had just left. Did I think of elopement? Did I think of suicide? + The elevating influence of the Princess no longer sustained me; my nature + became degraded. Horrid doubts rose in my mind. Did her father suspect us? + </p> + <p> + IX. + </p> + <p> + NEED I say that I passed a sleepless night? + </p> + <p> + The morning found me with my pen in my hand, confronting the serious + responsibility of writing to the Princess, and not knowing what to say. I + had already torn up two letters, when Uncle David presented himself with a + message from his niece. Jeanne was in trouble, and wanted to ask my + advice. + </p> + <p> + My state of mind, on hearing this, became simply inexplicable. Here was an + interruption which ought to have annoyed me. It did nothing of the kind—it + inspired me with a feeling of relief! + </p> + <p> + I naturally expected that the old Frenchman would return with me to his + niece, and tell me what had happened. To my surprise, he begged that I + would excuse him, and left me without a word of explanation. I found + Jeanne walking up and down her little sitting-room, flushed and angry. + Fragments of torn paper and heaps of flowers littered the floor; and three + unopen jewel-cases appeared to have been thrown into the empty fireplace. + She caught me excitedly by the hand the moment I entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “You are my true friend,” she said; “you were present the other night when + I sang. Was there anything in my behavior on the stage which could justify + men who call themselves gentlemen in insulting me?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, how can you ask the question?” + </p> + <p> + “I must ask it. Some of them send flowers, and some of them send jewels; + and every one of them writes letters—infamous, abominable letters—saying + they are in love with me, and asking for appointments as if I was—” + </p> + <p> + She could say no more. Poor dear Jeanne—her head dropped on my + shoulder; she burst out crying. Who could see her so cruelly humiliated—the + faithful loving daughter, whose one motive for appearing on the stage had + been to preserve her father’s good name—and not feel for her as I + did? I forgot all considerations of prudence; I thought of nothing but + consoling her; I took her in my arms; I dried her tears; I kissed her; I + said, “Tell me the name of any one of the wretches who has written to you, + and I will make him an example to the rest!” She shook her head, and + pointed to the morsels of paper on the floor. “Oh, Ernest, do you think I + asked you to come here for any such purpose as that? Those jewels, those + hateful jewels, tell me how I can send them back! spare me the sight of + them!” + </p> + <p> + So far it was easy to console her. I sent the jewels at once to the + manager of the theater—with a written notice to be posted at the + stage door, stating that they were waiting to be returned to the persons + who could describe them. + </p> + <p> + “Try, my dear, to forget what has happened,” I said. “Try to find + consolation and encouragement in your art.” + </p> + <p> + “I have lost all interest in my success on the stage,” she answered, “now + I know the penalty I must pay for it. When my father’s memory is clear of + reproach, I shall leave the theater never to return to it again.” + </p> + <p> + “Take time to consider, Jeanne.” + </p> + <p> + “I will do anything you ask of me.” + </p> + <p> + For a while we were silent. Without any influence to lead to it that I + could trace, I found myself recalling the language that the Princess had + used in alluding to Jeanne. When I thought of them now, the words and the + tone in which they had been spoken jarred on me. There is surely something + mean in an assertion of superiority which depends on nothing better than + the accident of birth. I don’t know why I took Jeanne’s hand; I don’t know + why I said, “What a good girl you are! how glad I am to have been of some + little use to you!” Is my friend the secretary right, when he reproaches + me with acting on impulse, like a woman? I don’t like to think so; and + yet, this I must own—it was well for me that I was obliged to leave + her, before I had perhaps said other words which might have been alike + unworthy of Jeanne, of the Princess, and of myself. I was called away to + speak to my servant. He brought with him the secretary’s card, having a + line written on it: “I am waiting at your rooms, on business which permits + of no delay.” + </p> + <p> + As we shook hands, Jeanne asked me if I knew where her uncle was. I could + only tell her that he had left me at my own door. She made no remark; but + she seemed to be uneasy on receiving that reply. + </p> + <p> + X. + </p> + <p> + WHEN I arrived at my rooms, my colleague hurried to meet me the moment I + opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to surprise you,” he said; “and there is no time to prepare + you for it. Our chief, the Minister, has seen the Prince this morning, and + has been officially informed of an event of importance in the life of the + Princess. She is engaged to be married to the Grand Duke.” + </p> + <p> + Engaged to the Duke—and not a word from her to warn me of it! + Engaged—after what she had said to me no longer ago than the past + night! Had I been made a plaything to amuse a great lady? Oh, what + degradation! I was furious; I snatched up my hat to go to the palace—to + force my way to her—to overwhelm her with reproaches. My friend + stopped me. He put an official document into my hand. + </p> + <p> + “There is your leave of absence from the legation,” he said; “beginning + from to-day. I have informed the Minister, in strict confidence, of the + critical position in which you are placed. He agrees with me that the + Princess’s inexcusable folly is alone to blame. Leave us, Ernest, by the + next train. There is some intrigue going on, and I fear you may be + involved in it. You know that the rulers of these little German States can + exercise despotic authority when they choose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Whether the Prince has acted of his own free will—or whether he has + been influenced by some person about him—I am not able to tell you. + He has issued an order to arrest an old Frenchman, known to be a + republican, and suspected of associating with one of the secret societies + in this part of Germany. The conspirator has taken to flight; having + friends, as we suppose, who warned him in time. But this, Ernest, is not + the worst of it. That charming singer, that modest, pretty girl—” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean Jeanne?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to say I do. Advantage has been taken of her relationship to + the old man, to include that innocent creature in political suspicions + which it is simply absurd to suppose that she has deserved. She is ordered + to leave the Prince’s domains immediately.—Are you going to her?” + </p> + <p> + “Instantly!” I replied. + </p> + <p> + Could I feel a moment’s hesitation, after the infamous manner in which the + Princess had sacrificed me to the Grand Duke? Could I think of the poor + girl, friendless, helpless—with nobody near her but a stupid + woman-servant, unable to speak the language of the country—and fail + to devote myself to the protection of Jeanne? Thank God, I reached her + lodgings in time to tell her what had happened, and to take it on myself + to receive the police. + </p> + <p> + XI. + </p> + <p> + IN three days more, Jeanne was safe in London; having traveled under my + escort. I was fortunate enough to find a home for her, in the house of a + lady who had been my mother’s oldest and dearest friend. + </p> + <p> + We were separated, a few days afterward, by the distressing news which + reached me of the state of my brother’s health. I went at once to his + house in the country. His medical attendants had lost all hope of saving + him: they told me plainly that his release from a life of suffering was + near at hand. + </p> + <p> + While I was still in attendance at his bedside, I heard from the + secretary. He inclosed a letter, directed to me in a strange handwriting. + I opened the envelope and looked for the signature. My friend had been + entrapped into sending me an anonymous letter. + </p> + <p> + Besides addressing me in French (a language seldom used in my experience + at the legation), the writer disguised the identity of the persons + mentioned by the use of classical names. In spite of these precautions, I + felt no difficulty in arriving at a conclusion. My correspondent’s special + knowledge of Court secrets, and her malicious way of communicating them, + betrayed the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + I translate the letter; restoring to the persons who figure in it the + names under which they are already known. The writer began in these + satirically familiar terms: + </p> + <p> + “When you left the Prince’s dominions, my dear sir, you no doubt believed + yourself to be a free agent. Quite a mistake! You were a mere puppet; and + the strings that moved you were pulled by the Doctor. + </p> + <p> + “Let me tell you how. + </p> + <p> + “On a certain night, which you well remember, the Princess was + unexpectedly summoned to the presence of her father. His physician’s skill + had succeeded in relieving the illustrious Prince, prostrate under nervous + miseries. He was able to attend to a state affair of importance, revealed + to him by the Doctor—who then for the first time acknowledged that + he had presented himself at Court in a diplomatic, as well as in a medical + capacity. + </p> + <p> + “This state affair related to a proposal for the hand of the Princess, + received from the Grand Duke through the authorized medium of the Doctor. + Her Highness, being consulted, refused to consider the proposal. The + Prince asked for her reason. She answered: ‘I have no wish to be married.’ + Naturally irritated by such a ridiculous excuse, her father declared + positively that the marriage should take place. + </p> + <p> + “The impression produced on the Grand Duke’s favorite and emissary was of + a different kind. + </p> + <p> + “Certain suspicions of the Princess and yourself, which you had + successfully contrived to dissipate, revived in the Doctor’s mind when he + heard the lady’s reason for refusing to marry his royal master. It was now + too late to regret that he had suffered himself to be misled by cleverly + managed appearances. He could not recall the favorable report which he had + addressed to the Duke—or withdraw the proposal of marriage which he + had been commanded to make. + </p> + <p> + “In this emergency, the one safe course open to him was to get rid of You—and, + at the same time, so to handle circumstances as to excite against you the + pride and anger of the Princess. In the pursuit of this latter object he + was assisted by one of the ladies in waiting, sincerely interested in the + welfare of her gracious mistress, and therefore ardently desirous of + seeing her Highness married to the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “A wretched old French conspirator was made the convenient pivot on which + the intrigue turned. + </p> + <p> + “An order for the arrest of this foreign republican having been first + obtained, the Prince was prevailed on to extend his distrust of the + Frenchman to the Frenchman’s niece. You know this already; but you don’t + know why it was done. Having believed from the first that you were really + in love with the young lady, the Doctor reckoned confidently on your + devoting yourself to the protection of a friendless girl, cruelly exiled + at an hour’s notice. + </p> + <p> + “The one chance against us was that tender considerations, associated with + her Highness, might induce you to hesitate. The lady in waiting easily + moved this obstacle out of the way. She abstained from delivering a letter + addressed to you, intrusted to her by the Princess. When the great lady + asked why she had not received your reply, she was informed (quite truly) + that you and the charming opera singer had taken your departure together. + You may imagine what her Highness thought of you, and said of you, when I + mention in conclusion that she consented, the same day, to marry the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “So, Mr. Ernest, these clever people tricked you into serving their + interests, blindfold. In relating how it was done, I hope I may have + assisted you in forming a correct estimate of the state of your own + intelligence. You have made a serious mistake in adopting your present + profession. Give up diplomacy—and get a farmer to employ you in + keeping his sheep.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Do I sometimes think regretfully of the Princess? + </p> + <p> + Permit me to mention a circumstance, and to leave my answer to be + inferred. Jeanne is Lady Medhurst. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MR. LISMORE AND THE WIDOW. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> + <p> + LATE in the autumn, not many years since, a public meeting was held at the + Mansion House, London, under the direction of the Lord Mayor. + </p> + <p> + The list of gentlemen invited to address the audience had been chosen with + two objects in view. Speakers of celebrity, who would rouse public + enthusiasm, were supported by speakers connected with commerce, who would + be practically useful in explaining the purpose for which the meeting was + convened. Money wisely spent in advertising had produced the customary + result—every seat was occupied before the proceedings began. + </p> + <p> + Among the late arrivals, who had no choice but to stand or to leave the + hall, were two ladies. One of them at once decided on leaving the hall. “I + shall go back to the carriage,” she said, “and wait for you at the door.” + Her friend answered, “I shan’t keep you long. He is advertised to support + the second Resolution; I want to see him—and that is all.” + </p> + <p> + An elderly gentleman, seated at the end of a bench, rose and offered his + place to the lady who remained. She hesitated to take advantage of his + kindness, until he reminded her that he had heard what she said to her + friend. Before the third Resolution was proposed, his seat would be at his + own disposal again. She thanked him, and without further ceremony took his + place He was provided with an opera-glass, which he more than once offered + to her, when famous orators appeared on the platform; she made no use of + it until a speaker—known in the City as a ship-owner—stepped + forward to support the second Resolution. + </p> + <p> + His name (announced in the advertisements) was Ernest Lismore. + </p> + <p> + The moment he rose, the lady asked for the opera-glass. She kept it to her + eyes for such a length of time, and with such evident interest in Mr. + Lismore, that the curiosity of her neighbors was aroused. Had he anything + to say in which a lady (evidently a stranger to him) was personally + interested? There was nothing in the address that he delivered which + appealed to the enthusiasm of women. He was undoubtedly a handsome man, + whose appearance proclaimed him to be in the prime of life—midway + perhaps between thirty and forty years of age. But why a lady should + persist in keeping an opera-glass fixed on him all through his speech, was + a question which found the general ingenuity at a loss for a reply. + </p> + <p> + Having returned the glass with an apology, the lady ventured on putting a + question next. “Did it strike you, sir, that Mr. Lismore seemed to be out + of spirits?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t say it did, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you noticed that he left the platform the moment he had done?” + </p> + <p> + This betrayal of interest in the speaker did not escape the notice of a + lady, seated on the bench in front. Before the old gentleman could answer, + she volunteered an explanation. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid Mr. Lismore is troubled by anxieties connected with his + business,” she said. “My husband heard it reported in the City yesterday + that he was seriously embarrassed by the failure—” + </p> + <p> + A loud burst of applause made the end of the sentence inaudible. A famous + member of Parliament had risen to propose the third Resolution. The polite + old man took his seat, and the lady left the hall to join her friend. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mrs. Callender, has Mr. Lismore disappointed you?” + </p> + <p> + “Far from it! But I have heard a report about him which has alarmed me: he + is said to be seriously troubled about money matters. How can I find out + his address in the City?” + </p> + <p> + “We can stop at the first stationer’s shop we pass, and ask to look at the + Directory. Are you going to pay Mr. Lismore a visit?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to think about it.” + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + THE next day a clerk entered Mr. Lismore’s private room at the office, and + presented a visiting-card. Mrs. Callender had reflected, and had arrived + at a decision. Underneath her name she had written these explanatory + words: “On important business.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she look as if she wanted money?” Mr. Lismore inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, no! She comes in her carriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she young or old?” + </p> + <p> + “Old, sir.” + </p> + <p> + To Mr. Lismore—conscious of the disastrous influence occasionally + exercised over busy men by youth and beauty—this was a + recommendation in itself. He said: “Show her in.” + </p> + <p> + Observing the lady, as she approached him, with the momentary curiosity of + a stranger, he noticed that she still preserved the remains of beauty. She + had also escaped the misfortune, common to persons at her time of life, of + becoming too fat. Even to a man’s eye, her dressmaker appeared to have + made the most of that favorable circumstance. Her figure had its defects + concealed, and its remaining merits set off to advantage. At the same time + she evidently held herself above the common deceptions by which some women + seek to conceal their age. She wore her own gray hair; and her complexion + bore the test of daylight. On entering the room, she made her apologies + with some embarrassment. Being the embarrassment of a stranger (and not of + a youthful stranger), it failed to impress Mr. Lismore favorably. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I have chosen an inconvenient time for my visit,” she began. + </p> + <p> + “I am at your service,” he answered a little stiffly; “especially if you + will be so kind as to mention your business with me in few words.” + </p> + <p> + She was a woman of some spirit, and that reply roused her. + </p> + <p> + “I will mention it in one word,” she said smartly. “My business is—gratitude.” + </p> + <p> + He was completely at a loss to understand what she meant, and he said so + plainly. Instead of explaining herself, she put a question. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember the night of the eleventh of March, between five and six + years since?” + </p> + <p> + He considered for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, “I don’t remember it. Excuse me, Mrs. Callender, I have + affairs of my own to attend to which cause me some anxiety—” + </p> + <p> + “Let me assist your memory, Mr. Lismore; and I will leave you to your + affairs. On the date that I have referred to, you were on your way to the + railway-station at Bexmore, to catch the night express from the North to + London.” + </p> + <p> + As a hint that his time was valuable the ship-owner had hitherto remained + standing. He now took his customary seat, and began to listen with some + interest. Mrs. Callender had produced her effect on him already. + </p> + <p> + “It was absolutely necessary,” she proceeded, “that you should be on board + your ship in the London Docks at nine o’clock the next morning. If you had + lost the express, the vessel would have sailed without you.” + </p> + <p> + The expression of his face began to change to surprise. “Who told you + that?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “You shall hear directly. On your way into the town, your carriage was + stopped by an obstruction on the highroad. The people of Bexmore were + looking at a house on fire.” + </p> + <p> + He started to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! are you the lady?” + </p> + <p> + She held up her hand in satirical protest. + </p> + <p> + “Gently, sir! You suspected me just now of wasting your valuable time. + Don’t rashly conclude that I am the lady, until you find that I am + acquainted with the circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there no excuse for my failing to recognize you?” Mr. Lismore asked. + “We were on the dark side of the burning house; you were fainting, and I—” + </p> + <p> + “And you,” she interposed, “after saving me at the risk of your own life, + turned a deaf ear to my poor husband’s entreaties, when he asked you to + wait till I had recovered my senses.” + </p> + <p> + “Your poor husband? Surely, Mrs. Callender, he received no serious injury + from the fire?” + </p> + <p> + “The firemen rescued him under circumstances of peril,” she answered, “and + at his great age he sank under the shock. I have lost the kindest and best + of men. Do you remember how you parted from him—burned and bruised + in saving me? He liked to talk of it in his last illness. ‘At least’ (he + said to you), ‘tell me the name of the man who has preserved my wife from + a dreadful death.’ You threw your card to him out of the carriage window, + and away you went at a gallop to catch your train! In all the years that + have passed I have kept that card, and have vainly inquired for my brave + sea-captain. Yesterday I saw your name on the list of speakers at the + Mansion House. Need I say that I attended the meeting? Need I tell you now + why I come here and interrupt you in business hours?” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand. Mr. Lismore took it in silence, and pressed it + warmly. + </p> + <p> + “You have not done with me yet,” she resumed with a smile. “Do you + remember what I said of my errand, when I first came in?” + </p> + <p> + “You said it was an errand of gratitude.” + </p> + <p> + “Something more than the gratitude which only says ‘Thank you,’” she + added. “Before I explain myself, however, I want to know what you have + been doing, and how it was that my inquiries failed to trace you after + that terrible night.” + </p> + <p> + The appearance of depression which Mrs. Callender had noticed at the + public meeting showed itself again in Mr. Lismore’s face. He sighed as he + answered her. + </p> + <p> + “My story has one merit,” he said; “it is soon told. I cannot wonder that + you failed to discover me. In the first place, I was not captain of my + ship at that time; I was only mate. In the second place, I inherited some + money, and ceased to lead a sailor’s life, in less than a year from the + night of the fire. You will now understand what obstacles were in the way + of your tracing me. With my little capital I started successfully in + business as a ship-owner. At the time, I naturally congratulated myself on + my own good fortune. We little know, Mrs. Callender, what the future has + in store for us.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. His handsome features hardened—as if he was suffering + (and concealing) pain. Before it was possible to speak to him, there was a + knock at the door. Another visitor, without an appointment, had called; + the clerk appeared again, with a card and a message. + </p> + <p> + “The gentleman begs you will see him, sir. He has something to tell you + which is too important to be delayed.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing the message, Mrs. Callender rose immediately. + </p> + <p> + “It is enough for to-day that we understand each other,” she said. “Have + you any engagement to-morrow, after the hours of business?” + </p> + <p> + “None.” + </p> + <p> + She pointed to her card on the writing-table. “Will you come to me + to-morrow evening at that address? I am like the gentleman who has just + called; I, too, have my reason for wishing to see you.” + </p> + <p> + He gladly accepted the invitation. Mrs. Callender stopped him as he opened + the door for her. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I offend you,” she said, “if I ask a strange question before I go? + I have a better motive, mind, than mere curiosity. Are you married?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me again,” she resumed. “At my age, you cannot possibly + misunderstand me; and yet—” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. Mr. Lismore tried to give her confidence. “Pray don’t stand + on ceremony, Mrs. Callender. Nothing that <i>you</i> can ask me need be + prefaced by an apology.” + </p> + <p> + Thus encouraged, she ventured to proceed. + </p> + <p> + “You may be engaged to be married?” she suggested. “Or you may be in + love?” + </p> + <p> + He found it impossible to conceal his surprise. But he answered without + hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “There is no such bright prospect in <i>my</i> life,” he said. “I am not + even in love.” + </p> + <p> + She left him with a little sigh. It sounded like a sigh of relief. + </p> + <p> + Ernest Lismore was thoroughly puzzled. What could be the old lady’s object + in ascertaining that he was still free from a matrimonial engagement? If + the idea had occurred to him in time, he might have alluded to her + domestic life, and might have asked if she had children? With a little + tact he might have discovered more than this. She had described her + feeling toward him as passing the ordinary limits of gratitude; and she + was evidently rich enough to be above the imputation of a mercenary + motive. Did she propose to brighten those dreary prospects to which he had + alluded in speaking of his own life? When he presented himself at her + house the next evening, would she introduce him to a charming daughter? + </p> + <p> + He smiled as the idea occurred to him. “An appropriate time to be thinking + of my chances of marriage!” he said to himself. “In another month I may be + a ruined man.” + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + THE gentleman who had so urgently requested an interview was a devoted + friend—who had obtained a means of helping Ernest at a serious + crisis in his affairs. + </p> + <p> + It had been truly reported that he was in a position of pecuniary + embarrassment, owing to the failure of a mercantile house with which he + had been intimately connected. Whispers affecting his own solvency had + followed on the bankruptcy of the firm. He had already endeavored to + obtain advances of money on the usual conditions, and had been met by + excuses for delay. His friend had now arrived with a letter of + introduction to a capitalist, well known in commercial circles for his + daring speculations and for his great wealth. + </p> + <p> + Looking at the letter, Ernest observed that the envelope was sealed. In + spite of that ominous innovation on established usage, in cases of + personal introduction, he presented the letter. On this occasion, he was + not put off with excuses. The capitalist flatly declined to discount Mr. + Lismore’s bills, unless they were backed by responsible names. + </p> + <p> + Ernest made a last effort. + </p> + <p> + He applied for help to two mercantile men whom he had assisted in <i>their</i> + difficulties, and whose names would have satisfied the money-lender. They + were most sincerely sorry—but they, too, refused. + </p> + <p> + The one security that he could offer was open, it must be owned, to + serious objections on the score of risk. He wanted an advance of twenty + thousand pounds, secured on a homeward-bound ship and cargo. But the + vessel was not insured; and, at that stormy season, she was already more + than a month overdue. Could grateful colleagues be blamed if they forgot + their obligations when they were asked to offer pecuniary help to a + merchant in this situation? Ernest returned to his office, without money + and without credit. + </p> + <p> + A man threatened by ruin is in no state of mind to keep an engagement at a + lady’s tea-table. Ernest sent a letter of apology to Mrs. Callender, + alleging extreme pressure of business as the excuse for breaking his + engagement. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to wait for an answer, sir?” the messenger asked. + </p> + <p> + “No; you are merely to leave the letter.” + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + IN an hour’s time—to Ernest’s astonishment—the messenger + returned with a reply. + </p> + <p> + “The lady was just going out, sir, when I rang at the door,” he explained, + “and she took the letter from me herself. She didn’t appear to know your + handwriting, and she asked me who I came from. When I mentioned your name, + I was ordered to wait.” + </p> + <p> + Ernest opened the letter. + </p> + <p> + “DEAR MR. LISMORE—One of us must speak out, and your letter of + apology forces me to be that one. If you are really so proud and so + distrustfull as you seem to be, I shall offend you. If not, I shall prove + myself to be your friend. + </p> + <p> + “Your excuse is ‘pressure of business.’ The truth (as I have good reason + to believe) is ‘want of money.’ I heard a stranger, at that public + meeting, say that you were seriously embarrassed by some failure in the + City. + </p> + <p> + “Let me tell you what my own pecuniary position is in two words. I am the + childless widow of a rich man—” + </p> + <p> + Ernest paused. His anticipated discovery of Mrs. Callender’s “charming + daughter” was in his mind for the moment. “That little romance must return + to the world of dreams,” he thought—and went on with the letter. + </p> + <p> + “After what I owe to you, I don’t regard it as repaying an obligation—I + consider myself as merely performing a duty when I offer to assist you by + a loan of money. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little before you throw my letter into the wastepaper basket. + </p> + <p> + “Circumstances (which it is impossible for me to mention before we meet) + put it out of my power to help you—unless I attach to my most + sincere offer of service a very unusual and very embarrassing condition. + If you are on the brink of ruin, that misfortune will plead my excuse—and + your excuse, too, if you accept the loan on my terms. In any case, I rely + on the sympathy and forbearance of the man to whom I owe my life. + </p> + <p> + “After what I have now written, there is only one thing to add. I beg to + decline accepting your excuses; and I shall expect to see you tomorrow + evening, as we arranged. I am an obstinate old woman—but I am also + your faithful friend and servant, + </p> + <p> + “MARY CALLENDER.” + </p> + <p> + Ernest looked up from the letter. “What can this possibly mean?” he + wondered. + </p> + <p> + But he was too sensible a man to be content with wondering—he + decided on keeping his engagement. + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + WHAT Doctor Johnson called “the insolence of wealth” appears far more + frequently in the houses of the rich than in the manners of the rich. The + reason is plain enough. Personal ostentation is, in the very nature of it, + ridiculous. But the ostentation which exhibits magnificent pictures, + priceless china, and splendid furniture, can purchase good taste to guide + it, and can assert itself without affording the smallest opening for a + word of depreciation, or a look of contempt. If I am worth a million of + money, and if I am dying to show it, I don’t ask you to look at me—I + ask you to look at my house. + </p> + <p> + Keeping his engagement with Mrs. Callender, Ernest discovered that riches + might be lavishly and yet modestly used. + </p> + <p> + In crossing the hall and ascending the stairs, look where he might, his + notice was insensibly won by proofs of the taste which is not to be + purchased, and the wealth which uses but never exhibits its purse. + Conducted by a man-servant to the landing on the first floor, he found a + maid at the door of the boudoir waiting to announce him. Mrs. Callender + advanced to welcome her guest, in a simple evening dress perfectly suited + to her age. All that had looked worn and faded in her fine face, by + daylight, was now softly obscured by shaded lamps. Objects of beauty + surrounded her, which glowed with subdued radiance from their background + of sober color. The influence of appearances is the strongest of all + outward influences, while it lasts. For the moment, the scene produced its + impression on Ernest, in spite of the terrible anxieties which consumed + him. Mrs. Callender, in his office, was a woman who had stepped out of her + appropriate sphere. Mrs. Callender, in her own house, was a woman who had + risen to a new place in his estimation. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid you don’t thank me for forcing you to keep your engagement,” + she said, with her friendly tones and her pleasant smile. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do thank you,” he replied. “Your beautiful house and your + gracious welcome have persuaded me into forgetting my troubles—for a + while.” + </p> + <p> + The smile passed away from her face. “Then it is true,” she said gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Only too true.” + </p> + <p> + She led him to a seat beside her, and waited to speak again until her maid + had brought in the tea. + </p> + <p> + “Have you read my letter in the same friendly spirit in which I wrote it?” + she asked, when they were alone again. + </p> + <p> + “I have read your letter gratefully, but—” + </p> + <p> + “But you don’t know yet what I have to say. Let us understand each other + before we make any objections on either side. Will you tell me what your + present position is—at its worst? I can and will speak plainly when + my turn comes, if you will honor me with your confidence. Not if it + distresses you,” she added, observing him attentively. + </p> + <p> + He was ashamed of his hesitation—and he made amends for it. + </p> + <p> + “Do you thoroughly understand me?” he asked, when the whole truth had been + laid before her without reserve. + </p> + <p> + She summed up the result in her own words. + </p> + <p> + “If your overdue ship returns safely, within a month from this time, you + can borrow the money you want, without difficulty. If the ship is lost, + you have no alternative (when the end of the month comes) but to accept a + loan from me or to suspend payment. Is that the hard truth?” + </p> + <p> + “It is.” + </p> + <p> + “And the sum you require is—twenty thousand pounds?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I have twenty times as much money as that, Mr. Lismore, at my sole + disposal—on one condition.” + </p> + <p> + “The condition alluded to in your letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Does the fulfillment of the condition depend in some way on any decision + of mine?” + </p> + <p> + “It depends entirely on you.” + </p> + <p> + That answer closed his lips. + </p> + <p> + With a composed manner and a steady hand she poured herself out a cup of + tea. + </p> + <p> + “I conceal it from you,” she said; “but I want confidence. Here” (she + pointed to the cup) “is the friend of women, rich or poor, when they are + in trouble. What I have now to say obliges me to speak in praise of + myself. I don’t like it—let me get it over as soon as I can. My + husband was very fond of me: he had the most absolute confidence in my + discretion, and in my sense of duty to him and to myself. His last words, + before he died, were words that thanked me for making the happiness of his + life. As soon as I had in some degree recovered, after the affliction that + had fallen on me, his lawyer and executor produced a copy of his will, and + said there were two clauses in it which my husband had expressed a wish + that I should read. It is needless to say that I obeyed.” + </p> + <p> + She still controlled her agitation—but she was now unable to conceal + it. Ernest made an attempt to spare her. + </p> + <p> + “Am I concerned in this?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Before I tell you why, I want to know what you would do—in a + certain case which I am unwilling even to suppose. I have heard of men, + unable to pay the demands made on them, who began business again, and + succeeded, and in course of time paid their creditors.” + </p> + <p> + “And you want to know if there is any likelihood of my following their + example?” he said. “Have you also heard of men who have made that second + effort—who have failed again—and who have doubled the debts + they owed to their brethren in business who trusted them? I knew one of + those men myself. He committed suicide.” + </p> + <p> + She laid her hand for a moment on his. + </p> + <p> + “I understand you,” she said. “If ruin comes—” + </p> + <p> + “If ruin comes,” he interposed, “a man without money and without credit + can make but one last atonement. Don’t speak of it now.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with horror. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t mean <i>that!</i>” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go back to what you read in the will?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—if you will give me a minute to compose myself.” + </p> + <p> + VI. + </p> + <p> + IN less than the minute she had asked for, Mrs. Callender was calm enough + to go on. + </p> + <p> + “I now possess what is called a life-interest in my husband’s fortune,” + she said. “The money is to be divided, at my death, among charitable + institutions; excepting a certain event—” + </p> + <p> + “Which is provided for in the will?” Ernest added, helping her to go on. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I am to be absolute mistress of the whole of the four hundred + thousand pounds—” her voice dropped, and her eyes looked away from + him as she spoke the next words—“on this one condition, that I marry + again.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Surely I have mistaken you,” he said. “You mean on this one condition, + that you do <i>not</i> marry again?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Lismore; I mean exactly what I have said. You now know that the + recovery of your credit and your peace of mind rests entirely with + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + After a moment of reflection he took her hand and raised it respectfully + to his lips. “You are a noble woman!” he said. + </p> + <p> + She made no reply. With drooping head and downcast eyes she waited for his + decision. He accepted his responsibility. + </p> + <p> + “I must not, and dare not, think of the hardship of my own position,” he + said; “I owe it to you to speak without reference to the future that may + be in store for me. No man can be worthy of the sacrifice which your + generous forgetfulness of yourself is willing to make. I respect you; I + admire you; I thank you with my whole heart. Leave me to my fate, Mrs. + Callender—and let me go.” + </p> + <p> + He rose. She stopped him by a gesture. + </p> + <p> + “A <i>young</i> woman,” she answered, “would shrink from saying—what + I, as an old woman, mean to say now. I refuse to leave you to your fate. I + ask you to prove that you respect me, admire me, and thank me with your + whole heart. Take one day to think—and let me hear the result. You + promise me this?” + </p> + <p> + He promised. “Now go,” she said. + </p> + <p> + VII. + </p> + <p> + NEXT morning Ernest received a letter from Mrs. Callender. She wrote to + him as follows: + </p> + <p> + “There are some considerations which I ought to have mentioned yesterday + evening, before you left my house. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to have reminded you—if you consent to reconsider your + decision—that the circumstances do not require you to pledge + yourself to me absolutely. + </p> + <p> + “At my age, I can with perfect propriety assure you that I regard our + marriage simply and solely as a formality which we must fulfill, if I am + to carry out my intention of standing between you and ruin. + </p> + <p> + “Therefore—if the missing ship appears in time, the only reason for + the marriage is at an end. We shall be as good friends as ever; without + the encumbrance of a formal tie to bind us. + </p> + <p> + “In the other event, I should ask you to submit to certain restrictions + which, remembering my position, you will understand and excuse. + </p> + <p> + “We are to live together, it is unnecessary to say, as mother and son. The + marriage ceremony is to be strictly private; and you are so to arrange + your affairs that, immediately afterward, we leave England for any foreign + place which you prefer. Some of my friends, and (perhaps) some of your + friends, will certainly misinterpret our motives—if we stay in our + own country—in a manner which would be unendurable to a woman like + me. + </p> + <p> + “As to our future lives, I have the most perfect confidence in you, and I + should leave you in the same position of independence which you occupy + now. When you wish for my company you will always be welcome. At other + times, you are your own master. I live on my side of the house, and you + live on yours—and I am to be allowed my hours of solitude every day, + in the pursuit of musical occupations, which have been happily associated + with all my past life and which I trust confidently to your indulgence. + </p> + <p> + “A last word, to remind you of what you may be too kind to think of + yourself. + </p> + <p> + “At my age, you cannot, in the course of Nature, be troubled by the + society of a grateful old woman for many years. You are young enough to + look forward to another marriage, which shall be something more than a + mere form. Even if you meet with the happy woman in my lifetime, honestly + tell me of it—and I promise to tell her that she has only to wait. + </p> + <p> + “In the meantime, don’t think, because I write composedly, that I write + heartlessly. You pleased and interested me, when I first saw you, at the + public meeting. I don’t think I could have proposed, what you call this + sacrifice of myself, to a man who had personally repelled me—though + I might have felt my debt of gratitude as sincerely as ever. Whether your + ship is saved, or whether your ship is lost, old Mary Callender likes you—and + owns it without false shame. + </p> + <p> + “Let me have your answer this evening, either personally or by letter—whichever + you like best.” + </p> + <p> + VIII. + </p> + <p> + MRS. CALLENDER received a written answer long before the evening. It said + much in few words: + </p> + <p> + “A man impenetrable to kindness might be able to resist your letter. I am + not that man. Your great heart has conquered me.” + </p> + <p> + The few formalities which precede marriage by special license were + observed by Ernest. While the destiny of their future lives was still in + suspense, an unacknowledged feeling of embarrassment, on either side, kept + Ernest and Mrs. Callender apart. Every day brought the lady her report of + the state of affairs in the City, written always in the same words: “No + news of the ship.” + </p> + <p> + IX. + </p> + <p> + ON the day before the ship-owner’s liabilities became due, the terms of + the report from the City remained unchanged—and the special license + was put to its contemplated use. Mrs. Callender’s lawyer and Mrs. + Callender’s maid were the only persons trusted with the secret. Leaving + the chief clerk in charge of the business, with every pecuniary demand on + his employer satisfied in full, the strangely married pair quitted + England. + </p> + <p> + They arranged to wait for a few days in Paris, to receive any letters of + importance which might have been addressed to Ernest in the interval. On + the evening of their arrival, a telegram from London was waiting at their + hotel. It announced that the missing ship had passed up Channel—undiscovered + in a fog, until she reached the Downs—on the day before Ernest’s + liabilities fell due. + </p> + <p> + “Do you regret it?” Mrs. Lismore said to her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Not for a moment!” he answered. + </p> + <p> + They decided on pursuing their journey as far as Munich. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lismore’s taste for music was matched by Ernest’s taste for painting. + In his leisure hours he cultivated the art, and delighted in it. The + picture-galleries of Munich were almost the only galleries in Europe which + he had not seen. True to the engagements to which she had pledged herself, + his wife was willing to go wherever it might please him to take her. The + one suggestion she made was, that they should hire furnished apartments. + If they lived at an hotel, friends of the husband or the wife (visitors + like themselves to the famous city) might see their names in the book, or + might meet them at the door. + </p> + <p> + They were soon established in a house large enough to provide them with + every accommodation which they required. + </p> + <p> + Ernest’s days were passed in the galleries; Mrs. Lismore remaining at + home, devoted to her music, until it was time to go out with her husband + for a drive. Living together in perfect amity and concord, they were + nevertheless not living happily. Without any visible reason for the + change, Mrs. Lismore’s spirits were depressed. On the one occasion when + Ernest noticed it she made an effort to be cheerful, which it distressed + him to see. He allowed her to think that she had relieved him of any + further anxiety. Whatever doubts he might feel were doubts delicately + concealed from that time forth. + </p> + <p> + But when two people are living together in a state of artificial + tranquillity, it seems to be a law of Nature that the element of + disturbance gathers unseen, and that the outburst comes inevitably with + the lapse of time. + </p> + <p> + In ten days from the date of their arrival at Munich, the crisis came. + Ernest returned later than usual from the picture-gallery, and—for + the first time in his wife’s experience—shut himself up in his own + room. + </p> + <p> + He appeared at the dinner-hour with a futile excuse. Mrs. Lismore waited + until the servant had withdrawn. “Now, Ernest,” she said, “it’s time to + tell me the truth.” + </p> + <p> + Her manner, when she said those few words, took him by surprise. She was + unquestionably confused; and, instead of looking at him, she trifled with + the fruit on her plate. Embarrassed on his side, he could only answer: + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to tell.” + </p> + <p> + “Were there many visitors at the gallery?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “About the same as usual.” + </p> + <p> + “Any that you particularly noticed?” she went on. “I mean, among the + ladies.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed uneasily. “You forget how interested I am in the pictures,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. She looked up at him—and suddenly looked away + again. But he saw it plainly: there were tears in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind turning down the gas?” she said. “My eyes have been weak all + day.” + </p> + <p> + He complied with her request—the more readily, having his own + reasons for being glad to escape the glaring scrutiny of the light. + </p> + <p> + “I think I will rest a little on the sofa,” she resumed. In the position + which he occupied, his back would have been now turned on her. She stopped + him when he tried to move his chair. “I would rather not look at you, + Ernest,” she said, “when you have lost confidence in me.” + </p> + <p> + Not the words, but the tone, touched all that was generous and noble in + his nature. He left his place, and knelt beside her—and opened to + her his whole heart. + </p> + <p> + “Am I not unworthy of you?” he asked, when it was over. + </p> + <p> + She pressed his hand in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I should be the most ungrateful wretch living,” he said, “if I did not + think of you, and you only, now that my confession is made. We will leave + Munich to-morrow—and, if resolution can help me, I will only + remember the sweetest woman my eyes ever looked on as the creature of a + dream.” + </p> + <p> + She hid her face on his breast, and reminded him of that letter of her + writing, which had decided the course of their lives. + </p> + <p> + “When I thought you might meet the happy woman in my life-time, I said to + you, ‘Tell me of it—and I promise to tell <i>her</i> that she has + only to wait.’ Time must pass, Ernest, before it can be needful to perform + my promise. But you might let me see her. If you find her in the gallery + to-morrow, you might bring her here.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Lismore’s request met with no refusal. Ernest was only at a loss to + know how to grant it. + </p> + <p> + “You tell me she is a copyist of pictures,” his wife reminded him. “She + will be interested in hearing of the portfolio of drawings by the great + French artists which I bought for you in Paris. Ask her to come and see + them, and to tell you if she can make some copies. And say, if you like, + that I shall be glad to become acquainted with her.” + </p> + <p> + He felt her breath beating fast on his bosom. In the fear that she might + lose all control over herself, he tried to relieve her by speaking + lightly. “What an invention yours is!” he said. “If my wife ever tries to + deceive me, I shall be a mere child in her hands.” + </p> + <p> + She rose abruptly from the sofa—kissed him on the forehead—and + said wildly, “I shall be better in bed!” Before he could move or speak, + she had left him. + </p> + <p> + X. + </p> + <p> + THE next morning he knocked at the door of his wife’s room and asked how + she had passed the night. + </p> + <p> + “I have slept badly,” she answered, “and I must beg you to excuse my + absence at breakfast-time.” She called him back as he was about to + withdraw. “Remember,” she said, “when you return from the gallery to-day, + I expect that you will not return alone.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Three hours later he was at home again. The young lady’s services as a + copyist were at his disposal; she had returned with him to look at the + drawings. + </p> + <p> + The sitting-room was empty when they entered it. He rang for his wife’s + maid—and was informed that Mrs. Lismore had gone out. Refusing to + believe the woman, he went to his wife’s apartments. She was not to be + found. + </p> + <p> + When he returned to the sitting-room, the young lady was not unnaturally + offended. He could make allowances for her being a little out of temper at + the slight that had been put on her; but he was inexpressibly disconcerted + by the manner—almost the coarse manner—in which she expressed + herself. + </p> + <p> + “I have been talking to your wife’s maid, while you have been away,” she + said. “I find you have married an old lady for her money. She is jealous + of me, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me beg you to alter your opinion,” he answered. “You are wronging my + wife; she is incapable of any such feeling as you attribute to her.” + </p> + <p> + The young lady laughed. “At any rate you are a good husband,” she said + satirically. “Suppose you own the truth? Wouldn’t you like her better if + she was young and pretty like me?” + </p> + <p> + He was not merely surprised—he was disgusted. Her beauty had so + completely fascinated him, when he first saw her, that the idea of + associating any want of refinement and good breeding with such a charming + creature never entered his mind. The disenchantment to him was already so + complete that he was even disagreeably affected by the tone of her voice: + it was almost as repellent to him as the exhibition of unrestrained bad + temper which she seemed perfectly careless to conceal. + </p> + <p> + “I confess you surprise me,” he said, coldly. + </p> + <p> + The reply produced no effect on her. On the contrary, she became more + insolent than ever. + </p> + <p> + “I have a fertile fancy,” she went on, “and your absurd way of taking a + joke only encourages me! Suppose you could transform this sour old wife of + yours, who has insulted me, into the sweetest young creature that ever + lived, by only holding up your finger—wouldn’t you do it?” + </p> + <p> + This passed the limits of his endurance. “I have no wish,” he said, “to + forget the consideration which is due to a woman. You leave me but one + alternative.” He rose to go out of the room. + </p> + <p> + She ran to the door as he spoke, and placed herself in the way of his + going out. + </p> + <p> + He signed to her to let him pass. + </p> + <p> + She suddenly threw her arms round his neck, kissed him passionately, and + whispered, with her lips at his ear: “Oh, Ernest, forgive me! Could I have + asked you to marry me for my money if I had not taken refuge in a + disguise?” + </p> + <p> + XI. + </p> + <p> + WHEN he had sufficiently recovered to think, he put her back from him. “Is + there an end of the deception now?” he asked, sternly. “Am I to trust you + in your new character?” + </p> + <p> + “You are not to be harder on me than I deserve,” she answered, gently. + “Did you ever hear of an actress named Miss Max?” + </p> + <p> + He began to understand her. “Forgive me if I spoke harshly,” he said. “You + have put me to a severe trial.” + </p> + <p> + She burst into tears. “Love,” she murmured, “is my only excuse.” + </p> + <p> + From that moment she had won her pardon. He took her hand, and made her + sit by him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “I have heard of Miss Max and of her wonderful powers of + personation—and I have always regretted not having seen her while + she was on the stage.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear anything more of her, Ernest?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I heard that she was a pattern of modesty and good conduct, and that + she gave up her profession, at the height of her success, to marry an old + man.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you come with me to my room?” she asked. “I have something there + which I wish to show you.” + </p> + <p> + It was the copy of her husband’s will. + </p> + <p> + “Read the lines, Ernest, which begin at the top of the page. Let my dead + husband speak for me.” + </p> + <p> + The lines ran thus: + </p> + <p> + “My motive in marrying Miss Max must be stated in this place, in justice + to her—and, I will venture to add, in justice to myself. I felt the + sincerest sympathy for her position. She was without father, mother, or + friends; one of the poor forsaken children, whom the mercy of the + Foundling Hospital provides with a home. Her after life on the stage was + the life of a virtuous woman: persecuted by profligates; insulted by some + of the baser creatures associated with her, to whom she was an object of + envy. I offered her a home, and the protection of a father—on the + only terms which the world would recognize as worthy of us. My experience + of her since our marriage has been the experience of unvarying goodness, + sweetness, and sound sense. She has behaved so nobly, in a trying + position, that I wish her (even in this life) to have her reward. I + entreat her to make a second choice in marriage, which shall not be a mere + form. I firmly believe that she will choose well and wisely—that she + will make the happiness of a man who is worthy of her—and that, as + wife and mother, she will set an example of inestimable value in the + social sphere that she occupies. In proof of the heartfelt sincerity with + which I pay my tribute to her virtues, I add to this my will the clause + that follows.” + </p> + <p> + With the clause that followed, Ernest was already acquainted. + </p> + <p> + “Will you now believe that I never loved till I saw your face for the + first time?” said his wife. “I had no experience to place me on my guard + against the fascination—the madness some people might call it—which + possesses a woman when all her heart is given to a man. Don’t despise me, + my dear! Remember that I had to save you from disgrace and ruin. Besides, + my old stage remembrances tempted me. I had acted in a play in which the + heroine did—what I have done! It didn’t end with me, as it did with + her in the story. <i>She</i> was represented as rejoicing in the success + of her disguise. <i>I</i> have known some miserable hours of doubt and + shame since our marriage. When I went to meet you in my own person at the + picture-gallery—oh, what relief, what joy I felt, when I saw how you + admired me—it was not because I could no longer carry on the + disguise. I was able to get hours of rest from the effort; not only at + night, but in the daytime, when I was shut up in my retirement in the + music-room; and when my maid kept watch against discovery. No, my love! I + hurried on the disclosure, because I could no longer endure the hateful + triumph of my own deception. Ah, look at that witness against me! I can’t + bear even to see it!” + </p> + <p> + She abruptly left him. The drawer that she had opened to take out the copy + of the will also contained the false gray hair which she had discarded. It + had only that moment attracted her notice. She snatched it up, and turned + to the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + Ernest took it from her, before she could destroy it. “Give it to me,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + He drew her gently to his bosom, and answered: “I must not forget my old + wife.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MISS JÉROMETTE AND THE CLERGYMAN. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> + <p> + MY brother, the clergyman, looked over my shoulder before I was aware of + him, and discovered that the volume which completely absorbed my attention + was a collection of famous Trials, published in a new edition and in a + popular form. + </p> + <p> + He laid his finger on the Trial which I happened to be reading at the + moment. I looked up at him; his face startled me. He had turned pale. His + eyes were fixed on the open page of the book with an expression which + puzzled and alarmed me. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” I said, “what in the world is the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + He answered in an odd absent manner, still keeping his finger on the open + page. + </p> + <p> + “I had almost forgotten,” he said. “And this reminds me.” + </p> + <p> + “Reminds you of what?” I asked. “You don’t mean to say you know anything + about the Trial?” + </p> + <p> + “I know this,” he said. “The prisoner was guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “Guilty?” I repeated. “Why, the man was acquitted by the jury, with the + full approval of the judge! What call you possibly mean?” + </p> + <p> + “There are circumstances connected with that Trial,” my brother answered, + “which were never communicated to the judge or the jury—which were + never so much as hinted or whispered in court. <i>I</i> know them—of + my own knowledge, by my own personal experience. They are very sad, very + strange, very terrible. I have mentioned them to no mortal creature. I + have done my best to forget them. You—quite innocently—have + brought them back to my mind. They oppress, they distress me. I wish I had + found you reading any book in your library, except <i>that</i> book!” + </p> + <p> + My curiosity was now strongly excited. I spoke out plainly. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” I suggested, “you might tell your brother what you are unwilling + to mention to persons less nearly related to you. We have followed + different professions, and have lived in different countries, since we + were boys at school. But you know you can trust me.” + </p> + <p> + He considered a little with himself. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “I know I can trust you.” He waited a moment, and then he + surprised me by a strange question. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe,” he asked, “that the spirits of the dead can return to + earth, and show themselves to the living?” + </p> + <p> + I answered cautiously—adopting as my own the words of a great + English writer, touching the subject of ghosts. + </p> + <p> + “You ask me a question,” I said, “which, after five thousand years, is yet + undecided. On that account alone, it is a question not to be trifled + with.” + </p> + <p> + My reply seemed to satisfy him. + </p> + <p> + “Promise me,” he resumed, “that you will keep what I tell you a secret as + long as I live. After my death I care little what happens. Let the story + of my strange experience be added to the published experience of those + other men who have seen what I have seen, and who believe what I believe. + The world will not be the worse, and may be the better, for knowing one + day what I am now about to trust to your ear alone.” + </p> + <p> + My brother never again alluded to the narrative which he had confided to + me, until the later time when I was sitting by his deathbed. He asked if I + still remembered the story of Jéromette. “Tell it to others,” he said, “as + I have told it to you.” + </p> + <p> + I repeat it after his death—as nearly as I can in his own words. + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + ON a fine summer evening, many years since, I left my chambers in the + Temple, to meet a fellow-student, who had proposed to me a night’s + amusement in the public gardens at Cremorne. + </p> + <p> + You were then on your way to India; and I had taken my degree at Oxford. I + had sadly disappointed my father by choosing the Law as my profession, in + preference to the Church. At that time, to own the truth, I had no serious + intention of following any special vocation. I simply wanted an excuse for + enjoying the pleasures of a London life. The study of the Law supplied me + with that excuse. And I chose the Law as my profession accordingly. + </p> + <p> + On reaching the place at which we had arranged to meet, I found that my + friend had not kept his appointment. After waiting vainly for ten minutes, + my patience gave way and I went into the Gardens by myself. + </p> + <p> + I took two or three turns round the platform devoted to the dancers + without discovering my fellow-student, and without seeing any other person + with whom I happened to be acquainted at that time. + </p> + <p> + For some reason which I cannot now remember, I was not in my usual good + spirits that evening. The noisy music jarred on my nerves, the sight of + the gaping crowd round the platform irritated me, the blandishments of the + painted ladies of the profession of pleasure saddened and disgusted me. I + opened my cigar-case, and turned aside into one of the quiet by-walks of + the Gardens. + </p> + <p> + A man who is habitually careful in choosing his cigar has this advantage + over a man who is habitually careless. He can always count on smoking the + best cigar in his case, down to the last. I was still absorbed in choosing + <i>my</i> cigar, when I heard these words behind me—spoken in a + foreign accent and in a woman’s voice: + </p> + <p> + “Leave me directly, sir! I wish to have nothing to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + I turned round and discovered a little lady very simply and tastefully + dressed, who looked both angry and alarmed as she rapidly passed me on her + way to the more frequented part of the Gardens. A man (evidently the worse + for the wine he had drunk in the course of the evening) was following her, + and was pressing his tipsy attentions on her with the coarsest insolence + of speech and manner. She was young and pretty, and she cast one + entreating look at me as she went by, which it was not in manhood—perhaps + I ought to say, in young-manhood—to resist. + </p> + <p> + I instantly stepped forward to protect her, careless whether I involved + myself in a discreditable quarrel with a blackguard or not. As a matter of + course, the fellow resented my interference, and my temper gave way. + Fortunately for me, just as I lifted my hand to knock him down, a + policeman appeared who had noticed that he was drunk, and who settled the + dispute officially by turning him out of the Gardens. + </p> + <p> + I led her away from the crowd that had collected. She was evidently + frightened—I felt her hand trembling on my arm—but she had one + great merit; she made no fuss about it. + </p> + <p> + “If I can sit down for a few minutes,” she said in her pretty foreign + accent, “I shall soon be myself again, and I shall not trespass any + further on your kindness. I thank you very much, sir, for taking care of + me.” + </p> + <p> + We sat down on a bench in a retired part of the Gardens, near a little + fountain. A row of lighted lamps ran round the outer rim of the basin. I + could see her plainly. + </p> + <p> + I have said that she was “a little lady.” I could not have described her + more correctly in three words. + </p> + <p> + Her figure was slight and small: she was a well-made miniature of a woman + from head to foot. Her hair and her eyes were both dark. The hair curled + naturally; the expression of the eyes was quiet, and rather sad; the + complexion, as I then saw it, very pale; the little mouth perfectly + charming. I was especially attracted, I remembered, by the carriage of her + head; it was strikingly graceful and spirited; it distinguished her, + little as she was and quiet as she was, among the thousands of other women + in the Gardens, as a creature apart. Even the one marked defect in her—a + slight “cast” in the left eye—seemed to add, in some strange way, to + the quaint attractiveness of her face. I have already spoken of the + tasteful simplicity of her dress. I ought now to add that it was not made + of any costly material, and that she wore no jewels or ornaments of any + sort. My little lady was not rich; even a man’s eye could see that. + </p> + <p> + She was perfectly unembarrassed and unaffected. We fell as easily into + talk as if we had been friends instead of strangers. + </p> + <p> + I asked how it was that she had no companion to take care of her. “You are + too young and too pretty,” I said in my blunt English way, “to trust + yourself alone in such a place as this.” + </p> + <p> + She took no notice of the compliment. She calmly put it away from her as + if it had not reached her ears. + </p> + <p> + “I have no friend to take care of me,” she said simply. “I was sad and + sorry this evening, all by myself, and I thought I would go to the Gardens + and hear the music, just to amuse me. It is not much to pay at the gate; + only a shilling.” + </p> + <p> + “No friend to take care of you?” I repeated. “Surely there must be one + happy man who might have been here with you to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “What man do you mean?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “The man,” I answered thoughtlessly, “whom we call, in England, a + Sweetheart.” + </p> + <p> + I would have given worlds to have recalled those foolish words the moment + they passed my lips. I felt that I had taken a vulgar liberty with her. + Her face saddened; her eyes dropped to the ground. I begged her pardon. + </p> + <p> + “There is no need to beg my pardon,” she said. “If you wish to know, sir—yes, + I had once a sweetheart, as you call it in England. He has gone away and + left me. No more of him, if you please. I am rested now. I will thank you + again, and go home.” + </p> + <p> + She rose to leave me. + </p> + <p> + I was determined not to part with her in that way. I begged to be allowed + to see her safely back to her own door. She hesitated. I took a man’s + unfair advantage of her, by appealing to her fears. I said, “Suppose the + blackguard who annoyed you should be waiting outside the gates?” That + decided her. She took my arm. We went away together by the bank of the + Thames, in the balmy summer night. + </p> + <p> + A walk of half an hour brought us to the house in which she lodged—a + shabby little house in a by-street, inhabited evidently by very poor + people. + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand at the door, and wished me good-night. I was too + much interested in her to consent to leave my little foreign lady without + the hope of seeing her again. I asked permission to call on her the next + day. We were standing under the light of the street-lamp. She studied my + face with a grave and steady attention before she made any reply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said at last. “I think I do know a gentleman when I see him. + You may come, sir, if you please, and call upon me to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + So we parted. So I entered—doubting nothing, foreboding nothing—on + a scene in my life which I now look back on with unfeigned repentance and + regret. + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + I AM speaking at this later time in the position of a clergyman, and in + the character of a man of mature age. Remember that; and you will + understand why I pass as rapidly as possible over the events of the next + year of my life—why I say as little as I can of the errors and the + delusions of my youth. + </p> + <p> + I called on her the next day. I repeated my visits during the days and + weeks that followed, until the shabby little house in the by-street had + become a second and (I say it with shame and self-reproach) a dearer home + to me. + </p> + <p> + All of herself and her story which she thought fit to confide to me under + these circumstances may be repeated to you in few words. + </p> + <p> + The name by which letters were addressed to her was “Mademoiselle + Jéromette.” Among the ignorant people of the house and the small tradesmen + of the neighborhood—who found her name not easy of pronunciation by + the average English tongue—she was known by the friendly nickname of + “The French Miss.” When I knew her, she was resigned to her lonely life + among strangers. Some years had elapsed since she had lost her parents, + and had left France. Possessing a small, very small, income of her own, + she added to it by coloring miniatures for the photographers. She had + relatives still living in France; but she had long since ceased to + correspond with them. “Ask me nothing more about my family,” she used to + say. “I am as good as dead in my own country and among my own people.” + </p> + <p> + This was all—literally all—that she told me of herself. I have + never discovered more of her sad story from that day to this. + </p> + <p> + She never mentioned her family name—never even told me what part of + France she came from or how long she had lived in England. That she was by + birth and breeding a lady, I could entertain no doubt; her manners, her + accomplishments, her ways of thinking and speaking, all proved it. Looking + below the surface, her character showed itself in aspects not common among + young women in these days. In her quiet way she was an incurable fatalist, + and a firm believer in the ghostly reality of apparitions from the dead. + Then again in the matter of money, she had strange views of her own. + Whenever my purse was in my hand, she held me resolutely at a distance + from first to last. She refused to move into better apartments; the shabby + little house was clean inside, and the poor people who lived in it were + kind to her—and that was enough. The most expensive present that she + ever permitted me to offer her was a little enameled ring, the plainest + and cheapest thing of the kind in the jeweler’s shop. In all relations + with me she was sincerity itself. On all occasions, and under all + circumstances, she spoke her mind (as the phrase is) with the same + uncompromising plainness. + </p> + <p> + “I like you,” she said to me; “I respect you; I shall always be faithful + to you while you are faithful to me. But my love has gone from me. There + is another man who has taken it away with him, I know not where.” + </p> + <p> + Who was the other man? + </p> + <p> + She refused to tell me. She kept his rank and his name strict secrets from + me. I never discovered how he had met with her, or why he had left her, or + whether the guilt was his of making of her an exile from her country and + her friends. She despised herself for still loving him; but the passion + was too strong for her—she owned it and lamented it with the + frankness which was so preeminently a part of her character. More than + this, she plainly told me, in the early days of our acquaintance, that she + believed he would return to her. It might be to-morrow, or it might be + years hence. Even if he failed to repent of his own cruel conduct, the man + would still miss her, as something lost out of his life; and, sooner or + later, he would come back. + </p> + <p> + “And will you receive him if he does come back?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I shall receive him,” she replied, “against my own better judgment—in + spite of my own firm persuasion that the day of his return to me will + bring with it the darkest days of my life.” + </p> + <p> + I tried to remonstrate with her. + </p> + <p> + “You have a will of your own,” I said. “Exert it if he attempts to return + to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no will of my own,” she answered quietly, “where <i>he</i> is + concerned. It is my misfortune to love him.” Her eyes rested for a moment + on mine, with the utter self-abandonment of despair. “We have said enough + about this,” she added abruptly. “Let us say no more.” + </p> + <p> + From that time we never spoke again of the unknown man. During the year + that followed our first meeting, she heard nothing of him directly or + indirectly. He might be living, or he might be dead. There came no word of + him, or from him. I was fond enough of her to be satisfied with this—he + never disturbed us. + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + THE year passed—and the end came. Not the end as you may have + anticipated it, or as I might have foreboded it. + </p> + <p> + You remember the time when your letters from home informed you of the + fatal termination of our mother’s illness? It is the time of which I am + now speaking. A few hours only before she breathed her last, she called me + to her bedside, and desired that we might be left together alone. + Reminding me that her death was near, she spoke of my prospects in life; + she noticed my want of interest in the studies which were then supposed to + be engaging my attention, and she ended by entreating me to reconsider my + refusal to enter the Church. + </p> + <p> + “Your father’s heart is set upon it,” she said. “Do what I ask of you, my + dear, and you will help to comfort him when I am gone.” + </p> + <p> + Her strength failed her: she could say no more. Could I refuse the last + request she would ever make to me? I knelt at the bedside, and took her + wasted hand in mine, and solemnly promised her the respect which a son + owes to his mother’s last wishes. + </p> + <p> + Having bound myself by this sacred engagement, I had no choice but to + accept the sacrifice which it imperatively exacted from me. The time had + come when I must tear myself free from all unworthy associations. No + matter what the effort cost me, I must separate myself at once and forever + from the unhappy woman who was not, who never could be, my wife. + </p> + <p> + At the close of a dull foggy day I set forth with a heavy heart to say the + words which were to part us forever. + </p> + <p> + Her lodging was not far from the banks of the Thames. As I drew near the + place the darkness was gathering, and the broad surface of the river was + hidden from me in a chill white mist. I stood for a while, with my eyes + fixed on the vaporous shroud that brooded over the flowing water—I + stood and asked myself in despair the one dreary question: “What am I to + say to her?” + </p> + <p> + The mist chilled me to the bones. I turned from the river-bank, and made + my way to her lodgings hard by. “It must be done!” I said to myself, as I + took out my key and opened the house door. + </p> + <p> + She was not at her work, as usual, when I entered her little sitting-room. + She was standing by the fire, with her head down and with an open letter + in her hand. + </p> + <p> + The instant she turned to meet me, I saw in her face that something was + wrong. Her ordinary manner was the manner of an unusually placid and + self-restrained person. Her temperament had little of the liveliness which + we associate in England with the French nature. She was not ready with her + laugh; and in all my previous experience, I had never yet known her to + cry. Now, for the first time, I saw the quiet face disturbed; I saw tears + in the pretty brown eyes. She ran to meet me, and laid her head on my + breast, and burst into a passionate fit of weeping that shook her from + head to foot. + </p> + <p> + Could she by any human possibility have heard of the coming change in my + life? Was she aware, before I had opened my lips, of the hard necessity + which had brought me to the house? + </p> + <p> + It was simply impossible; the thing could not be. + </p> + <p> + I waited until her first burst of emotion had worn itself out. Then I + asked—with an uneasy conscience, with a sinking heart—what had + happened to distress her. + </p> + <p> + She drew herself away from me, sighing heavily, and gave me the open + letter which I had seen in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Read that,” she said. “And remember I told you what might happen when we + first met.” + </p> + <p> + I read the letter. + </p> + <p> + It was signed in initials only; but the writer plainly revealed himself as + the man who had deserted her. He had repented; he had returned to her. In + proof of his penitence he was willing to do her the justice which he had + hitherto refused—he was willing to marry her, on the condition that + she would engage to keep the marriage a secret, so long as his parents + lived. Submitting this proposal, he waited to know whether she would + consent, on her side, to forgive and forget. + </p> + <p> + I gave her back the letter in silence. This unknown rival had done me the + service of paving the way for our separation. In offering her the + atonement of marriage, he had made it, on my part, a matter of duty to <i>her</i>, + as well as to myself, to say the parting words. I felt this instantly. And + yet, I hated him for helping me. + </p> + <p> + She took my hand, and led me to the sofa. We sat down, side by side. Her + face was composed to a sad tranquillity. She was quiet; she was herself + again. + </p> + <p> + “I have refused to see him,” she said, “until I had first spoken to you. + You have read his letter. What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + I could make but one answer. It was my duty to tell her what my own + position was in the plainest terms. I did my duty—leaving her free + to decide on the future for herself. Those sad words said, it was useless + to prolong the wretchedness of our separation. I rose, and took her hand + for the last time. + </p> + <p> + I see her again now, at that final moment, as plainly as if it had + happened yesterday. She had been suffering from an affection of the + throat; and she had a white silk handkerchief tied loosely round her neck. + She wore a simple dress of purple merino, with a black-silk apron over it. + Her face was deadly pale; her fingers felt icily cold as they closed round + my hand. + </p> + <p> + “Promise me one thing,” I said, “before I go. While I live, I am your + friend—if I am nothing more. If you are ever in trouble, promise + that you will let me know it.” + </p> + <p> + She started, and drew back from me as if I had struck her with a sudden + terror. + </p> + <p> + “Strange!” she said, speaking to herself. “<i>He</i> feels as I feel. He + is afraid of what may happen to me, in my life to come.” + </p> + <p> + I attempted to reassure her. I tried to tell her what was indeed the truth—that + I had only been thinking of the ordinary chances and changes of life, when + I spoke. + </p> + <p> + She paid no heed to me; she came back and put her hands on my shoulders + and thoughtfully and sadly looked up in my face. + </p> + <p> + “My mind is not your mind in this matter,” she said. “I once owned to you + that I had my forebodings, when we first spoke of this man’s return. I may + tell you now, more than I told you then. I believe I shall die young, and + die miserably. If I am right, have you interest enough still left in me to + wish to hear of it?” + </p> + <p> + She paused, shuddering—and added these startling words: + </p> + <p> + “You <i>shall</i> hear of it.” + </p> + <p> + The tone of steady conviction in which she spoke alarmed and distressed + me. My face showed her how deeply and how painfully I was affected. + </p> + <p> + “There, there!” she said, returning to her natural manner; “don’t take + what I say too seriously. A poor girl who has led a lonely life like mine + thinks strangely and talks strangely—sometimes. Yes; I give you my + promise. If I am ever in trouble, I will let you know it. God bless you—you + have been very kind to me—good-by!” + </p> + <p> + A tear dropped on my face as she kissed me. The door closed between us. + The dark street received me. + </p> + <p> + It was raining heavily. I looked up at her window, through the drifting + shower. The curtains were parted: she was standing in the gap, dimly lit + by the lamp on the table behind her, waiting for our last look at each + other. Slowly lifting her hand, she waved her farewell at the window, with + the unsought native grace which had charmed me on the night when we first + met. The curtain fell again—she disappeared—nothing was before + me, nothing was round me, but the darkness and the night. + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + IN two years from that time, I had redeemed the promise given to my mother + on her deathbed. I had entered the Church. + </p> + <p> + My father’s interest made my first step in my new profession an easy one. + After serving my preliminary apprenticeship as a curate, I was appointed, + before I was thirty years of age, to a living in the West of England. + </p> + <p> + My new benefice offered me every advantage that I could possibly desire—with + the one exception of a sufficient income. Although my wants were few, and + although I was still an unmarried man, I found it desirable, on many + accounts, to add to my resources. Following the example of other young + clergymen in my position, I determined to receive pupils who might stand + in need of preparation for a career at the Universities. My relatives + exerted themselves; and my good fortune still befriended me. I obtained + two pupils to start with. A third would complete the number which I was at + present prepared to receive. In course of time, this third pupil made his + appearance, under circumstances sufficiently remarkable to merit being + mentioned in detail. + </p> + <p> + It was the summer vacation; and my two pupils had gone home. Thanks to a + neighboring clergyman, who kindly undertook to perform my duties for me, I + too obtained a fortnight’s holiday, which I spent at my father’s house in + London. + </p> + <p> + During my sojourn in the metropolis, I was offered an opportunity of + preaching in a church, made famous by the eloquence of one of the popular + pulpit-orators of our time. In accepting the proposal, I felt naturally + anxious to do my best, before the unusually large and unusually + intelligent congregation which would be assembled to hear me. + </p> + <p> + At the period of which I am now speaking, all England had been startled by + the discovery of a terrible crime, perpetrated under circumstances of + extreme provocation. I chose this crime as the main subject of my sermon. + Admitting that the best among us were frail mortal creatures, subject to + evil promptings and provocations like the worst among us, my object was to + show how a Christian man may find his certain refuge from temptation in + the safeguards of his religion. I dwelt minutely on the hardship of the + Christian’s first struggle to resist the evil influence—on the help + which his Christianity inexhaustibly held out to him in the worst relapses + of the weaker and viler part of his nature—on the steady and certain + gain which was the ultimate reward of his faith and his firmness—and + on the blessed sense of peace and happiness which accompanied the final + triumph. Preaching to this effect, with the fervent conviction which I + really felt, I may say for myself, at least, that I did no discredit to + the choice which had placed me in the pulpit. I held the attention of my + congregation, from the first word to the last. + </p> + <p> + While I was resting in the vestry on the conclusion of the service, a note + was brought to me written in pencil. A member of my congregation—a + gentleman—wished to see me, on a matter of considerable importance + to himself. He would call on me at any place, and at any hour, which I + might choose to appoint. If I wished to be satisfied of his + respectability, he would beg leave to refer me to his father, with whose + name I might possibly be acquainted. + </p> + <p> + The name given in the reference was undoubtedly familiar to me, as the + name of a man of some celebrity and influence in the world of London. I + sent back my card, appointing an hour for the visit of my correspondent on + the afternoon of the next day. + </p> + <p> + VI. + </p> + <p> + THE stranger made his appearance punctually. I guessed him to be some two + or three years younger than myself. He was undeniably handsome; his + manners were the manners of a gentleman—and yet, without knowing + why, I felt a strong dislike to him the moment he entered the room. + </p> + <p> + After the first preliminary words of politeness had been exchanged between + us, my visitor informed me as follows of the object which he had in view. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you live in the country, sir?” he began. + </p> + <p> + “I live in the West of England,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Do you make a long stay in London?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I go back to my rectory to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask if you take pupils?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any vacancy?” + </p> + <p> + “I have one vacancy.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you object to let me go back with you to-morrow, as your pupil?” + </p> + <p> + The abruptness of the proposal took me by surprise. I hesitated. + </p> + <p> + In the first place (as I have already said), I disliked him. In the second + place, he was too old to be a fit companion for my other two pupils—both + lads in their teens. In the third place, he had asked me to receive him at + least three weeks before the vacation came to an end. I had my own + pursuits and amusements in prospect during that interval, and saw no + reason why I should inconvenience myself by setting them aside. + </p> + <p> + He noticed my hesitation, and did not conceal from me that I had + disappointed him. + </p> + <p> + “I have it very much at heart,” he said, “to repair without delay the time + that I have lost. My age is against me, I know. The truth is—I have + wasted my opportunities since I left school, and I am anxious, honestly + anxious, to mend my ways, before it is too late. I wish to prepare myself + for one of the Universities—I wish to show, if I can, that I am not + quite unworthy to inherit my father’s famous name. You are the man to help + me, if I can only persuade you to do it. I was struck by your sermon + yesterday; and, if I may venture to make the confession in your presence, + I took a strong liking to you. Will you see my father, before you decide + to say No? He will be able to explain whatever may seem strange in my + present application; and he will be happy to see you this afternoon, if + you can spare the time. As to the question of terms, I am quite sure it + can be settled to your entire satisfaction.” + </p> + <p> + He was evidently in earnest—gravely, vehemently in earnest. I + unwillingly consented to see his father. + </p> + <p> + Our interview was a long one. All my questions were answered fully and + frankly. + </p> + <p> + The young man had led an idle and desultory life. He was weary of it, and + ashamed of it. His disposition was a peculiar one. He stood sorely in need + of a guide, a teacher, and a friend, in whom he was disposed to confide. + If I disappointed the hopes which he had centered in me, he would be + discouraged, and he would relapse into the aimless and indolent existence + of which he was now ashamed. Any terms for which I might stipulate were at + my disposal if I would consent to receive him, for three months to begin + with, on trial. + </p> + <p> + Still hesitating, I consulted my father and my friends. + </p> + <p> + They were all of opinion (and justly of opinion so far) that the new + connection would be an excellent one for me. They all reproached me for + taking a purely capricious dislike to a well-born and well-bred young man, + and for permitting it to influence me, at the outset of my career, against + my own interests. Pressed by these considerations, I allowed myself to be + persuaded to give the new pupil a fair trial. He accompanied me, the next + day, on my way back to the rectory. + </p> + <p> + VII. + </p> + <p> + LET me be careful to do justice to a man whom I personally disliked. My + senior pupil began well: he produced a decidedly favorable impression on + the persons attached to my little household. + </p> + <p> + The women, especially, admired his beautiful light hair, his + crisply-curling beard, his delicate complexion, his clear blue eyes, and + his finely shaped hands and feet. Even the inveterate reserve in his + manner, and the downcast, almost sullen, look which had prejudiced <i>me</i> + against him, aroused a common feeling of romantic enthusiasm in my + servants’ hall. It was decided, on the high authority of the housekeeper + herself, that “the new gentleman” was in love—and, more interesting + still, that he was the victim of an unhappy attachment which had driven + him away from his friends and his home. + </p> + <p> + For myself, I tried hard, and tried vainly, to get over my first dislike + to the senior pupil. + </p> + <p> + I could find no fault with him. All his habits were quiet and regular; and + he devoted himself conscientiously to his reading. But, little by little, + I became satisfied that his heart was not in his studies. More than this, + I had my reasons for suspecting that he was concealing something from me, + and that he felt painfully the reserve on his own part which he could not, + or dared not, break through. There were moments when I almost doubted + whether he had not chosen my remote country rectory as a safe place of + refuge from some person or persons of whom he stood in dread. + </p> + <p> + For example, his ordinary course of proceeding, in the matter of his + correspondence, was, to say the least of it, strange. + </p> + <p> + He received no letters at my house. They waited for him at the village + post office. He invariably called for them himself, and invariably forbore + to trust any of my servants with his own letters for the post. Again, when + we were out walking together, I more than once caught him looking + furtively over his shoulder, as if he suspected some person of following + him, for some evil purpose. Being constitutionally a hater of mysteries, I + determined, at an early stage of our intercourse, on making an effort to + clear matters up. There might be just a chance of my winning the senior + pupil’s confidence, if I spoke to him while the last days of the summer + vacation still left us alone together in the house. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me for noticing it,” I said to him one morning, while we were + engaged over our books—“I cannot help observing that you appear to + have some trouble on your mind. Is it indiscreet, on my part, to ask if I + can be of any use to you?” + </p> + <p> + He changed color—looked up at me quickly—looked down again at + his book—struggled hard with some secret fear or secret reluctance + that was in him—and suddenly burst out with this extraordinary + question: “I suppose you were in earnest when you preached that sermon in + London?” + </p> + <p> + “I am astonished that you should doubt it,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + He paused again; struggled with himself again; and startled me by a second + outbreak, even stranger than the first. + </p> + <p> + “I am one of the people you preached at in your sermon,” he said. “That’s + the true reason why I asked you to take me for your pupil. Don’t turn me + out! When you talked to your congregation of tortured and tempted people, + you talked of Me.” + </p> + <p> + I was so astonished by the confession, that I lost my presence of mind. + For the moment, I was unable to answer him. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t turn me out!” he repeated. “Help me against myself. I am telling + you the truth. As God is my witness, I am telling you the truth!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me the <i>whole</i> truth,” I said; “and rely on my consoling and + helping you—rely on my being your friend.” + </p> + <p> + In the fervor of the moment, I took his hand. It lay cold and still in + mine; it mutely warned me that I had a sullen and a secret nature to deal + with. + </p> + <p> + “There must be no concealment between us,” I resumed. “You have entered my + house, by your own confession, under false pretenses. It is your duty to + me, and your duty to yourself, to speak out.” + </p> + <p> + The man’s inveterate reserve—cast off for the moment only—renewed + its hold on him. He considered, carefully considered, his next words + before he permitted them to pass his lips. + </p> + <p> + “A person is in the way of my prospects in life,” he began slowly, with + his eyes cast down on his book. “A person provokes me horribly. I feel + dreadful temptations (like the man you spoke of in your sermon) when I am + in the person’s company. Teach me to resist temptation. I am afraid of + myself, if I see the person again. You are the only man who can help me. + Do it while you can.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, and passed his handkerchief over his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Will that do?” he asked—still with his eyes on his book. + </p> + <p> + “It will <i>not</i> do,” I answered. “You are so far from really opening + your heart to me, that you won’t even let me know whether it is a man or a + woman who stands in the way of your prospects in life. You used the word + ‘person,’ over and over again—rather than say ‘he’ or ‘she’ when you + speak of the provocation which is trying you. How can I help a man who has + so little confidence in me as that?” + </p> + <p> + My reply evidently found him at the end of his resources. He tried, tried + desperately, to say more than he had said yet. No! The words seemed to + stick in his throat. Not one of them would pass his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Give me time,” he pleaded piteously. “I can’t bring myself to it, all at + once. I mean well. Upon my soul, I mean well. But I am slow at this sort + of thing. Wait till to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + To-morrow came—and again he put it off. + </p> + <p> + “One more day!” he said. “You don’t know how hard it is to speak plainly. + I am half afraid; I am half ashamed. Give me one more day.” + </p> + <p> + I had hitherto only disliked him. Try as I might (and did) to make + merciful allowance for his reserve, I began to despise him now. + </p> + <p> + VIII. + </p> + <p> + THE day of the deferred confession came, and brought an event with it, for + which both he and I were alike unprepared. Would he really have confided + in me but for that event? He must either have done it, or have abandoned + the purpose which had led him into my house. + </p> + <p> + We met as usual at the breakfast-table. My housekeeper brought in my + letters of the morning. To my surprise, instead of leaving the room again + as usual, she walked round to the other side of the table, and laid a + letter before my senior pupil—the first letter, since his residence + with me, which had been delivered to him under my roof. + </p> + <p> + He started, and took up the letter. He looked at the address. A spasm of + suppressed fury passed across his face; his breath came quickly; his hand + trembled as it held the letter. So far, I said nothing. I waited to see + whether he would open the envelope in my presence or not. + </p> + <p> + He was afraid to open it in my presence. He got on his feet; he said, in + tones so low that I could barely hear him: “Please excuse me for a minute”—and + left the room. + </p> + <p> + I waited for half an hour—for a quarter of an hour after that—and + then I sent to ask if he had forgotten his breakfast. + </p> + <p> + In a minute more, I heard his footstep in the hall. He opened the + breakfast-room door, and stood on the threshold, with a small + traveling-bag in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” he said, still standing at the door. “I must ask for + leave of absence for a day or two. Business in London.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I be of any use?” I asked. “I am afraid your letter has brought you + bad news?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said shortly. “Bad news. I have no time for breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a few minutes,” I urged. “Wait long enough to treat me like your + friend—to tell me what your trouble is before you go.” + </p> + <p> + He made no reply. He stepped into the hall and closed the door—then + opened it again a little way, without showing himself. + </p> + <p> + “Business in London,” he repeated—as if he thought it highly + important to inform me of the nature of his errand. The door closed for + the second time. He was gone. + </p> + <p> + I went into my study, and carefully considered what had happened. + </p> + <p> + The result of my reflections is easily described. I determined on + discontinuing my relations with my senior pupil. In writing to his father + (which I did, with all due courtesy and respect, by that day’s post), I + mentioned as my reason for arriving at this decision:—First, that I + had found it impossible to win the confidence of his son. Secondly, that + his son had that morning suddenly and mysteriously left my house for + London, and that I must decline accepting any further responsibility + toward him, as the necessary consequence. + </p> + <p> + I had put my letter in the post-bag, and was beginning to feel a little + easier after having written it, when my housekeeper appeared in the study, + with a very grave face, and with something hidden apparently in her closed + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Would you please look, sir, at what we have found in the gentleman’s + bedroom, since he went away this morning?” + </p> + <p> + I knew the housekeeper to possess a woman’s full share of that amicable + weakness of the sex which goes by the name of “Curiosity.” I had also, in + various indirect ways, become aware that my senior pupil’s strange + departure had largely increased the disposition among the women of my + household to regard him as the victim of an unhappy attachment. The time + was ripe, as it seemed to me, for checking any further gossip about him, + and any renewed attempts at prying into his affairs in his absence. + </p> + <p> + “Your only business in my pupil’s bedroom,” I said to the housekeeper, “is + to see that it is kept clean, and that it is properly aired. There must be + no interference, if you please, with his letters, or his papers, or with + anything else that he has left behind him. Put back directly whatever you + may have found in his room.” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper had her full share of a woman’s temper as well as of a + woman’s curiosity. She listened to me with a rising color, and a just + perceptible toss of the head. + </p> + <p> + “Must I put it back, sir, on the floor, between the bed and the wall?” she + inquired, with an ironical assumption of the humblest deference to my + wishes. “<i>That’s</i> where the girl found it when she was sweeping the + room. Anybody can see for themselves,” pursued the housekeeper + indignantly, “that the poor gentleman has gone away broken-hearted. And + there, in my opinion, is the hussy who is the cause of it!” + </p> + <p> + With those words, she made me a low curtsey, and laid a small photographic + portrait on the desk at which I was sitting. + </p> + <p> + I looked at the photograph. + </p> + <p> + In an instant, my heart was beating wildly—my head turned giddy—the + housekeeper, the furniture, the walls of the room, all swayed and whirled + round me. + </p> + <p> + The portrait that had been found in my senior pupil’s bedroom was the + portrait of Jéromette! + </p> + <p> + IX. + </p> + <p> + I HAD sent the housekeeper out of my study. I was alone, with the + photograph of the Frenchwoman on my desk. + </p> + <p> + There could surely be little doubt about the discovery that had burst upon + me. The man who had stolen his way into my house, driven by the terror of + a temptation that he dared not reveal, and the man who had been my unknown + rival in the by-gone time, were one and the same! + </p> + <p> + Recovering self-possession enough to realize this plain truth, the + inferences that followed forced their way into my mind as a matter of + course. The unnamed person who was the obstacle to my pupil’s prospects in + life, the unnamed person in whose company he was assailed by temptations + which made him tremble for himself, stood revealed to me now as being, in + all human probability, no other than Jéromette. Had she bound him in the + fetters of the marriage which he had himself proposed? Had she discovered + his place of refuge in my house? And was the letter that had been + delivered to him of her writing? Assuming these questions to be answered + in the affirmative, what, in that case, was his “business in London”? I + remembered how he had spoken to me of his temptations, I recalled the + expression that had crossed his face when he recognized the handwriting on + the letter—and the conclusion that followed literally shook me to + the soul. Ordering my horse to be saddled, I rode instantly to the + railway-station. + </p> + <p> + The train by which he had traveled to London had reached the terminus + nearly an hour since. The one useful course that I could take, by way of + quieting the dreadful misgivings crowding one after another on my mind, + was to telegraph to Jéromette at the address at which I had last seen her. + I sent the subjoined message—prepaying the reply: + </p> + <p> + “If you are in any trouble, telegraph to me. I will be with you by the + first train. Answer, in any case.” + </p> + <p> + There was nothing in the way of the immediate dispatch of my message. And + yet the hours passed, and no answer was received. By the advice of the + clerk, I sent a second telegram to the London office, requesting an + explanation. The reply came back in these terms: + </p> + <p> + “Improvements in street. Houses pulled down. No trace of person named in + telegram.” + </p> + <p> + I mounted my horse, and rode back slowly to the rectory. + </p> + <p> + “The day of his return to me will bring with it the darkest days of my + life.”..... “I shall die young, and die miserably. Have you interest + enough still left in me to wish to hear of it?” .... “You <i> shall</i> + hear of it.” Those words were in my memory while I rode home in the + cloudless moonlight night. They were so vividly present to me that I could + hear again her pretty foreign accent, her quiet clear tones, as she spoke + them. For the rest, the emotions of that memorable day had worn me out. + The answer from the telegraph office had struck me with a strange and + stony despair. My mind was a blank. I had no thoughts. I had no tears. + </p> + <p> + I was about half-way on my road home, and I had just heard the clock of a + village church strike ten, when I became conscious, little by little, of a + chilly sensation slowly creeping through and through me to the bones. The + warm, balmy air of a summer night was abroad. It was the month of July. In + the month of July, was it possible that any living creature (in good + health) could feel cold? It was <i>not</i> possible—and yet, the + chilly sensation still crept through and through me to the bones. + </p> + <p> + I looked up. I looked all round me. + </p> + <p> + My horse was walking along an open highroad. Neither trees nor waters were + near me. On either side, the flat fields stretched away bright and broad + in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + I stopped my horse, and looked round me again. + </p> + <p> + Yes: I saw it. With my own eyes I saw it. A pillar of white mist—between + five and six feet high, as well as I could judge—was moving beside + me at the edge of the road, on my left hand. When I stopped, the white + mist stopped. When I went on, the white mist went on. I pushed my horse to + a trot—the pillar of mist was with me. I urged him to a gallop—-the + pillar of mist was with me. I stopped him again—the pillar of mist + stood still. + </p> + <p> + The white color of it was the white color of the fog which I had seen over + the river—on the night when I had gone to bid her farewell. And the + chill which had then crept through me to the bones was the chill that was + creeping through me now. + </p> + <p> + I went on again slowly. The white mist went on again slowly—with the + clear bright night all round it. + </p> + <p> + I was awed rather than frightened. There was one moment, and one only, + when the fear came to me that my reason might be shaken. I caught myself + keeping time to the slow tramp of the horse’s feet with the slow + utterances of these words, repeated over and over again: “Jéromette is + dead. Jéromette is dead.” But my will was still my own: I was able to + control myself, to impose silence on my own muttering lips. And I rode on + quietly. And the pillar of mist went quietly with me. + </p> + <p> + My groom was waiting for my return at the rectory gate. I pointed to the + mist, passing through the gate with me. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see anything there?” I said. + </p> + <p> + The man looked at me in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + I entered the rectory. The housekeeper met me in the hall. I pointed to + the mist, entering with me. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see anything at my side?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper looked at me as the groom had looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid you are not well, sir,” she said. “Your color is all gone—you + are shivering. Let me get you a glass of wine.” + </p> + <p> + I went into my study, on the ground-floor, and took the chair at my desk. + The photograph still lay where I had left it. The pillar of mist floated + round the table, and stopped opposite to me, behind the photograph. + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper brought in the wine. I put the glass to my lips, and set + it down again. The chill of the mist was in the wine. There was no taste, + no reviving spirit in it. The presence of the housekeeper oppressed me. My + dog had followed her into the room. The presence of the animal oppressed + me. I said to the woman: “Leave me by myself, and take the dog with you.” + </p> + <p> + They went out, and left me alone in the room. + </p> + <p> + I sat looking at the pillar of mist, hovering opposite to me. + </p> + <p> + It lengthened slowly, until it reached to the ceiling. As it lengthened, + it grew bright and luminous. A time passed, and a shadowy appearance + showed itself in the center of the light. Little by little, the shadowy + appearance took the outline of a human form. Soft brown eyes, tender and + melancholy, looked at me through the unearthly light in the mist. The head + and the rest of the face broke next slowly on my view. Then the figure + gradually revealed itself, moment by moment, downward and downward to the + feet. She stood before me as I had last seen her, in her purple-merino + dress, with the black-silk apron, with the white handkerchief tied loosely + round her neck. She stood before me, in the gentle beauty that I + remembered so well; and looked at me as she had looked when she gave me + her last kiss—when her tears had dropped on my cheek. + </p> + <p> + I fell on my knees at the table. I stretched out my hands to her + imploringly. I said: “Speak to me—O, once again speak to me, + Jéromette.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes rested on me with a divine compassion in them. She lifted her + hand, and pointed to the photograph on my desk, with a gesture which bade + me turn the card. I turned it. The name of the man who had left my house + that morning was inscribed on it, in her own handwriting. + </p> + <p> + I looked up at her again, when I had read it. She lifted her hand once + more, and pointed to the handkerchief round her neck. As I looked at it, + the fair white silk changed horribly in color—the fair white silk + became darkened and drenched in blood. + </p> + <p> + A moment more—and the vision of her began to grow dim. By slow + degrees, the figure, then the face, faded back into the shadowy appearance + that I had first seen. The luminous inner light died out in the white + mist. The mist itself dropped slowly downward—floated a moment in + airy circles on the floor—vanished. Nothing was before me but the + familiar wall of the room, and the photograph lying face downward on my + desk. + </p> + <p> + X. + </p> + <p> + THE next day, the newspapers reported the discovery of a murder in London. + A Frenchwoman was the victim. She had been killed by a wound in the + throat. The crime had been discovered between ten and eleven o’clock on + the previous night. + </p> + <p> + I leave you to draw your conclusion from what I have related. My own faith + in the reality of the apparition is immovable. I say, and believe, that + Jéromette kept her word with me. She died young, and died miserably. And I + heard of it from herself. + </p> + <p> + Take up the Trial again, and look at the circumstances that were revealed + during the investigation in court. His motive for murdering her is there. + </p> + <p> + You will see that she did indeed marry him privately; that they lived + together contentedly, until the fatal day when she discovered that his + fancy had been caught by another woman; that violent quarrels took place + between them, from that time to the time when my sermon showed him his own + deadly hatred toward her, reflected in the case of another man; that she + discovered his place of retreat in my house, and threatened him by letter + with the public assertion of her conjugal rights; lastly, that a man, + variously described by different witnesses, was seen leaving the door of + her lodgings on the night of the murder. The Law—advancing no + further than this—may have discovered circumstances of suspicion, + but no certainty. The Law, in default of direct evidence to convict the + prisoner, may have rightly decided in letting him go free. + </p> + <p> + But <i>I</i> persisted in believing that the man was guilty. <i>I</i> + declare that he, and he alone, was the murderer of Jéromette. And now, you + know why. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MISS MINA AND THE GROOM + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> + <p> + I HEAR that the “shocking story of my conduct” was widely circulated at + the ball, and that public opinion (among the ladies), in every part of the + room, declared I had disgraced myself. But there was one dissentient voice + in this chorus of general condemnation. You spoke, Madam, with all the + authority of your wide celebrity and your high rank. You said: “I am + personally a stranger to the young lady who is the subject of remark. If I + venture to interfere, it is only to remind you that there are two sides to + every question. May I ask if you have waited to pass sentence, until you + have heard what the person accused has to say in her own defense?” + </p> + <p> + These just and generous words produced, if I am correctly informed, a dead + silence. Not one of the women who had condemned me had heard me in my own + defense. Not one of them ventured to answer you. + </p> + <p> + How I may stand in the opinions of such persons as these, is a matter of + perfect indifference to me. My one anxiety is to show that I am not quite + unworthy of your considerate interference in my favor. Will you honor me + by reading what I have to say for myself in these pages? + </p> + <p> + I will pass as rapidly as I can over the subject of my family; and I will + abstain (in deference to motives of gratitude and honor) from mentioning + surnames in my narrative. + </p> + <p> + My father was the second son of an English nobleman. A German lady was his + first wife, and my mother. Left a widower, he married for the second time; + the new wife being of American birth. She took a stepmother’s dislike to + me—which, in some degree at least, I must own that I deserved. + </p> + <p> + When the newly married pair went to the United States they left me in + England, by my own desire, to live under the protection of my uncle—a + General in the army. This good man’s marriage had been childless, and his + wife (Lady Claudia) was, perhaps on that account, as kindly ready as her + husband to receive me in the character of an adopted daughter. I may add + here, that I bear my German mother’s Christian name, Wilhelmina. All my + friends, in the days when I had friends, used to shorten this to Mina. Be + my friend so far, and call me Mina, too. + </p> + <p> + After these few words of introduction, will your patience bear with me, if + I try to make you better acquainted with my uncle and aunt, and if I + allude to circumstances connected with my new life which had, as I fear, + some influence in altering my character for the worse? + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + WHEN I think of the good General’s fatherly kindness to me, I really + despair of writing about him in terms that do justice to his nature. To + own the truth, the tears get into my eyes, and the lines mingle in such + confusion that I cannot read them myself. As for my relations with my + aunt, I only tell the truth when I say that she performed her duties + toward me without the slightest pretension, and in the most charming + manner. + </p> + <p> + At nearly fifty years old, Lady Claudia was still admired, though she had + lost the one attraction which distinguished her before my time—the + attraction of a perfectly beautiful figure. With fine hair and expressive + eyes, she was otherwise a plain woman. Her unassuming cleverness and her + fascinating manners were the qualities no doubt which made her popular + everywhere. We never quarreled. Not because I was always amiable, but + because my aunt would not allow it. She managed me, as she managed her + husband, with perfect tact. With certain occasional checks, she absolutely + governed the General. There were eccentricities in his character which + made him a man easily ruled by a clever woman. Deferring to his opinion, + so far as appearances went, Lady Claudia generally contrived to get her + own way in the end. Except when he was at his Club, happy in his gossip, + his good dinners, and his whist, my excellent uncle lived under a + despotism, in the happy delusion that he was master in his own house. + </p> + <p> + Prosperous and pleasant as it appeared on the surface, my life had its sad + side for a young woman. + </p> + <p> + In the commonplace routine of our existence, as wealthy people in the + upper rank, there was nothing to ripen the growth of any better capacities + which may have been in my nature. Heartily as I loved and admired my + uncle, he was neither of an age nor of a character to be the chosen + depositary of my most secret thoughts, the friend of my inmost heart who + could show me how to make the best and the most of my life. With friends + and admirers in plenty, I had found no one who could hold this position + toward me. In the midst of society I was, unconsciously, a lonely woman. + </p> + <p> + As I remember them, my hours of happiness were the hours when I took + refuge in my music and my books. Out of the house, my one diversion, + always welcome and always fresh, was riding. Without, any false modesty, I + may mention that I had lovers as well as admirers; but not one of them + produced an impression on my heart. In all that related to the tender + passion, as it is called, I was an undeveloped being. The influence that + men have on women, <i>because</i> they are men, was really and truly a + mystery to me. I was ashamed of my own coldness—I tried, honestly + tried, to copy other girls; to feel my heart beating in the presence of + the one chosen man. It was not to be done. When a man pressed my hand, I + felt it in my rings, instead of my heart. + </p> + <p> + These confessions made, I have done with the past, and may now relate the + events which my enemies, among the ladies, have described as presenting a + shocking story. + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + WE were in London for the season. One morning, I went out riding with my + uncle, as usual, in Hyde Park. + </p> + <p> + The General’s service in the army had been in a cavalry regiment—service + distinguished by merits which justified his rapid rise to the high places + in his profession. In the hunting-field, he was noted as one of the most + daring and most accomplished riders in our county. He had always delighted + in riding young and high-spirited horses; and the habit remained with him + after he had quitted the active duties of his profession in later life. + From first to last he had met with no accident worth remembering, until + the unlucky morning when he went out with me. + </p> + <p> + His horse, a fiery chestnut, ran away with him, in that part of the + Park-ride called Rotten Row. With the purpose of keeping clear of other + riders, he spurred his runaway horse at the rail which divides the Row + from the grassy inclosure at its side. The terrified animal swerved in + taking the leap, and dashed him against a tree. He was dreadfully shaken + and injured; but his strong constitution carried him through to recovery—with + the serious drawback of an incurable lameness in one leg. + </p> + <p> + The doctors, on taking leave of their patient, united in warning him (at + his age, and bearing in mind his weakened leg) to ride no more restive + horses. “A quiet cob, General,” they all suggested. My uncle was sorely + mortified and offended. “If I am fit for nothing but a quiet cob,” he + said, bitterly, “I will ride no more.” He kept his word. No one ever saw + the General on horseback again. + </p> + <p> + Under these sad circumstances (and my aunt being no horsewoman), I had + apparently no other choice than to give up riding also. But my + kind-hearted uncle was not the man to let me be sacrificed to his own + disappointment. His riding-groom had been one of his soldier-servants in + the cavalry regiment—a quaint sour tempered old man, not at all the + sort of person to attend on a young lady taking her riding-exercise alone. + “We must find a smart fellow who can be trusted,” said the General. “I + shall inquire at the club.” + </p> + <p> + For a week afterward, a succession of grooms, recommended by friends, + applied for the vacant place. + </p> + <p> + The General found insurmountable objections to all of them. “I’ll tell you + what I have done,” he announced one day, with the air of a man who had hit + on a grand discovery; “I have advertised in the papers.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Claudia looked up from her embroidery with the placid smile that was + peculiar to her. “I don’t quite like advertising for a servant,” she said. + “You are at the mercy of a stranger; you don’t know that you are not + engaging a drunkard or a thief.” + </p> + <p> + “Or you may be deceived by a false character,” I added on my side. I + seldom ventured, at domestic consultations, on giving my opinion unasked—but + the new groom represented a subject in which I felt a strong personal + interest. In a certain sense, he was to be <i>my</i> groom. + </p> + <p> + “I’m much obliged to you both for warning me that I am so easy to + deceive,” the General remarked satirically. “Unfortunately, the mischief + is done. Three men have answered my advertisement already. I expect them + here tomorrow to be examined for the place.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Claudia looked up from her embroidery again. “Are you going to see + them yourself?” she asked softly. “I thought the steward—” + </p> + <p> + “I have hitherto considered myself a better judge of a groom than my + steward,” the General interposed. “However, don’t be alarmed; I won’t act + on my own sole responsibility, after the hint you have given me. You and + Mina shall lend me your valuable assistance, and discover whether they are + thieves, drunkards, and what not, before I feel the smallest suspicion of + it, myself.” + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + WE naturally supposed that the General was joking. No. This was one of + those rare occasions on which Lady Claudia’s tact—infallible in matters + of importance—proved to be at fault in a trifle. My uncle’s + self-esteem had been touched in a tender place; and he had resolved to + make us feel it. The next morning a polite message came, requesting our + presence in the library, to see the grooms. My aunt (always ready with her + smile, but rarely tempted into laughing outright) did for once laugh + heartily. “It is really too ridiculous!” she said. However, she pursued + her policy of always yielding, in the first instance. We went together to + the library. + </p> + <p> + The three grooms were received in the order in which they presented + themselves for approval. Two of them bore the ineffaceable mark of the + public-house so plainly written on their villainous faces, that even I + could see it. My uncle ironically asked us to favor him with our opinions. + Lady Claudia answered with her sweetest smile: “Pardon me, General—we + are here to learn.” The words were nothing; but the manner in which they + were spoken was perfect. Few men could have resisted that gentle influence—and + the General was not one of the few. He stroked his mustache, and returned + to his petticoat government. The two grooms were dismissed. + </p> + <p> + The entry of the third and last man took me completely by surprise. + </p> + <p> + If the stranger’s short coat and light trousers had not proclaimed his + vocation in life, I should have taken it for granted that there had been + some mistake, and that we were favored with a visit from a gentleman + unknown. He was between dark and light in complexion, with frank clear + blue eyes; quiet and intelligent, if appearances were to be trusted; easy + in his movements; respectful in his manner, but perfectly free from + servility. “I say!” the General blurted out, addressing my aunt + confidentially, “<i>he</i> looks as if he would do, doesn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + The appearance of the new man seemed to have had the same effect on Lady + Claudia which it had produced on me. But she got over her first feeling of + surprise sooner than I did. “You know best,” she answered, with the air of + a woman who declined to trouble herself by giving an opinion. + </p> + <p> + “Step forward, my man,” said the General. The groom advanced from the + door, bowed, and stopped at the foot of the table—my uncle sitting + at the head, with my aunt and myself on either side of him. The inevitable + questions began. + </p> + <p> + “What is your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Michael Bloomfield.” + </p> + <p> + “Your age?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-six.” + </p> + <p> + My aunt’s want of interest in the proceedings expressed itself by a little + weary sigh. She leaned back resignedly in her chair. + </p> + <p> + The General went on with his questions: “What experience have you had as a + groom?” + </p> + <p> + “I began learning my work, sir, before I was twelve years old.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! yes! I mean what private families have you served in?” + </p> + <p> + “Two, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “How long have you been in your two situations?” + </p> + <p> + “Four years in the first; and three in the second.” + </p> + <p> + The General looked agreeably surprised. “Seven years in only two + situations is a good character in itself,” he remarked. “Who are your + references?” + </p> + <p> + The groom laid two papers on the table. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t take written references,” said the General. + </p> + <p> + “Be pleased to read my papers, sir,” answered the groom. + </p> + <p> + My uncle looked sharply across the table. The groom sustained the look + with respectful but unshaken composure. The General took up the papers, + and seemed to be once more favorably impressed as he read them. “Personal + references in each case if required in support of strong written + recommendations from both his employers,” he informed my aunt. “Copy the + addresses, Mina. Very satisfactory, I must say. Don’t you think so + yourself?” he resumed, turning again to my aunt. + </p> + <p> + Lady Claudia replied by a courteous bend of her head. The General went on + with his questions. They related to the management of horses; and they + were answered to his complete satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Michael Bloomfield, you know your business,” he said, “and you have a + good character. Leave your address. When I have consulted your references, + you shall hear from me.” + </p> + <p> + The groom took out a blank card, and wrote his name and address on it. I + looked over my uncle’s shoulder when he received the card. Another + surprise! The handwriting was simply irreproachable—the lines + running perfectly straight, and every letter completely formed. As this + perplexing person made his modest bow, and withdrew, the General, struck + by an after-thought, called him back from the door. + </p> + <p> + “One thing more,” said my uncle. “About friends and followers? I consider + it my duty to my servants to allow them to see their relations; but I + expect them to submit to certain conditions in return—” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir,” the groom interposed. “I shall not give you any + trouble on that score. I have no relations.” + </p> + <p> + “No brothers or sisters?” asked the General. + </p> + <p> + “None, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Father and mother both dead?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know! What does that mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I am telling you the plain truth, sir. I never heard who my father and + mother were—and I don’t expect to hear now.” + </p> + <p> + He said those words with a bitter composure which impressed me painfully. + Lady Claudia was far from feeling it as I did. Her languid interest in the + engagement of the groom seemed to be completely exhausted—and that + was all. She rose, in her easy graceful way, and looked out of the window + at the courtyard and fountain, the house-dog in his kennel, and the box of + flowers in the coachman’s window. + </p> + <p> + In the meanwhile, the groom remained near the table, respectfully waiting + for his dismissal. The General spoke to him sharply, for the first time. I + could see that my good uncle had noticed the cruel tone of that passing + reference to the parents, and thought of it as I did. + </p> + <p> + “One word more, before you go,” he said. “If I don’t find you more + mercifully inclined toward my horses than you seem to be toward your + father and mother, you won’t remain long in my service. You might have + told me you had never heard who your parents were, without speaking as if + you didn’t care to hear.” + </p> + <p> + “May I say a bold word, sir, in my own defense?” + </p> + <p> + He put the question very quietly, but, at the same time, so firmly that he + even surprised my aunt. She looked round from the window—then turned + back again, and stretched out her hand toward the curtain, intending, as I + supposed, to alter the arrangement of it. The groom went on. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask, sir, why I should care about a father and mother who deserted + me? Mind what you are about, my lady!” he cried—suddenly addressing + my aunt. “There’s a cat in the folds of that curtain; she might frighten + you.” + </p> + <p> + He had barely said the words before the housekeeper’s large tabby cat, + taking its noonday siesta in the looped-up fold of the curtain, leaped out + and made for the door. + </p> + <p> + Lady Claudia was, naturally enough, a little perplexed by the man’s + discovery of an animal completely hidden in the curtain. She appeared to + think that a person who was only a groom had taken a liberty in presuming + to puzzle her. Like her husband, she spoke to Michael sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Did you see the cat?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how did you know the creature was in the curtain?” + </p> + <p> + For the first time since he had entered the room the groom looked a little + confused. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a sort of presumption for a man in my position to be subject to a + nervous infirmity,” he answered. “I am one of those persons (the weakness + is not uncommon, as your ladyship is aware) who know by their own + unpleasant sensations when a cat is in the room. It goes a little further + than that with me. The ‘antipathy,’ as the gentlefolks call it, tells me + in what part of the room the cat is.” + </p> + <p> + My aunt turned to her husband, without attempting to conceal that she took + no sort of interest in the groom’s antipathies. + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you done with the man yet?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + The General gave the groom his dismissal. + </p> + <p> + “You shall hear from me in three days’ time. Good-morning.” + </p> + <p> + Michael Bloomfield seemed to have noticed my aunt’s ungracious manner. He + looked at her for a moment with steady attention before he left the room. + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean to engage that man?” said Lady Claudia as the door closed. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked my uncle. + </p> + <p> + “I have taken a dislike to him.” + </p> + <p> + This short answer was so entirely out of the character of my aunt that the + General took her kindly by the hand, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid you are not well.” + </p> + <p> + She irritably withdrew her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t feel well. It doesn’t matter.” + </p> + <p> + “It does matter, Claudia. What can I do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Write to the man—” She paused and smiled contemptuously. “Imagine a + groom with an antipathy to cats!” she said, turning to me. “I don’t know + what you think, Mina. I have a strong objection, myself, to servants who + hold themselves above their position in life. Write,” she resumed, + addressing her husband, “and tell him to look for another place.” + </p> + <p> + “What objection can I make to him?” the General asked, helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! can’t you make an excuse? Say he is too young.” + </p> + <p> + My uncle looked at me in expressive silence—walked slowly to the + writing-table—and glanced at his wife, in the faint hope that she + might change her mind. Their eyes met—and she seemed to recover the + command of her temper. She put her hand caressingly on the General’s + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I remember the time,” she said, softly, “when any caprice of mine was a + command to you. Ah, I was younger then!” + </p> + <p> + The General’s reception of this little advance was thoroughly + characteristic of him. He first kissed Lady Claudia’s hand, and then he + wrote the letter. My aunt rewarded him by a look, and left the library. + </p> + <p> + “What the deuce is the matter with her?” my uncle said to me when we were + alone. “Do you dislike the man, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. As far as I can judge, he appears to be just the sort of + person we want.” + </p> + <p> + “And knows thoroughly well how to manage horses, my dear. What <i>can</i> + be your aunt’s objection to him?” + </p> + <p> + As the words passed his lips Lady Claudia opened the library door. + </p> + <p> + “I am so ashamed of myself,” she said, sweetly. “At my age, I have been + behaving like a spoiled child. How good you are to me, General! Let me try + to make amends for my misconduct. Will you permit me?” + </p> + <p> + She took up the General’s letter, without waiting for permission; tore it + to pieces, smiling pleasantly all the while; and threw the fragments into + the waste-paper basket. “As if you didn’t know better than I do!” she + said, kissing him on the forehead. “Engage the man by all means.” + </p> + <p> + She left the room for the second time. For the second time my uncle looked + at me in blank perplexity—and I looked back at him in the same + condition of mind. The sound of the luncheon bell was equally a relief to + both of us. Not a word more was spoken on the subject of the new groom. + His references were verified; and he entered the General’s service in + three days’ time. + </p> + <p> + VI. + </p> + <p> + ALWAYS careful in anything that concerned my welfare, no matter how + trifling it might be, my uncle did not trust me alone with the new groom + when he first entered our service. Two old friends of the General + accompanied me at his special request, and reported the man to be + perfectly competent and trustworthy. After that, Michael rode out with me + alone; my friends among young ladies seldom caring to accompany me, when I + abandoned the park for the quiet country roads on the north and west of + London. Was it wrong in me to talk to him on these expeditions? It would + surely have been treating a man like a brute never to take the smallest + notice of him—especially as his conduct was uniformly respectful + toward me. Not once, by word or look, did he presume on the position which + my favor permitted him to occupy. + </p> + <p> + Ought I to blush when I confess (though he was only a groom) that he + interested me? + </p> + <p> + In the first place, there was something romantic in the very blankness of + the story of his life. + </p> + <p> + He had been left, in his infancy, in the stables of a gentleman living in + Kent, near the highroad between Gravesend and Rochester. The same day, the + stable-boy had met a woman running out of the yard, pursued by the dog. + She was a stranger, and was not well-dressed. While the boy was protecting + her by chaining the dog to his kennel, she was quick enough to place + herself beyond the reach of pursuit. + </p> + <p> + The infant’s clothing proved, on examination, to be of the finest linen. + He was warmly wrapped in a beautiful shawl of some foreign manufacture, + entirely unknown to all the persons present, including the master and + mistress of the house. Among the folds of the shawl there was discovered + an open letter, without date, signature, or address, which it was presumed + the woman must have forgotten. + </p> + <p> + Like the shawl, the paper was of foreign manufacture. The handwriting + presented a strongly marked character; and the composition plainly + revealed the mistakes of a person imperfectly acquainted with the English + language. The contents of the letter, after alluding to the means supplied + for the support of the child, announced that the writer had committed the + folly of inclosing a sum of a hundred pounds in a banknote, “to pay + expenses.” In a postscript, an appointment was made for a meeting in six + months’ time, on the eastward side of London Bridge. The stable-boy’s + description of the woman who had passed him showed that she belonged to + the lower class. To such a person a hundred pounds would be a fortune. She + had, no doubt, abandoned the child, and made off with the money. + </p> + <p> + No trace of her was ever discovered. On the day of the appointment the + police watched the eastward side of London Bridge without obtaining any + result. Through the kindness of the gentleman in whose stable he had been + found, the first ten years of the boy’s life were passed under the + protection of a charitable asylum. They gave him the name of one of the + little inmates who had died; and they sent him out to service before he + was eleven years old. He was harshly treated and ran away; wandered to + some training-stables near Newmarket; attracted the favorable notice of + the head-groom, was employed among the other boys, and liked the + occupation. Growing up to manhood, he had taken service in private + families as a groom. This was the story of twenty-six years of Michael’s + life. + </p> + <p> + But there was something in the man himself which attracted attention, and + made one think of him in his absence. + </p> + <p> + I mean by this, that there was a spirit of resistance to his destiny in + him, which is very rarely found in serving-men of his order. I remember + accompanying the General “on one of his periodical visits of inspection to + the stable.” He was so well satisfied that he proposed extending his + investigations to the groom’s own room. + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t object, Michael?” he added, with his customary consideration + for the self-respect of all persons in his employment. Michael’s color + rose a little; he looked at me. “I am afraid the young lady will not find + my room quite so tidy as it ought to be,” he said as he opened the door + for us. + </p> + <p> + The only disorder in the groom’s room was produced, to our surprise, by + the groom’s books and papers. + </p> + <p> + Cheap editions of the English poets, translations of Latin and Greek + classics, handbooks for teaching French and German “without a master,” + carefully written “exercises” in both languages, manuals of shorthand, + with more “exercises” in that art, were scattered over the table, round + the central object of a reading-lamp, which spoke plainly of studies by + night. “Why, what is all this?” cried the General. “Are you going to leave + me, Michael, and set up a school?” Michael answered in sad, submissive + tones. “I try to improve myself, sir—though I sometimes lose heart + and hope.” “Hope of what?” asked my uncle. “Are you not content to be a + servant? Must you rise in the world, as the saying is?” The groom shrank a + little at that abrupt question. “If I had relations to care for me and + help me along the hard ways of life,” he said, “I might be satisfied, sir, + to remain as I am. As it is, I have no one to think about but myself—and + I am foolish enough sometimes to look beyond myself.” + </p> + <p> + So far, I had kept silence; but I could no longer resist giving him a word + of encouragement—his confession was so sadly and so patiently made. + “You speak too harshly of yourself,” I said; “the best and greatest men + have begun like you by looking beyond themselves.” For a moment our eyes + met. I admired the poor lonely fellow trying so modestly and so bravely to + teach himself—and I did not care to conceal it. He was the first to + look away; some suppressed emotion turned him deadly pale. Was I the cause + of it? I felt myself tremble as that bold question came into my mind. The + General, with one sharp glance at me, diverted the talk (not very + delicately, as I thought) to the misfortune of Michael’s birth. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of your being deserted in your infancy by some woman + unknown,” he said. “What has become of the things you were wrapped in, and + the letter that was found on you? They might lead to a discovery, one of + these days.” The groom smiled. “The last master I served thought of it as + you do, Sir. He was so good as to write to the gentleman who was first + burdened with the care of me—and the things were sent to me in + return.” + </p> + <p> + He took up an unlocked leather bag, which opened by touching a brass knob, + and showed us the shawl, the linen (sadly faded by time) and the letter. + We were puzzled by the shawl. My uncle, who had served in the East, + thought it looked like a very rare kind of Persian work. We examined with + interest the letter, and the fine linen. When Michael quietly remarked, as + we handed them back to him, “They keep the secret, you see,” we could only + look at each other, and own there was nothing more to be said. + </p> + <p> + VII. + </p> + <p> + THAT night, lying awake thinking, I made my first discovery of a great + change that had come over me. I felt like a new woman. + </p> + <p> + Never yet had my life been so enjoyable to me as it was now. I was + conscious of a delicious lightness of heart. The simplest things pleased + me; I was ready to be kind to everybody, and to admire everything. Even + the familiar scenery of my rides in the park developed beauties which I + had never noticed before. The enchantments of music affected me to tears. + I was absolutely in love with my dogs and my birds—and, as for my + maid, I bewildered the girl with presents, and gave her holidays almost + before she could ask for them. In a bodily sense, I felt an extraordinary + accession of strength and activity. I romped with the dear old General, + and actually kissed Lady Claudia, one morning, instead of letting her kiss + me as usual. My friends noticed my new outburst of gayety and spirit—and + wondered what had produced it. I can honestly say that I wondered too! + Only on that wakeful night which followed our visit to Michael’s room did + I arrive at something like a clear understanding of myself. The next + morning completed the process of enlightenment. I went out riding as + usual. The instant when Michael put his hand under my foot as I sprang + into the saddle, his touch flew all over me like a flame. I knew who had + made a new woman of me from that moment. + </p> + <p> + As to describing the first sense of confusion that overwhelmed me, even if + I were a practiced writer I should be incapable of doing it. I pulled down + my veil, and rode on in a sort of trance. Fortunately for me, our house + looked on the park, and I had only to cross the road. Otherwise I should + have met with some accident if I had ridden through the streets. To this + day, I don’t know where I rode. The horse went his own way quietly—and + the groom followed me. + </p> + <p> + The groom! Is there any human creature so free from the hateful and + anti-Christian pride of rank as a woman who loves with all her heart and + soul, for the first time in her life? I only tell the truth (in however + unfavorable a light it may place me) when I declare that my confusion was + entirely due to the discovery that I was in love. I was not ashamed of + myself for being in love with the groom. I had given my heart to the man. + What did the accident of his position matter? Put money into his pocket + and a title before his name—by another accident: in speech, manners, + and attainments, he would be a gentleman worthy of his wealth and worthy + of his rank. + </p> + <p> + Even the natural dread of what my relations and friends might say, if they + discovered my secret, seemed to be a sensation so unworthy of me and of + him, that I looked round, and called to him to speak to me, and asked him + questions about himself which kept him riding nearly side by side with me. + Ah, how I enjoyed the gentle deference and respect of his manner as he + answered me! He was hardly bold enough to raise his eyes to mine, when I + looked at him. Absorbed in the Paradise of my own making, I rode on + slowly, and was only aware that friends had passed and had recognized me, + by seeing him touch his hat. I looked round and discovered the women + smiling ironically as they rode by. That one circumstance roused me rudely + from my dream. I let Michael fall back again to his proper place, and + quickened my horse’s pace; angry with myself, angry with the world in + general, then suddenly changing, and being fool enough and child enough to + feel ready to cry. How long these varying moods lasted, I don’t know. On + returning, I slipped off my horse without waiting for Michael to help me, + and ran into the house without even wishing him “Good-day.” + </p> + <p> + VIII. + </p> + <p> + AFTER taking off my riding-habit, and cooling my hot face with + eau-de-cologne and water, I went down to the room which we called the + morning-room. The piano there was my favorite instrument and I had the + idea of trying what music would do toward helping me to compose myself. + </p> + <p> + As I sat down before the piano, I heard the opening of the door of the + breakfast-room (separated from me by a curtained archway), and the voice + of Lady Claudia asking if Michael had returned to the stable. On the + servant’s reply in the affirmative, she desired that he might be sent to + her immediately. + </p> + <p> + No doubt, I ought either to have left the morning-room, or to have let my + aunt know of my presence there. I did neither the one nor the other. Her + first dislike of Michael had, to all appearance, subsided. She had once or + twice actually taken opportunities of speaking to him kindly. I believed + this was due to the caprice of the moment. The tone of her voice too + suggested, on this occasion, that she had some spiteful object in view, in + sending for him. I knew it was unworthy of me—and yet, I + deliberately waited to hear what passed between them. + </p> + <p> + Lady Claudia began. + </p> + <p> + “You were out riding to-day with Miss Mina?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Turn to the light. I wish to see people when I speak to them. You were + observed by some friends of mine; your conduct excited remark. Do you know + your business as a lady’s groom?” + </p> + <p> + “I have had seven years’ experience, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Your business is to ride at a certain distance behind your mistress. Has + your experience taught you that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + “You were not riding behind Miss Mina—your horse was almost side by + side with hers. Do you deny it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + “You behaved with the greatest impropriety—you were seen talking to + Miss Mina. Do you deny that?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave the room. No! come back. Have you any excuse to make?” + </p> + <p> + “None, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Your insolence is intolerable! I shall speak to the General.” + </p> + <p> + The sound of the closing door followed. + </p> + <p> + I knew now what the smiles meant on the false faces of those women-friends + of mine who had met me in the park. An ordinary man, in Michael’s place, + would have mentioned my own encouragement of him as a sufficient excuse. + <i>He</i>, with the inbred delicacy and reticence of a gentleman, had + taken all the blame on himself. Indignant and ashamed, I advanced to the + breakfast-room, bent on instantly justifying him. Drawing aside the + curtain, I was startled by a sound as of a person sobbing. I cautiously + looked in. Lady Claudia was prostrate on the sofa, hiding her face in her + hands, in a passion of tears. + </p> + <p> + I withdrew, completely bewildered. The extraordinary contradictions in my + aunt’s conduct were not at an end yet. Later in the day, I went to my + uncle, resolved to set Michael right in <i>his</i> estimation, and to + leave him to speak to Lady Claudia. The General was in the lowest spirits; + he shook his head ominously the moment. I mentioned the groom’s name. “I + dare say the man meant no harm—but the thing has been observed. I + can’t have you made the subject of scandal, Mina. My wife makes a point of + it—Michael must go. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean to say that she has insisted on your sending Michael + away?” + </p> + <p> + Before he could answer me, a footman appeared with a message. “My lady + wishes to see you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The General rose directly. My curiosity had got, by this time, beyond all + restraint. I was actually indelicate enough to ask if I might go with him! + He stared at me, as well he might. I persisted; I said I particularly + wished to see Lady Claudia. My uncle’s punctilious good breeding still + resisted me. “Your aunt may wish to speak to me in private,” he said. + “Wait a moment, and I will send for you.” + </p> + <p> + I was incapable of waiting: my obstinacy was something superhuman. The + bare idea that Michael might lose his place, through my fault, made me + desperate, I suppose. “I won’t trouble you to send for me,” I persisted; + “I will go with you at once as far as the door, and wait to hear if I may + come in.” The footman was still present, holding the door open; the + General gave way. I kept so close behind him that my aunt saw me as her + husband entered the room. “Come in, Mina,” she said, speaking and looking + like the charming Lady Claudia of everyday life. Was this the woman whom I + had seen crying her heart out on the sofa hardly an hour ago? + </p> + <p> + “On second thoughts,” she continued, turning to the General, “I fear I may + have been a little hasty. Pardon me for troubling you about it again—have + you spoken to Michael yet? No? Then let us err on the side of kindness; + let us look over his misconduct this time.” + </p> + <p> + My uncle was evidently relieved. I seized the opportunity of making my + confession, and taking the whole blame on myself. Lady Claudia stopped me + with the perfect grace of which she was mistress. + </p> + <p> + “My good child, don’t distress yourself! don’t make mountains out of + molehills!” She patted me on the cheek with two plump white fingers which + felt deadly cold. “I was not always prudent, Mina, when I was your age. + Besides, your curiosity is naturally excited about a servant who is—what + shall I call him?—a foundling.” + </p> + <p> + She paused and fixed her eyes on me attentively. “What did he tell you?” + she asked. “Is it a very romantic story?” + </p> + <p> + The General began to fidget in his chair. If I had kept my attention on + him, I should have seen in his face a warning to me to be silent. But my + interest at the moment was absorbed in my aunt. Encouraged by her amiable + reception, I was not merely unsuspicious of the trap that she had set for + me—I was actually foolish enough to think that I could improve + Michael’s position in her estimation (remember that I was in love with + him!) by telling his story exactly as I have already told it in these + pages. I spoke with fervor. Will you believe it?—her humor + positively changed again! She flew into a passion with me for the first + time in her life. + </p> + <p> + “Lies!” she cried. “Impudent lies on the face of them—invented to + appeal to your interest. How dare you repeat them? General! if Mina had + not brought it on herself, this man’s audacity would justify you in + instantly dismissing him. Don’t you agree with me?” + </p> + <p> + The General’s sense of fair play roused him for once into openly opposing + his wife. + </p> + <p> + “You are completely mistaken,” he said. “Mina and I have both had the + shawl and the letter in our hands—and (what was there besides?)—ah, + yes, the very linen the child was wrapped in.” + </p> + <p> + What there was in those words to check Lady Claudia’s anger in its full + flow I was quite unable to understand. If her husband had put a pistol to + her head, he could hardly have silenced her more effectually. She did not + appear to be frightened, or ashamed of her outbreak of rage—she sat + vacant and speechless, with her eyes on the General and her hands crossed + on her lap. After waiting a moment (wondering as I did what it meant) my + uncle rose with his customary resignation and left her. I followed him. He + was unusually silent and thoughtful; not a word passed between us. I + afterward discovered that he was beginning to fear, poor man, that his + wife’s mind must be affected in some way, and was meditating a + consultation with the physician who helped us in cases of need. + </p> + <p> + As for myself, I was either too stupid or too innocent to feel any + positive forewarning of the truth, so far. After luncheon, while I was + alone in the conservatory, my maid came to me from Michael, asking if I + had any commands for him in the afternoon. I thought this rather odd; but + it occurred to me that he might want some hours to himself. I made the + inquiry. + </p> + <p> + To my astonishment, the maid announced that Lady Claudia had employed + Michael to go on an errand for her. The nature of the errand was to take a + letter to her bookseller, and to bring back the books which she had + ordered. With three idle footmen in the house, whose business it was to + perform such service as this, why had she taken the groom away from his + work? The question obtained such complete possession of my mind that I + actually summoned courage enough to go to my aunt. I said I had thought of + driving out in my pony-carriage that afternoon, and I asked if she + objected to sending one of the three indoor servants for her books in + Michael’s place. + </p> + <p> + She received me with a strange hard stare, and answered with obstinate + self-possession: “I wish Michael to go!” No explanation followed. With + reason or without it, agreeable to me or not agreeable to me, she wished + Michael to go. + </p> + <p> + I begged her pardon for interfering, and replied that I would give up the + idea of driving on that day. She made no further remark. I left the room, + determining to watch her. There is no defense for my conduct; it was mean + and unbecoming, no doubt. I was drawn on, by some force in me which I + could not even attempt to resist. Indeed, indeed I am not a mean person by + nature! + </p> + <p> + At first, I thought of speaking to Michael; not with any special motive, + but simply because I felt drawn toward him as the guide and helper in whom + my heart trusted at this crisis in my life. A little consideration, + however, suggested to me that I might be seen speaking to him, and might + so do him an injury. While I was still hesitating, the thought came to me + that my aunt’s motive for sending him to her bookseller might be to get + him out of her way. + </p> + <p> + Out of her way in the house? No: his place was not in the house. Out of + her way in the stable? The next instant, the idea flashed across my mind + of watching the stable door. + </p> + <p> + The best bedrooms, my room included, were all in front of the house. I + went up to my maid’s room, which looked on the courtyard; ready with my + excuse, if she happened to be there. She was not there. I placed myself at + the window, in full view of the stable opposite. + </p> + <p> + An interval elapsed—long or short, I cannot say which; I was too + much excited to look at my watch. All I know is that I discovered her! She + crossed the yard, after waiting to make sure that no one was there to see + her; and she entered the stable by the door which led to that part of the + building occupied by Michael. This time I looked at my watch. + </p> + <p> + Forty minutes passed before I saw her again. And then, instead of + appearing at the door, she showed herself at the window of Michael’s room; + throwing it wide open. I concealed myself behind the window curtain, just + in time to escape discovery, as she looked up at the house. She next + appeared in the yard, hurrying back. I waited a while, trying to compose + myself in case I met any one on the stairs. There was little danger of a + meeting at that hour. The General was at his club; the servants were at + their tea. I reached my own room without being seen by any one, and locked + myself in. + </p> + <p> + What had my aunt been doing for forty minutes in Michael’s room? And why + had she opened the window? + </p> + <p> + I spare you my reflections on these perplexing questions. A convenient + headache saved me from the ordeal of meeting Lady Claudia at the + dinner-table. I passed a restless and miserable night; conscious that I + had found my way blindly, as it were, to some terrible secret which might + have its influence on my whole future life, and not knowing what to think, + or what to do next. Even then, I shrank instinctively from speaking to my + uncle. This was not wonderful. But I felt afraid to speak to Michael—and + that perplexed and alarmed me. Consideration for Lady Claudia was + certainly not the motive that kept me silent, after what I had seen. + </p> + <p> + The next morning my pale face abundantly justified the assertion that I + was still ill. + </p> + <p> + My aunt, always doing her maternal duty toward me, came herself to inquire + after my health before I was out of my room. So certain was she of not + having been observed on the previous day—or so prodigious was her + power of controlling herself—that she actually advised me to go out + riding before lunch, and try what the fresh air and the exercise would do + to relieve me! Feeling that I must end in speaking to Michael, it struck + me that this would be the one safe way of consulting him in private. I + accepted her advice, and had another approving pat on the cheek from her + plump white fingers. They no longer struck cold on my skin; the customary + vital warmth had returned to them. Her ladyship’s mind had recovered its + tranquillity. + </p> + <p> + IX. + </p> + <p> + I LEFT the house for my morning ride. + </p> + <p> + Michael was not in his customary spirits. With some difficulty, I induced + him to tell me the reason. He had decided on giving notice to leave his + situation in the General’s employment. As soon as I could command myself, + I asked what had happened to justify this incomprehensible proceeding on + his part. He silently offered me a letter. It was written by the master + whom he had served before he came to us; and it announced that an + employment as secretary was offered to him, in the house of a gentleman + who was “interested in his creditable efforts to improve his position in + the world.” + </p> + <p> + What it cost me to preserve the outward appearance of composure as I + handed back the letter, I am ashamed to tell. I spoke to him with some + bitterness. “Your wishes are gratified,” I said; “I don’t wonder that you + are eager to leave your place.” He reined back his horse and repeated my + words. “Eager to leave my place? I am heart-broken at leaving it.” I was + reckless enough to ask why. His head sank. “I daren’t tell you,” he said. + I went on from one imprudence to another. “What are you afraid of?” I + asked. He suddenly looked up at me. His eyes answered: <i>“You.”</i> + </p> + <p> + Is it possible to fathom the folly of a woman in love? Can any sensible + person imagine the enormous importance which the veriest trifles assume in + her poor little mind? I was perfectly satisfied—even perfectly + happy, after that one look. I rode on briskly for a minute or two—then + the forgotten scene at the stable recurred to my memory. I resumed a + foot-pace and beckoned to him to speak to me. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Claudia’s bookseller lives in the City, doesn’t he?” I began. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you walk both ways?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You must have felt tired when you got back?” + </p> + <p> + “I hardly remember what I felt when I got back—I was met by a + surprise.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask what it was?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, miss. Do you remember a black bag of mine?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “When I returned from the City I found the bag open; and the things I kept + in it—the shawl, the linen, and the letter—” + </p> + <p> + “Gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone.” + </p> + <p> + My heart gave one great leap in me, and broke into vehement throbbings, + which made it impossible for me to say a word more. I reined up my horse, + and fixed my eyes on Michael. He was startled; he asked if I felt faint. I + could only sign to him that I was waiting to hear more. + </p> + <p> + “My own belief,” he proceeded, “is that some person burned the things in + my absence, and opened the window to prevent any suspicion being excited + by the smell. I am certain I shut the window before I left my room. When I + closed it on my return, the fresh air had not entirely removed the smell + of burning; and, what is more, I found a heap of ashes in the grate. As to + the person who has done me this injury, and why it has been done, those + are mysteries beyond my fathoming—I beg your pardon, miss—I am + sure you are not well. Might I advise you to return to the house?” + </p> + <p> + I accepted his advice and turned back. + </p> + <p> + In the tumult of horror and amazement that filled my mind, I could still + feel a faint triumph stirring in me through it all, when I saw how alarmed + and how anxious he was about me. Nothing more passed between us on the way + back. Confronted by the dreadful discovery that I had now made, I was + silent and helpless. Of the guilty persons concerned in the concealment of + the birth, and in the desertion of the infant, my nobly-born, highly-bred, + irreproachable aunt now stood revealed before me as one! An older woman + than I might have been hard put to it to preserve her presence of mind, in + such a position as mine. Instinct, not reason, served me in my sore need. + Instinct, not reason, kept me passively and stupidly silent when I got + back to the house. “We will talk about it to-morrow,” was all I could say + to Michael, when he gently lifted me from my horse. + </p> + <p> + I excused myself from appearing at the luncheon-table; and I drew down the + blinds in my sitting-room, so that my face might not betray me when Lady + Claudia’s maternal duty brought her upstairs to make inquiries. The same + excuse served in both cases—my ride had failed to relieve me of my + headache. My aunt’s brief visit led to one result which is worth + mentioning. The indescribable horror of her that I felt forced the + conviction on my mind that we two could live no longer under the same + roof. While I was still trying to face this alternative with the needful + composure, my uncle presented himself, in some anxiety about my continued + illness. I should certainly have burst out crying, when the kind and dear + old man condoled with me, if he had not brought news with him which turned + back all my thoughts on myself and my aunt. Michael had shown the General + his letter and had given notice to leave. Lady Claudia was present at the + time. To her husband’s amazement, she abruptly interfered with a personal + request to Michael to think better of it, and to remain in his place! + </p> + <p> + “I should not have troubled you, my dear, on this unpleasant subject,” + said my uncle, “if Michael had not told me that you were aware of the + circumstances under which he feels it his duty to leave us. After your + aunt’s interference (quite incomprehensible to me), the man hardly knows + what to do. Being your groom, he begs me to ask if there is any + impropriety in his leaving the difficulty to your decision. I tell you of + his request, Mina; but I strongly advise you to decline taking any + responsibility on yourself.” + </p> + <p> + I answered mechanically, accepting my uncle’s suggestion, while my + thoughts were wholly absorbed in this last of the many extraordinary + proceedings on Lady Claudia’s part since Michael had entered the house. + There are limits—out of books and plays—to the innocence of a + young unmarried woman. After what I had just heard the doubts which had + thus far perplexed me were suddenly and completely cleared up. I said to + my secret self: “She has some human feeling left. If her son goes away, + she knows that they may never meet again!” + </p> + <p> + From the moment when my mind emerged from the darkness, I recovered the + use of such intelligence and courage as I naturally possessed. From this + point, you will find that, right or wrong, I saw my way before me, and + took it. + </p> + <p> + To say that I felt for the General with my whole heart, is merely to own + that I could be commonly grateful. I sat on his knee, and laid my cheek + against his cheek, and thanked him for his long, long years of kindness to + me. He stopped me in his simple generous way. “Why, Mina, you talk as if + you were going to leave us!” I started up, and went to the window, opening + it and complaining of the heat, and so concealing from him that he had + unconsciously anticipated the event that was indeed to come. When I + returned to my chair, he helped me to recover myself by alluding once more + to his wife. He feared that her health was in some way impaired. In the + time when they had first met, she was subject to nervous maladies, having + their origin in a “calamity” which was never mentioned by either of them + in later days. She might possibly be suffering again, from some other form + of nervous derangement, and he seriously thought of persuading her to send + for medical advice. + </p> + <p> + Under ordinary circumstances, this vague reference to a “calamity” would + not have excited any special interest in me. But my mind was now in a + state of morbid suspicion. I had not heard how long my uncle and aunt had + been married; but I remembered that Michael had described himself as being + twenty-six years old. Bearing these circumstances in mind, it struck me + that I might be acting wisely (in Michael’s interest) if I persuaded the + General to speak further of what had happened, at the time when he met the + woman whom an evil destiny had bestowed on him for a wife. Nothing but the + consideration of serving the man I loved would have reconciled me to + making my own secret use of the recollections which my uncle might + innocently confide to me. As it was, I thought the means would, in this + case, he for once justified by the end. Before we part, I have little + doubt that you will think so too. + </p> + <p> + I found it an easier task than I had anticipated to turn the talk back + again to the days when the General had seen Lady Claudia for the first + time. He was proud of the circumstances under which he had won his wife. + Ah, how my heart ached for him as I saw his eyes sparkle, and the color + mount in his fine rugged face! + </p> + <p> + This is the substance of what I heard from him. I tell it briefly, because + it is still painful to me to tell it at all. + </p> + <p> + My uncle had met Lady Claudia at her father’s country house. She had then + reappeared in society, after a period of seclusion, passed partly in + England, partly on the Continent. Before the date of her retirement, she + had been engaged to marry a French nobleman, equally illustrious by his + birth and by his diplomatic services in the East. Within a few weeks of + the wedding-day, he was drowned by the wreck of his yacht. This was the + calamity to which my uncle had referred. + </p> + <p> + Lady Claudia’s mind was so seriously affected by the dreadful event, that + the doctors refused to answer for the consequences, unless she was at once + placed in the strictest retirement. Her mother, and a French maid + devotedly attached to her, were the only persons whom it was considered + safe for the young lady to see, until time and care had in some degree + composed her. Her return to her friends and admirers, after the necessary + interval of seclusion, was naturally a subject of sincere rejoicing among + the guests assembled in her father’s house. My uncle’s interest in Lady + Claudia soon developed into love. They were equals in rank, and well + suited to each other in age. The parents raised no obstacles; but they did + not conceal from their guest that the disaster which had befallen their + daughter was but too likely to disincline her to receive his addresses, or + any man’s addresses, favorably. To their surprise, they proved to be + wrong. The young lady was touched by the simplicity and the delicacy with + which her lover urged his suit. She had lived among worldly people. This + was a man whose devotion she could believe to be sincere. They were + married. + </p> + <p> + Had no unusual circumstances occurred? Had nothing happened which the + General had forgotten? Nothing. + </p> + <p> + X. + </p> + <p> + IT is surely needless that I should stop here, to draw the plain + inferences from the events just related. + </p> + <p> + Any person who remembers that the shawl in which the infant was wrapped + came from those Eastern regions which were associated with the French + nobleman’s diplomatic services—also, that the faults of composition + in the letter found on the child were exactly the faults likely to have + been committed by the French maid—any person who follows these + traces can find his way to the truth as I found mine. + </p> + <p> + Returning for a moment to the hopes which I had formed of being of some + service to Michael, I have only to say that they were at once destroyed, + when I heard of the death by drowning of the man to whom the evidence + pointed as his father. The prospect looked equally barren when I thought + of the miserable mother. That she should openly acknowledge her son in her + position was perhaps not to be expected of any woman. Had she courage + enough, or, in plainer words, heart enough to acknowledge him privately? + </p> + <p> + I called to mind again some of the apparent caprices and contradictions in + Lady Claudia’s conduct, on the memorable day when Michael had presented + himself to fill the vacant place. Look back with me to the record of what + she said and did on that occasion, by the light of your present knowledge, + and you will see that his likeness to his father must have struck her when + he entered the room, and that his statement of his age must have correctly + described the age of her son. Recall the actions that followed, after she + had been exhausted by her first successful efforts at self-control—the + withdrawal to the window to conceal her face; the clutch at the curtain + when she felt herself sinking; the harshness of manner under which she + concealed her emotions when she ventured to speak to him; the reiterated + inconsistencies and vacillations of conduct that followed, all alike due + to the protest of Nature, desperately resisted to the last—and say + if I did her injustice when I believed her to be incapable of running the + smallest risk of discovery at the prompting of maternal love. + </p> + <p> + There remained, then, only Michael to think of. I remember how he had + spoken of the unknown parents whom he neither expected nor cared to + discover. Still, I could not reconcile it to my conscience to accept a + chance outbreak of temper as my sufficient justification for keeping him + in ignorance of a discovery which so nearly concerned him. It seemed at + least to be my duty to make myself acquainted with the true state of his + feelings, before I decided to bear the burden of silence with me to my + grave. + </p> + <p> + What I felt it my duty to do in this serious matter, I determined to do at + once. Besides, let me honestly own that I felt lonely and desolate, + oppressed by the critical situation in which I was placed, and eager for + the relief that it would be to me only to hear the sound of Michael’s + voice. I sent my maid to say that I wished to speak to him immediately. + The crisis was already hanging over my head. That one act brought it down. + </p> + <p> + XI. + </p> + <p> + He came in, and stood modestly waiting at the door. + </p> + <p> + After making him take a chair, I began by saying that I had received his + message, and that, acting on my uncle’s advice, I must abstain from + interfering in the question of his leaving, or not leaving, his place. + Having in this way established a reason for sending for him, I alluded + next to the loss that he had sustained, and asked if he had any prospect + of finding out the person who had entered his room in his absence. On his + reply in the negative, I spoke of the serious results to him of the act of + destruction that had been committed. “Your last chance of discovering your + parents,” I said, “has been cruelly destroyed.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled sadly. “You know already, miss, that I never expected to + discover them.” + </p> + <p> + I ventured a little nearer to the object I had in view. + </p> + <p> + “Do you never think of your mother?” I asked. “At your age, she might be + still living. Can you give up all hope of finding her, without feeling + your heart ache?” + </p> + <p> + “If I have done her wrong, in believing that she deserted me,” he + answered, “the heart-ache is but a poor way of expressing the remorse that + I should feel.” + </p> + <p> + I ventured nearer still. + </p> + <p> + “Even if you were right,” I began—“even it she did desert you—” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted me sternly. “I would not cross the street to see her,” he + said. “A woman who deserts her child is a monster. Forgive me for speaking + so, miss! When I see good mothers and their children it maddens me when I + think of what <i>my</i> childhood was.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing these words, and watching him attentively while he spoke, I could + see that my silence would be a mercy, not a crime. I hastened to speak of + other things. + </p> + <p> + “If you decide to leave us,” I said, “when shall you go?” + </p> + <p> + His eyes softened instantly. Little by little the color faded out of his + face as he answered me. + </p> + <p> + “The General kindly said, when I spoke of leaving my place—” His + voice faltered, and he paused to steady it. “My master,” he resumed, “said + that I need not keep my new employer waiting by staying for the customary + month, provided—provided you were willing to dispense with my + services.” + </p> + <p> + So far, I had succeeded in controlling myself. At that reply I felt my + resolution failing me. I saw how he suffered; I saw how manfully he + struggled to conceal it. + </p> + <p> + “I am not willing,” I said. “I am sorry—very, very sorry to lose + you. But I will do anything that is for your good. I can say no more.” + </p> + <p> + He rose suddenly, as if to leave the room; mastered himself; stood for a + moment silently looking at me—then looked away again, and said his + parting words. + </p> + <p> + “If I succeed, Miss Mina, in my new employment—if I get on to higher + things—is it—is it presuming too much, to ask if I might, some + day—perhaps when you are out riding alone—if I might speak to + you—only to ask if you are well and happy—” + </p> + <p> + He could say no more. I saw the tears in his eyes; saw him shaken by the + convulsive breathings which break from men in the rare moments when they + cry. He forced it back even then. He bowed to me—oh, God, he bowed + to me, as if he were only my servant! as if he were too far below me to + take my hand, even at that moment! I could have endured anything else; I + believe I could still have restrained myself under any other + circumstances. It matters little now; my confession must be made, whatever + you may think of me. I flew to him like a frenzied creature—I threw + my arms round his neck—I said to him, “Oh, Michael, don’t you know + that I love you?” And then I laid my head on his breast, and held him to + me, and said no more. + </p> + <p> + In that moment of silence, the door of the room was opened. I started, and + looked up. Lady Claudia was standing on the threshold. + </p> + <p> + I saw in her face that she had been listening—she must have followed + him when he was on his way to my room. That conviction steadied me. I took + his hand in mine, and stood side by side with him, waiting for her to + speak first. She looked at Michael, not at me. She advanced a step or two, + and addressed him in these words: + </p> + <p> + “It is just possible that <i>you</i> have some sense of decency left. + Leave the room.” + </p> + <p> + That deliberate insult was all that I wanted to make me completely + mistress of myself. I told Michael to wait a moment, and opened my writing + desk. I wrote on an envelope the address in London of a faithful old + servant, who had attended my mother in her last moments. I gave it to + Michael. “Call there to-morrow morning,” I said. “You will find me waiting + for you.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at Lady Claudia, evidently unwilling to leave me alone with her. + “Fear nothing,” I said; “I am old enough to take care of myself. I have + only a word to say to this lady before I leave the house.” With that, I + took his arm, and walked with him to the door, and said good-by almost as + composedly as if we had been husband and wife already. + </p> + <p> + Lady Claudia’s eyes followed me as I shut the door again and crossed the + room to a second door which led into my bed-chamber. She suddenly stepped + up to me, just as I was entering the room, and laid her hand on my arm. + </p> + <p> + “What do I see in your face?” she asked as much of herself as of me—with + her eyes fixed in keen inquiry on mine. + </p> + <p> + “You shall know directly,” I answered. “Let me get my bonnet and cloak + first.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to leave the house?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + She rang the bell. I quietly dressed myself, to go out. + </p> + <p> + The servant answered the bell, as I returned to the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + “Tell your master I wish to see him instantly,” said Lady Claudia. + </p> + <p> + “My master has gone out, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + “To his club?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe so, my lady.” + </p> + <p> + “I will send you with a letter to him. Come back when I ring again.” She + turned to me as the man withdrew. “Do you refuse to stay here until the + General returns?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be happy to see the General, if you will inclose my address in + your letter to him.” + </p> + <p> + Replying in those terms, I wrote the address for the second time. Lady + Claudia knew perfectly well, when I gave it to her, that I was going to a + respectable house kept by a woman who had nursed me when I was a child. + </p> + <p> + “One last question,” she said. “Am I to tell the General that it is your + intention to marry your groom?” + </p> + <p> + Her tone stung me into making an answer which I regretted the moment it + had passed my lips. + </p> + <p> + “You can put it more plainly, if you like,” I said. “You can tell the + General that it is my intention to marry <i>your</i> son.” + </p> + <p> + She was near the door, on the point of leaving me. As I spoke, she turned + with a ghastly stare of horror—felt about her with her hands as if + she was groping in darkness—and dropped on the floor. + </p> + <p> + I instantly summoned help. The women-servants carried her to my bed. While + they were restoring her to herself, I wrote a few lines telling the + miserable woman how I had discovered her secret. + </p> + <p> + “Your husband’s tranquillity,” I added, “is as precious to me as my own. + As for your son, you know what he thinks of the mother who deserted him. + Your secret is safe in my keeping—safe from your husband, safe from + your son, to the end of my life.” + </p> + <p> + I sealed up those words, and gave them to her when she had come to herself + again. I never heard from her in reply. I have never seen her from that + time to this. She knows she can trust me. + </p> + <p> + And what did my good uncle say, when we next met? I would rather report + what he did, when he had got the better of his first feelings of anger and + surprise on hearing of my contemplated marriage. He consented to receive + us on our wedding-day; and he gave my husband the appointment which places + us both in an independent position for life. + </p> + <p> + But he had his misgivings. He checked me when I tried to thank him. + </p> + <p> + “Come back in a year’s time,” he said. “I will wait to be thanked till the + experience of your married life tells me that I have deserved it.” + </p> + <p> + The year passed; and the General received the honest expression of my + gratitude. He smiled and kissed me; but there was something in his face + which suggested that he was not quite satisfied yet. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe that I have spoken sincerely?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I firmly believe it,” he answered—and there he stopped. + </p> + <p> + A wiser woman would have taken the hint and dropped the subject. My folly + persisted in putting another question: + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, uncle. Haven’t I proved that I was right when I married my + groom?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear. You have only proved that you are a lucky woman!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MR. LEPEL AND THE HOUSEKEEPER + </h2> + <h3> + FIRST EPOCH. + </h3> + <p> + THE Italians are born actors. + </p> + <p> + At this conclusion I arrived, sitting in a Roman theater—now many + years since. My friend and traveling companion, Rothsay, cordially agreed + with me. Experience had given us some claim to form an opinion. We had + visited, at that time, nearly every city in Italy. Where-ever a theater + was open, we had attended the performances of the companies which travel + from place to place; and we had never seen bad acting from first to last. + Men and women, whose names are absolutely unknown in England, played (in + modern comedy and drama for the most part) with a general level of + dramatic ability which I have never seen equaled in the theaters of other + nations. Incapable Italian actors there must be, no doubt. For my own part + I have only discovered them, by ones and twos, in England; appearing among + the persons engaged to support Salvini and Ristori before the audiences of + London. + </p> + <p> + On the occasion of which I am now writing, the night’s performances + consisted of two plays. An accident, to be presently related, prevented us + from seeing more than the introductory part of the second piece. That one + act—in respect of the influence which the remembrance of it + afterward exercised over Rothsay and myself—claims a place of its + own in the opening pages of the present narrative. + </p> + <p> + The scene of the story was laid in one of the principalities of Italy, in + the bygone days of the Carbonaro conspiracies. The chief persons were two + young noblemen, friends affectionately attached to each other, and a + beautiful girl born in the lower ranks of life. + </p> + <p> + On the rising of the curtain, the scene before us was the courtyard of a + prison. We found the beautiful girl (called Celia as well as I can + recollect) in great distress; confiding her sorrows to the jailer’s + daughter. Her father was pining in the prison, charged with an offense of + which he was innocent; and she herself was suffering the tortures of + hopeless love. She was on the point of confiding her secret to her friend, + when the appearance of the young nobleman closed her lips. The girls at + once withdrew; and the two friends—whom I now only remember as the + Marquis and the Count—began the dialogue which prepared us for the + story of the play. + </p> + <p> + The Marquis had been tried for conspiracy against the reigning Prince and + his government; had been found guilty, and is condemned to be shot that + evening. He accepts his sentence with the resignation of a man who is + weary of his life. Young as he is, he has tried the round of pleasures + without enjoyment; he has no interests, no aspirations, no hopes; he looks + on death as a welcome release. His friend the Count, admitted to a + farewell interview, has invented a stratagem by which the prisoner may + escape and take to flight. The Marquis expresses a grateful sense of + obligation, and prefers being shot. “I don’t value my life,” he says; “I + am not a happy man like you.” Upon this the Count mentions circumstances + which he has hitherto kept secret. He loves the charming Celia, and loves + in vain. Her reputation is unsullied; she possesses every good quality + that a man can desire in a wife—but the Count’s social position + forbids him to marry a woman of low birth. He is heart-broken; and he too + finds life without hope a burden that is not to be borne. The Marquis at + once sees a way of devoting himself to his friend’s interests. He is rich; + his money is at his own disposal; he will bequeath a marriage portion to + Celia which will make her one of the richest women in Italy. The Count + receives this proposal with a sigh. “No money,” he says, “will remove the + obstacle that still remains. My father’s fatal objection to Celia is her + rank in life.” The Marquis walks apart—considers a little—consults + his watch—and returns with a new idea. “I have nearly two hours of + life still left,” he says. “Send for Celia: she was here just now, and she + is probably in her father’s cell.” The Count is at a loss to understand + what this proposal means. The Marquis explains himself. “I ask your + permission,” he resumes, “to offer marriage to Celia—for your sake. + The chaplain of the prison will perform the ceremony. Before dark, the + girl you love will be my widow. My widow is a lady of title—a fit + wife for the greatest nobleman in the land.” The Count protests and + refuses in vain. The jailer is sent to find Celia. She appears. Unable to + endure the scene, the Count rushes out in horror. The Marquis takes the + girl into his confidence, and makes his excuses. If she becomes a widow of + rank, she may not only marry the Count, but will be in a position to + procure the liberty of the innocent old man, whose strength is failing him + under the rigors of imprisonment. Celia hesitates. After a struggle with + herself, filial love prevails, and she consents. The jailer announces that + the chaplain is waiting; the bride and bridegroom withdraw to the prison + chapel. Left on the stage, the jailer hears a distant sound in the city, + which he is at a loss to understand. It sinks, increases again, travels + nearer to the prison, and now betrays itself as the sound of multitudinous + voices in a state of furious uproar. Has the conspiracy broken out again? + Yes! The whole population has risen; the soldiers have refused to fire on + the people; the terrified Prince has dismissed his ministers, and promises + a constitution. The Marquis, returning from the ceremony which has just + made Celia his wife, is presented with a free pardon, and with the offer + of a high place in the re-formed ministry. A new life is opening before + him—and he has innocently ruined his friend’s prospects! On this + striking situation the drop-curtain falls. + </p> + <p> + While we were still applauding the first act, Rothsay alarmed me: he + dropped from his seat at my side, like a man struck dead. The stifling + heat in the theater had proved too much for him. We carried him out at + once into the fresh air. When he came to his senses, my friend entreated + me to leave him, and see the end of the play. To my mind, he looked as if + he might faint again. I insisted on going back with him to our hotel. + </p> + <p> + On the next day I went to the theater, to ascertain if the play would be + repeated. The box-office was closed. The dramatic company had left Rome. + </p> + <p> + My interest in discovering how the story ended led me next to the + booksellers’ shops—in the hope of buying the play. Nobody knew + anything about it. Nobody could tell me whether it was the original work + of an Italian writer, or whether it had been stolen (and probably + disfigured) from the French. As a fragment I had seen it. As a fragment it + has remained from that time to this. + </p> + <p> + SECOND EPOCH. + </p> + <p> + ONE of my objects in writing these lines is to vindicate the character of + an innocent woman (formerly in my service as housekeeper) who has been + cruelly slandered. Absorbed in the pursuit of my purpose, it has only now + occurred to me that strangers may desire to know something more than they + know now of myself and my friend. “Give us some idea,” they may say, “of + what sort of persons you are, if you wish to interest us at the outset of + your story.” + </p> + <p> + A most reasonable suggestion, I admit. Unfortunately, I am not the right + man to comply with it. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, I cannot pretend to pronounce judgment on my own + character. In the second place, I am incapable of writing impartially of + my friend. At the imminent risk of his own life, Rothsay rescued me from a + dreadful death by accident, when we were at college together. Who can + expect me to speak of his faults? I am not even capable of seeing them. + </p> + <p> + Under these embarrassing circumstances—and not forgetting, at the + same time, that a servant’s opinion of his master and his master’s friends + may generally be trusted not to err on the favorable side—I am + tempted to call my valet as a witness to character. + </p> + <p> + I slept badly on our first night at Rome; and I happened to be awake while + the man was talking of us confidentially in the courtyard of the hotel—just + under my bedroom window. Here, to the best of my recollection, is a + faithful report of what he said to some friend among the servants who + understood English: + </p> + <p> + “My master’s well connected, you must know—though he’s only plain + Mr. Lepel. His uncle’s the great lawyer, Lord Lepel; and his late father + was a banker. Rich, did you say? I should think he <i>was</i> rich—and + be hanged to him! No, not married, and not likely to be. Owns he was forty + last birthday; a regular old bachelor. Not a bad sort, taking him + altogether. The worst of him is, he is one of the most indiscreet persons + I ever met with. Does the queerest things, when the whim takes him, and + doesn’t care what other people think of it. They say the Lepels have all + got a slate loose in the upper story. Oh, no; not a very old family—I + mean, nothing compared to the family of his friend, young Rothsay. <i>They</i> + count back, as I have heard, to the ancient kings of Scotland. Between + ourselves, the ancient kings haven’t left the Rothsays much money. They + would be glad, I’ll be bound, to get my rich master for one of their + daughters. Poor as Job, I tell you. This young fellow, traveling with us, + has never had a spare five-pound note since he was born. Plenty of brains + in his head, I grant you; and a little too apt sometimes to be suspicious + of other people. But liberal—oh, give him his due—liberal in a + small way. Tips me with a sovereign now and then. I take it—Lord + bless you, I take it. What do you say? Has he got any employment? Not he! + Dabbles in chemistry (experiments, and that sort of thing) by way of + amusing himself; and tells the most infernal lies about it. The other day + he showed me a bottle about as big as a thimble, with what looked like + water in it, and said it was enough to poison everybody in the hotel. What + rot! Isn’t that the clock striking again? Near about bedtime, I should + say. Wish you good night.” + </p> + <p> + There are our characters—drawn on the principle of justice without + mercy, by an impudent rascal who is the best valet in England. Now you + know what sort of persons we are; and now we may go on again. + </p> + <p> + Rothsay and I parted, soon after our night at the theater. He went to + Civita Vecchia to join a friend’s yacht, waiting for him in the harbor. I + turned homeward, traveling at a leisurely rate through the Tyrol and + Germany. + </p> + <p> + After my arrival in England, certain events in my life occurred which did + not appear to have any connection at the time. They led, nevertheless, to + consequences which seriously altered the relations of happy past years + between Rothsay and myself. + </p> + <p> + The first event took place on my return to my house in London. I found + among the letters waiting for me an invitation from Lord Lepel to spend a + few weeks with him at his country seat in Sussex. + </p> + <p> + I had made so many excuses, in past years, when I received invitations + from my uncle, that I was really ashamed to plead engagements in London + again. There was no unfriendly feeling between us. My only motive for + keeping away from him took its rise in dislike of the ordinary modes of + life in an English country-house. A man who feels no interest in politics, + who cares nothing for field sports, who is impatient of amateur music and + incapable of small talk, is a man out of his element in country society. + This was my unlucky case. I went to Lord Lepel’s house sorely against my + will; longing already for the day when it would be time to say good-by. + </p> + <p> + The routine of my uncle’s establishment had remained unaltered since my + last experience of it. + </p> + <p> + I found my lord expressing the same pride in his collection of old + masters, and telling the same story of the wonderful escape of his + picture-gallery from fire—I renewed my acquaintance with the same + members of Parliament among the guests, all on the same side in politics—I + joined in the same dreary amusements—I saluted the same resident + priest (the Lepels are all born and bred Roman Catholics)—I + submitted to the same rigidly early breakfast hour; and inwardly cursed + the same peremptory bell, ringing as a means of reminding us of our meals. + The one change that presented itself was a change out of the house. Death + had removed the lodgekeeper at the park-gate. His widow and daughter (Mrs. + Rymer and little Susan) remained in their pretty cottage. They had been + allowed by my lord’s kindness to take charge of the gate. + </p> + <p> + Out walking, on the morning after my arrival, I was caught in a shower on + my way back to the park, and took shelter in the lodge. + </p> + <p> + In the bygone days I had respected Mrs. Rymer’s husband as a thoroughly + worthy man—but Mrs. Rymer herself was no great favorite of mine. She + had married beneath her, as the phrase is, and she was a little too + conscious of it. A woman with a sharp eye to her own interests; selfishly + discontented with her position in life, and not very scrupulous in her + choice of means when she had an end in view: that is how I describe Mrs. + Rymer. Her daughter, whom I only remembered as a weakly child, astonished + me when I saw her again after the interval that had elapsed. The backward + flower had bloomed into perfect health. Susan was now a lovely little + modest girl of seventeen—with a natural delicacy and refinement of + manner, which marked her to my mind as one of Nature’s gentlewomen. When I + entered the lodge she was writing at a table in a corner, having some + books on it, and rose to withdraw. I begged that she would proceed with + her employment, and asked if I might know what it was. She answered me + with a blush, and a pretty brightening of her clear blue eyes. “I am + trying, sir, to teach myself French,” she said. The weather showed no + signs of improving—I volunteered to help her, and found her such an + attentive and intelligent pupil that I looked in at the lodge from time to + time afterward, and continued my instructions. The younger men among my + uncle’s guests set their own stupid construction on my attentions “to the + girl at the gate,” as they called her—rather too familiarly, + according to my notions of propriety. I contrived to remind them that I + was old enough to be Susan’s father, in a manner which put an end to their + jokes; and I was pleased to hear, when I next went to the lodge, that Mrs. + Rymer had been wise enough to keep these facetious gentlemen at their + proper distance. + </p> + <p> + The day of my departure arrived. Lord Leper took leave of me kindly, and + asked for news of Rothsay. “Let me know when your friend returns,” my + uncle said; “he belongs to a good old stock. Put me in mind of him when I + next invite you to come to my house.” + </p> + <p> + On my way to the train I stopped of course at the lodge to say good-by. + Mrs. Rymer came out alone I asked for Susan. + </p> + <p> + “My daughter is not very well to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she confined to her room?” + </p> + <p> + “She is in the parlor.” + </p> + <p> + I might have been mistaken, but I thought Mrs. Rymer answered me in no + very friendly way. Resolved to judge for myself, I entered the lodge, and + found my poor little pupil sitting in a corner, crying. When I asked her + what was the matter, the excuse of a “bad headache” was the only reply + that I received. The natures of young girls are a hopeless puzzle to me. + Susan seemed, for some reason which it was impossible to understand, to be + afraid to look at me. + </p> + <p> + “Have you and your mother been quarreling?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + She denied it with such evident sincerity that I could not for a moment + suspect her of deceiving me. Whatever the cause of her distress might be, + it was plain that she had her own reasons for keeping it a secret. + </p> + <p> + Her French books were on the table. I tried a little allusion to her + lessons. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will go on regularly with your studies,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I will do my best, sir—without you to help me.” + </p> + <p> + She said it so sadly that I proposed—purely from the wish to + encourage her—a continuation of our lessons through the post. + </p> + <p> + “Send your exercises to me once a week,” I suggested; “and I will return + them corrected.” + </p> + <p> + She thanked me in low tones, with a shyness of manner which I had never + noticed in her before. I had done my best to cheer her—and I was + conscious, as we shook hands at parting, that I had failed. A feeling of + disappointment overcomes me when I see young people out of spirits. I was + sorry for Susan. + </p> + <p> + THIRD EPOCH. + </p> + <p> + ONE of my faults (which has not been included in the list set forth by my + valet) is a disinclination to occupy myself with my own domestic affairs. + The proceedings of my footman, while I had been away from home, left me no + alternative but to dismiss him on my return. With this exertion of + authority my interference as chief of the household came to an end. I left + it to my excellent housekeeper, Mrs. Mozeen, to find a sober successor to + the drunken vagabond who had been sent away. She discovered a respectable + young man—tall, plump, and rosy—whose name was Joseph, and + whose character was beyond reproach. I have but one excuse for noticing + such a trifling event as this. It took its place, at a later period, in + the chain which was slowly winding itself round me. + </p> + <p> + My uncle had asked me to prolong my visit and I should probably have + consented, but for anxiety on the subject of a near and dear relative—my + sister. Her health had been failing since the death of her husband, to + whom she was tenderly attached. I heard news of her while I was in Sussex, + which hurried me back to town. In a month more, her death deprived me of + my last living relation. She left no children; and my two brothers had + both died unmarried while they were still young men. + </p> + <p> + This affliction placed me in a position of serious embarrassment, in + regard to the disposal of my property after my death. + </p> + <p> + I had hitherto made no will; being well aware that my fortune (which was + entirely in money) would go in due course of law to the person of all + others who would employ it to the best purpose—that is to say, to my + sister as my nearest of kin. As I was now situated, my property would + revert to my uncle if I died intestate. He was a richer man than I was. Of + his two children, both sons, the eldest would inherit his estates: the + youngest had already succeeded to his mother’s ample fortune. Having + literally no family claims on me, I felt bound to recognize the wider + demands of poverty and misfortune, and to devote my superfluous wealth to + increasing the revenues of charitable institutions. As to minor legacies, + I owed it to my good housekeeper, Mrs. Mozeen, not to forget the faithful + services of past years. Need I add—if I had been free to act as I + pleased—that I should have gladly made Rothsay the object of a + handsome bequest? But this was not to be. My friend was a man morbidly + sensitive on the subject of money. In the early days of our intercourse we + had been for the first and only time on the verge of a quarrel, when I had + asked (as a favor to myself) to be allowed to provide for him in my will. + </p> + <p> + “It is because I am poor,” he explained, “that I refuse to profit by your + kindness—though I feel it gratefully.” + </p> + <p> + I failed to understand him—and said so plainly. + </p> + <p> + “You will understand this,” he resumed; “I should never recover my sense + of degradation, if a mercenary motive on my side was associated with our + friendship. Don’t say it’s impossible! You know as well as I do that + appearances would be against me, in the eyes of the world. Besides, I + don’t want money; my own small income is enough for me. Make me your + executor if you like, and leave me the customary present of five hundred + pounds. If you exceed that sum I declare on my word of honor that I will + not touch one farthing of it.” He took my hand, and pressed it fervently. + “Do me a favor,” he said. “Never let us speak of this again!” + </p> + <p> + I understood that I must yield—or lose my friend. + </p> + <p> + In now making my will, I accordingly appointed Rothsay one of my + executors, on the terms that he had prescribed. The minor legacies having + been next duly reduced to writing, I left the bulk of my fortune to public + charities. + </p> + <p> + My lawyer laid the fair copy of the will on my table. + </p> + <p> + “A dreary disposition of property for a man of your age,” he said, “I hope + to receive a new set of instructions before you are a year older.” + </p> + <p> + “What instructions?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “To provide for your wife and children,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + My wife and children! The idea seemed to be so absurd that I burst out + laughing. It never occurred to me that there could be any absurdity from + my own point of view. + </p> + <p> + I was sitting alone, after my legal adviser had taken his leave, looking + absently at the newly-engrossed will, when I heard a sharp knock at the + house-door which I thought I recognized. In another minute Rothsay’s + bright face enlivened my dull room. He had returned from the Mediterranean + that morning. + </p> + <p> + “Am I interrupting you?” he asked, pointing to the leaves of manuscript + before me. “Are you writing a book?” + </p> + <p> + “I am making my will.” + </p> + <p> + His manner changed; he looked at me seriously. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember what I said, when we once talked of your will?” he asked. + I set his doubts at rest immediately—but he was not quite satisfied + yet. “Can’t you put your will away?” he suggested. “I hate the sight of + anything that reminds me of death.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me a minute to sign it,” I said—and rang to summon the + witnesses. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Mozeen answered the bell. Rothsay looked at her, as if he wished to + have my housekeeper put away as well as my will. From the first moment + when he had seen her, he conceived a great dislike to that good creature. + There was nothing, I am sure, personally repellent about her. She was a + little slim quiet woman, with a pale complexion and bright brown eyes. Her + movements were gentle; her voice was low; her decent gray dress was + adapted to her age. Why Rothsay should dislike her was more than he could + explain himself. He turned his unreasonable prejudice into a joke—and + said he hated a woman who wore slate colored cap-ribbons! + </p> + <p> + I explained to Mrs. Mozeen that I wanted witnesses to the signature of my + will. Naturally enough—being in the room at the time—she asked + if she could be one of them. + </p> + <p> + I was obliged to say No; and not to mortify her, I gave the reason. + </p> + <p> + “My will recognizes what I owe to your good services,” I said. “If you are + one of the witnesses, you will lose your legacy. Send up the + men-servants.” + </p> + <p> + With her customary tact, Mrs. Mozeen expressed her gratitude silently, by + a look—and left the room. + </p> + <p> + “Why couldn’t you tell that woman to send the servants, without mentioning + her legacy?” Rothsay asked. “My friend Lepel, you have done a very foolish + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “In what way?” + </p> + <p> + “You have given Mrs. Mozeen an interest in your death.” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to make a serious reply to this ridiculous exhibition of + Rothsay’s prejudice against poor Mrs. Mozeen. + </p> + <p> + “When am I to be murdered?” I asked. “And how is it to be done? Poison?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not joking,” Rothsay answered. “You are infatuated about your + housekeeper. When you spoke of her legacy, did you notice her eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did nothing strike you?” + </p> + <p> + “It struck me that they were unusually well preserved eyes for a woman of + her age.” + </p> + <p> + The appearance of the valet and the footman put an end to this idle talk. + The will was executed, and locked up. Our conversation turned on Rothsay’s + travels by sea. The cruise had been in every way successful. The matchless + shores of the Mediterranean defied description; the sailing of the famous + yacht had proved to be worthy of her reputation; and, to crown all, + Rothsay had come back to England, in a fair way, for the first time in his + life, of making money. + </p> + <p> + “I have discovered a treasure,” he announced. + </p> + <p> + “It <i>was</i> a dirty little modern picture, picked up in a by-street at + Palermo. It is a Virgin and Child, by Guido.” + </p> + <p> + On further explanation it appeared that the picture exposed for sale was + painted on copper. Noticing the contrast between the rare material and the + wretchedly bad painting that covered it, Rothsay had called to mind some + of the well-known stories of valuable works of art that had been painted + over for purposes of disguise. The price asked for the picture amounted to + little more than the value of the metal. Rothsay bought it. His knowledge + of chemistry enabled him to put his suspicion successfully to the test; + and one of the guests on board the yacht—a famous French artist—had + declared his conviction that the picture now revealed to view was a + genuine work by Guido. Such an opinion as this convinced me that it would + be worth while to submit my friend’s discovery to the judgment of other + experts. Consulted independently, these critics confirmed the view taken + by the celebrated personage who had first seen the work. This result + having been obtained, Rothsay asked my advice next on the question of + selling his picture. I at once thought of my uncle. An undoubted work by + Guido would surely be an acquisition to his gallery. I had only (in + accordance with his own request) to let him know that my friend had + returned to England. We might take the picture with us, when we received + our invitation to Lord Lepel’s house. + </p> + <p> + FOURTH EPOCH. + </p> + <p> + My uncle’s answer arrived by return of post. Other engagements obliged him + to defer receiving us for a month. At the end of that time, we were + cordially invited to visit him, and to stay as long as we liked. + </p> + <p> + In the interval that now passed, other events occurred—still of the + trifling kind. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon, just as I was thinking of taking my customary ride in the + park, the servant appeared charged with a basket of flowers, and with a + message from Mrs. Rymer, requesting me to honor her by accepting a little + offering from her daughter. Hearing that she was then waiting in the hall, + I told the man to show her in. Susan (as I ought to have already + mentioned) had sent her exercises to me regularly every week. In returning + them corrected, I had once or twice added a word of well-deserved + approval. The offering of flowers was evidently intended to express my + pupil’s grateful sense of the interest taken in her by her teacher. + </p> + <p> + I had no reason, this time, to suppose that Mrs. Rymer entertained an + unfriendly feeling toward me. At the first words of greeting that passed + between us I perceived a change in her manner, which ran in the opposite + extreme. She overwhelmed me with the most elaborate demonstrations of + politeness and respect; dwelling on her gratitude for my kindness in + receiving her, and on her pride at seeing her daughter’s flowers on my + table, until I made a resolute effort to stop her by asking (as if it was + actually a matter of importance to me!) whether she was in London on + business or on pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, on business, sir! My poor husband invested his little savings in bank + stock, and I have just been drawing my dividend. I do hope you don’t think + my girl over-bold in venturing to send you a few flowers. She wouldn’t + allow me to interfere. I do assure you she would gather and arrange them + with her own hands. In themselves I know they are hardly worth accepting; + but if you will allow the motive to plead—” + </p> + <p> + I made another effort to stop Mrs. Rymer; I said her daughter could not + have sent me a prettier present. + </p> + <p> + The inexhaustible woman only went on more fluently than ever. + </p> + <p> + “She is so grateful, sir, and so proud of your goodness in looking at her + exercises. The difficulty of the French language seem as nothing to her, + now her motive is to please you. She is so devoted to her studies that I + find it difficult to induce her to take the exercise necessary to her + health; and, as you may perhaps remember, Susan was always rather weakly + as a child. She inherits her father’s constitution, Mr. Lepel—not + mine.” + </p> + <p> + Here, to my infinite relief, the servant appeared, announcing that my + horse was at the door. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Rymer opened her mouth. I saw a coming flood of apologies on the + point of pouring out—and seized my hat on the spot. I declared I had + an appointment; I sent kind remembrances to Susan (pitying her for having + such a mother with my whole heart); I said I hoped to return to my uncle’s + house soon, and to continue the French lessons. The one thing more that I + remember was finding myself safe in the saddle, and out of the reach of + Mrs. Rymer’s tongue. + </p> + <p> + Reflecting on what had passed, it was plain to me that this woman had some + private end in view, and that my abrupt departure had prevented her from + finding the way to it. What motive could she possibly have for that + obstinate persistence in presenting poor Susan under a favorable aspect, + to a man who had already shown that he was honestly interested in her + pretty modest daughter? I tried hard to penetrate the mystery—and + gave it up in despair. + </p> + <p> + Three days before the date at which Rothsay and I were to pay our visit to + Lord Lepel, I found myself compelled to undergo one of the minor miseries + of human life. In other words I became one of the guests at a large + dinner-party. It was a rainy day in October. My position at the table + placed me between a window that was open and a door that was hardly ever + shut. I went to bed shivering; and woke the next morning with a headache + and a difficulty in breathing. On consulting the doctor, I found that I + was suffering from an attack of bronchitis. There was no reason to be + alarmed. If I remained indoors, and submitted to the necessary treatment, + I might hope to keep my engagement with my uncle in ten days or a + fortnight. + </p> + <p> + There was no alternative but to submit. I accordingly arranged with + Rothsay that he should present himself at Lord Lepel’s house (taking the + picture with him), on the date appointed for our visit, and that I should + follow as soon as I was well enough to travel. + </p> + <p> + On the day when he was to leave London, my friend kindly came to keep me + company for a while. He was followed into my room by Mrs. Mozeen, with a + bottle of medicine in her hand. This worthy creature, finding that the + doctor’s directions occasionally escaped my memory, devoted herself to the + duty of administering the remedies at the prescribed intervals of time. + When she left the room, having performed her duties as usual, I saw + Rothsay’s eyes follow her to the door with an expression of sardonic + curiosity. He put a strange question to me as soon as we were alone. + </p> + <p> + “Who engaged that new servant of yours?” he asked. “I mean the fat fellow, + with the curly flaxen hair.” + </p> + <p> + “Hiring servants,” I replied, “is not much in my way. I left the + engagement of the new man to Mrs. Mozeen.” + </p> + <p> + Rothsay walked gravely up to my bedside. + </p> + <p> + “Lepel,” he said, “your respectable housekeeper is in love with the fat + young footman.” + </p> + <p> + It is not easy to amuse a man suffering from bronchitis. But this new + outbreak of absurdity was more than I could resist, even with a + mustard-plaster on my chest. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I should raise your spirits,” Rothsay proceeded. “When I came + to your house this morning, the valet opened the door to me. I expressed + my surprise at his condescending to take that trouble. He informed me that + Joseph was otherwise engaged. ‘With anybody in particular?’ I asked, + humoring the joke. ‘Yes, sir, with the housekeeper. She’s teaching him how + to brush his hair, so as to show off his good looks to the best + advantage.’ Make up your mind, my friend, to lose Mrs. Mozeen—especially + if she happens to have any money.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Rothsay! The poor woman is old enough to be Joseph’s mother.” + </p> + <p> + “My good fellow, that won’t make any difference to Joseph. In the days + when we were rich enough to keep a man-servant, our footman—as + handsome a fellow as ever you saw, and no older than I am—married a + witch with a lame leg. When I asked him why he had made such a fool of + himself he looked quite indignant, and said: ‘Sir! she has got six hundred + pounds.’ He and the witch keep a public house. What will you bet me that + we don’t see your housekeeper drawing beer at the bar, and Joseph getting + drunk in the parlor, before we are a year older?” + </p> + <p> + I was not well enough to prolong my enjoyment of Rothsay’s boyish humor. + Besides, exaggeration to be really amusing must have some relation, no + matter how slender it may be, to the truth. My housekeeper belonged to a + respectable family, and was essentially a person accustomed to respect + herself. Her brother occupied a position of responsibility in the + establishment of a firm of chemists whom I had employed for years past. + Her late husband had farmed his own land, and had owed his ruin to + calamities for which he was in no way responsible. Kind-hearted Mrs. + Mozeen was just the woman to take a motherly interest in a well-disposed + lad like Joseph; and it was equally characteristic of my valet—especially + when Rothsay was thoughtless enough to encourage him—to pervert an + innocent action for the sake of indulging in a stupid jest. I took + advantage of my privilege as an invalid, and changed the subject. + </p> + <p> + A week passed. I had expected to hear from Rothsay. To my surprise and + disappointment no letter arrived. + </p> + <p> + Susan was more considerate. She wrote, very modestly and prettily, to say + that she and her mother had heard of my illness from Mr. Rothsay, and to + express the hope that I should soon be restored to health. A few days + later, Mrs. Rymer’s politeness carried her to the length of taking the + journey to London to make inquiries at my door. I did not see her, of + course. She left word that she would have the honor of calling again. + </p> + <p> + The second week followed. I had by that time perfectly recovered from my + attack of bronchitis—and yet I was too ill to leave the house. + </p> + <p> + The doctor himself seemed to be at a loss to understand the symptoms that + now presented themselves. A vile sensation of nausea tried my endurance, + and an incomprehensible prostration of strength depressed my spirits. I + felt such a strange reluctance to exert myself that I actually left it to + Mrs. Mozeen to write to my uncle in my name, and say that I was not yet + well enough to visit him. My medical adviser tried various methods of + treatment; my housekeeper administered the prescribed medicines with + unremitting care; but nothing came of it. A physician of great authority + was called into consultation. Being completely puzzled, he retreated to + the last refuge of bewildered doctors. I asked him what was the matter + with me. And he answered: “Suppressed gout.” + </p> + <p> + FIFTH EPOCH. + </p> + <p> + MIDWAY in the third week, my uncle wrote to me as follows: + </p> + <p> + “I have been obliged to request your friend Rothsay to bring his visit to + a conclusion. Although he refuses to confess it, I have reason to believe + that he has committed the folly of falling seriously in love with the + young girl at my lodge gate. I have tried remonstrance in vain; and I + write to his father at the same time that I write to you. There is much + more that I might say. I reserve it for the time when I hope to have the + pleasure of seeing you, restored to health.” + </p> + <p> + Two days after the receipt of this alarming letter Rothsay returned to me. + </p> + <p> + Ill as I was, I forgot my sufferings the moment I looked at him. Wild and + haggard, he stared at me with bloodshot eyes like a man demented. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I am mad? I dare say I am. I can’t live without her.” Those + were the first words he said when we shook hands. + </p> + <p> + But I had more influence over him than any other person; and, weak as I + was, I exerted it. Little by little, he became more reasonable; he began + to speak like his old self again. + </p> + <p> + To have expressed any surprise, on my part, at what had happened, would + have been not only imprudent, but unworthy of him and of me. My first + inquiry was suggested by the fear that he might have been hurried into + openly confessing his passion to Susan—although his position forbade + him to offer marriage. I had done him an injustice. His honorable nature + had shrunk from the cruelty of raising hopes, which, for all he knew to + the contrary, might never be realized. At the same time, he had his + reasons for believing that he was at least personally acceptable to her. + </p> + <p> + “She was always glad to see me,” said poor Rothsay. “We constantly talked + of you. She spoke of your kindness so prettily and so gratefully. Oh, + Lepel, it is not her beauty only that has won my heart! Her nature is the + nature of an angel.” + </p> + <p> + His voice failed him. For the first time in my remembrance of our long + companionship, he burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + I was so shocked and distressed that I had the greatest difficulty in + preserving my own self-control. In the effort to comfort him, I asked if + he had ventured to confide in his father. + </p> + <p> + “You are the favorite son,” I reminded him. “Is there no gleam of hope in + the future?” + </p> + <p> + He had written to his father. In silence he gave me the letter in reply. + </p> + <p> + It was expressed with a moderation which I had hardly dared to expect. Mr. + Rothsay the elder admitted that he had himself married for love, and that + his wife’s rank in the social scale (although higher than Susan’s) had not + been equal to his own. + </p> + <p> + “In such a family as ours,” he wrote—perhaps with pardonable pride—“we + raise our wives to our own degree. But this young person labors under a + double disadvantage. She is obscure, and she is poor. What have you to + offer her? Nothing. And what have I to give you? Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + This meant, as I interpreted it, that the main obstacle in the way was + Susan’s poverty. And I was rich! In the excitement that possessed me, I + followed the impulse of the moment headlong, like a child. + </p> + <p> + “While you were away from me,” I said to Rothsay, “did you never once + think of your old friend? Must I remind you that I can make Susan your + wife with one stroke of my pen?” He looked at me in silent surprise. I + took my check-book from the drawer of the table, and placed the inkstand + within reach. “Susan’s marriage portion,” I said, “is a matter of a line + of writing, with my name at the end of it.” + </p> + <p> + He burst out with an exclamation that stopped me, just as my pen touched + the paper. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” he cried, “you are thinking of that play we saw at Rome! + Are we on the stage? Are you performing the part of the Marquis—and + am I the Count?” + </p> + <p> + I was so startled by this wild allusion to the past—I recognized + with such astonishment the reproduction of one of the dramatic situations + in the play, at a crisis in his life and mine—that the use of the + pen remained suspended in my hand. For the first time in my life I was + conscious of a sensation which resembled superstitious dread. + </p> + <p> + Rothsay recovered himself first. He misinterpreted what was passing in my + mind. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t think me ungrateful,” he said. “You dear, kind, good fellow, + consider for a moment, and you will see that it can’t be. What would be + said of her and of me, if you made Susan rich with your money, and if I + married her? The poor innocent would be called your cast-off mistress. + People would say: ‘He has behaved liberally to her, and his needy friend + has taken advantage of it.’” + </p> + <p> + The point of view which I had failed to see was put with terrible + directness of expression: the conviction that I was wrong was literally + forced on me. What reply could I make? Rothsay evidently felt for me. + </p> + <p> + “You are ill,” he said, gently; “let me leave you to rest.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand to say good-by. I insisted on his taking up his abode + with me, for the present at least. Ordinary persuasion failed to induce + him to yield. I put it on selfish grounds next. + </p> + <p> + “You have noticed that I am ill,” I said, “I want you to keep me company.” + </p> + <p> + He gave way directly. + </p> + <p> + Through the wakeful night, I tried to consider what moral remedies might + be within our reach. The one useful conclusion at which I could arrive was + to induce Rothsay to try what absence and change might do to compose his + mind. To advise him to travel alone was out of the question. I wrote to + his one other old friend besides myself—the friend who had taken him + on a cruise in the Mediterranean. + </p> + <p> + The owner of the yacht had that very day given directions to have his + vessel laid up for the winter season. He at once countermanded the order + by telegraph. “I am an idle man,” he said, “and I am as fond of Rothsay as + you are. I will take him wherever he likes to go.” It was not easy to + persuade the object of these kind intentions to profit by them. Nothing + that I could say roused him. I spoke to him of his picture. He had left it + at my uncle’s house, and neither knew nor cared to know whether it had + been sold or not. The one consideration which ultimately influenced + Rothsay was presented by the doctor; speaking as follows (to quote his own + explanation) in the interests of my health: + </p> + <p> + “I warned your friend,” he said, “that his conduct was causing anxiety + which you were not strong enough to bear. On hearing this he at once + promised to follow the advice which you had given to him, and to join the + yacht. As you know, he has kept his word. May I ask if he has ever + followed the medical profession?” + </p> + <p> + Replying in the negative, I begged the doctor to tell me why he had put + his question. + </p> + <p> + He answered, “Mr. Rothsay requested me to tell him all that I knew about + your illness. I complied, of course; mentioning that I had lately adopted + a new method of treatment, and that I had every reason to feel confident + of the results. He was so interested in the symptoms of your illness, and + in the remedies being tried, that he took notes in his pocketbook of what + I had said. When he paid me that compliment, I thought it possible that I + might be speaking to a colleague.” + </p> + <p> + I was pleased to hear of my friend’s anxiety for my recovery. If I had + been in better health, I might have asked myself what reason he could have + had for making those entries in his pocketbook. + </p> + <p> + Three days later, another proof reached me of Rothsay’s anxiety for my + welfare. + </p> + <p> + The owner of the yacht wrote to beg that I would send him a report of my + health, addressed to a port on the south coast of England, to which they + were then bound. “If we don’t hear good news,” he added, “I have reason to + fear that Rothsay will overthrow our plans for the recovery of his peace + of mind by leaving the vessel, and making his own inquiries at your + bedside.” + </p> + <p> + With no small difficulty I roused myself sufficiently to write a few words + with my own hand. They were words that lied—for my poor friend’s + sake. In a postscript, I begged my correspondent to let me hear if the + effect produced on Rothsay had answered to our hopes and expectations. + </p> + <p> + SIXTH EPOCH. + </p> + <p> + THE weary days followed each other—and time failed to justify the + doctor’s confidence in his new remedies. I grew weaker and weaker. + </p> + <p> + My uncle came to see me. He was so alarmed that he insisted on a + consultation being held with his own physician. Another great authority + was called in, at the same time, by the urgent request of my own medical + man. These distinguished persons held more than one privy council, before + they would consent to give a positive opinion. It was an evasive opinion + (encumbered with hard words of Greek and Roman origin) when it was at last + pronounced. I waited until they had taken their leave, and then appealed + to my own doctor. “What do these men really think?” I asked. “Shall I + live, or die?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor answered for himself as well as for his illustrious colleagues. + “We have great faith in the new prescriptions,” he said. + </p> + <p> + I understood what that meant. They were afraid to tell me the truth. I + insisted on the truth. + </p> + <p> + “How long shall I live?” I said. “Till the end of the year?” + </p> + <p> + The reply followed in one terrible word: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + It was then the first week in December. I understood that I might reckon—at + the utmost—on three weeks of life. What I felt, on arriving at this + conclusion, I shall not say. It is the one secret I keep from the readers + of these lines. + </p> + <p> + The next day, Mrs. Rymer called once more to make inquiries. Not satisfied + with the servant’s report, she entreated that I would consent to see her. + My housekeeper, with her customary kindness, undertook to convey the + message. If she had been a wicked woman, would she have acted in this way? + “Mrs. Rymer seems to be sadly distressed,” she pleaded. “As I understand, + sir, she is suffering under some domestic anxiety which can only be + mentioned to yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Did this anxiety relate to Susan? The bare doubt of it decided me. I + consented to see Mrs. Rymer. Feeling it necessary to control her in the + use of her tongue, I spoke the moment the door was opened. + </p> + <p> + “I am suffering from illness; and I must ask you to spare me as much as + possible. What do you wish to say to me?” + </p> + <p> + The tone in which I addressed Mrs. Rymer would have offended a more + sensitive woman. The truth is, she had chosen an unfortunate time for her + visit. There were fluctuations in the progress of my malady; there were + days when I felt better, and days when I felt worse—and this was a + bad day. Moreover, my uncle had tried my temper that morning. He had + called to see me, on his way to winter in the south of France by his + physician’s advice; and he recommended a trial of change of air in my case + also. His country house (only thirty miles from London) was entirely at my + disposal; and the railway supplied beds for invalids. It was useless to + answer that I was not equal to the effort. He reminded me that I had + exerted myself to leave my bedchamber for my arm-chair in the next room, + and that a little additional resolution would enable me to follow his + advice. We parted in a state of irritation on either side which, so far as + I was concerned, had not subsided yet. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to speak to you, sir, about my daughter,” Mrs. Rymer answered. + </p> + <p> + The mere allusion to Susan had its composing effect on me. I said kindly + that I hoped she was well. + </p> + <p> + “Well in body,” Mrs. Rymer announced. “Far from it, sir, in mind.” + </p> + <p> + Before I could ask what this meant, we were interrupted by the appearance + of the servant, bringing the letters which had arrived for me by the + afternoon post. I told the man, impatiently, to put them on the table at + my side. + </p> + <p> + “What is distressing Susan?” I inquired, without stopping to look at the + letters. + </p> + <p> + “She is fretting, sir, about your illness. Oh, Mr. Lepel, if you would + only try the sweet country air! If you only had my good little Susan to + nurse you!” + </p> + <p> + <i>She</i>, too, taking my uncle’s view! And talking of Susan as my nurse! + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking of?” I asked her. “A young girl like your daughter + nursing Me! You ought to have more regard for Susan’s good name!” + </p> + <p> + “I know what <i>you</i> ought to do!” She made that strange reply with a + furtive look at me, half in anger, half in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Will you turn me out of your house for my impudence?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I will hear what you have to say to me. What ought I to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Marry Susan.” + </p> + <p> + I heard the woman plainly—and yet, I declare, I doubted the evidence + of my senses. + </p> + <p> + “She’s breaking her heart for you,” Mrs. Rymer burst out. “She’s been in + love with you since you first darkened our doors—and it will end in + the neighbors finding it out. I did my duty to her; I tried to stop it; I + tried to prevent you from seeing her, when you went away. Too late; the + mischief was done. When I see my girl fading day by day—crying about + you in secret, talking about you in her dreams—I can’t stand it; I + must speak out. Oh, yes, I know how far beneath you she is—the + daughter of your uncle’s servant. But she’s your equal, sir, in the sight + of Heaven. My lord’s priest converted her only last year—and my + Susan is as good a Papist as yourself.” + </p> + <p> + How could I let this go on? I felt that I ought to have stopped it before. + </p> + <p> + “It’s possible,” I said, “that you may not be deliberately deceiving me. + If you are yourself deceived, I am bound to tell you the truth. Mr. + Rothsay loves your daughter, and, what is more, Mr. Rothsay has reason to + know that Susan—” + </p> + <p> + “That Susan loves him?” she interposed, with a mocking laugh. “Oh, Mr. + Lepel, is it possible that a clever man like you can’t see clearer than + that? My girl in love with Mr. Rothsay! She wouldn’t have looked at him a + second time if he hadn’t talked to her about <i>you</i>. When I complained + privately to my lord of Mr. Rothsay hanging about the lodge, do you think + she turned as pale as ashes, and cried when <i>he</i> passed through the + gate, and said good-by?” + </p> + <p> + She had complained of Rothsay to Lord Lepel—I understood her at + last! She knew that my friend and all his family were poor. She had put + her own construction on the innocent interest that I had taken in her + daughter. Careless of the difference in rank, blind to the malady that was + killing me, she was now bent on separating Rothsay and Susan, by throwing + the girl into the arms of a rich husband like myself! + </p> + <p> + “You are wasting your breath,” I told her; “I don’t believe one word you + say to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Believe Susan, then!” cried the reckless woman. “Let me bring her here. + If she’s too shamefaced to own the truth, look at her—that’s all I + ask—look at her, and judge for yourself!” + </p> + <p> + This was intolerable. In justice to Susan, in justice to Rothsay, I + insisted on silence. “No more of it!” I said. “Take care how you provoke + me. Don’t you see that I am ill? don’t you see that you are irritating me + to no purpose?” + </p> + <p> + She altered her tone. “I’ll wait,” she said, quietly, “while you compose + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + With those words, she walked to the window, and stood there with her back + toward me. Was the wretch taking advantage of my helpless condition? I + stretched out my hand to ring the bell, and have her sent away—and + hesitated to degrade Susan’s mother, for Susan’s sake. In my state of + prostration, how could I arrive at a decision? My mind was dreadfully + disturbed; I felt the imperative necessity of turning my thoughts to some + other subject. Looking about me, the letters on the table attracted my + attention. Mechanically, I took them up; mechanically I put them down + again. Two of them slipped from my trembling fingers; my eyes fell on the + uppermost of the two. The address was in the handwriting of the good + friend with whom Rothsay was sailing. + </p> + <p> + Just as I had been speaking of Rothsay, here was the news of him for which + I had been waiting. + </p> + <p> + I opened the letter and read these words: + </p> + <p> + “There is, I fear, but little hope for our friend—unless this girl + on whom he has set his heart can (by some lucky change of circumstances) + become his wife. He has tried to master his weakness; but his own + infatuation is too much for him. He is really and truly in a state of + despair. Two evenings since—to give you a melancholy example of what + I mean—I was in my cabin, when I heard the alarm of a man overboard. + The man was Rothsay. My sailing-master, seeing that he was unable to swim, + jumped into the sea and rescued him, as I got on deck. Rothsay declares it + to have been an accident; and everybody believes him but myself. I know + the state of his mind. Don’t be alarmed; I will have him well looked + after; and I won’t give him up just yet. We are still bound southward, + with a fair wind. If the new scenes which I hope to show him prove to be + of no avail, I must reluctantly take him back to England. In that case, + which I don’t like to contemplate, you may see him again—perhaps in + a month’s time.” + </p> + <p> + He might return in a month’s time—return to hear of the death of the + one friend, on whose power and will to help him he might have relied. If I + failed to employ in his interests the short interval of life still left to + me, could I doubt (after what I had just read) what the end would be? How + could I help him? Oh, God! how could I help him? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Rymer left the window, and returned to the chair which she had + occupied when I first received her. + </p> + <p> + “Are you quieter in your mind now?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + I neither answered her nor looked at her. + </p> + <p> + Still determined to reach her end, she tried again to force her unhappy + daughter on me. “Will you consent,” she persisted, “to see Susan?” + </p> + <p> + If she had been a little nearer to me, I am afraid I should have struck + her. “You wretch!” I said, “do you know that I am a dying man?” + </p> + <p> + “While there’s life there’s hope,” Mrs. Rymer remarked. + </p> + <p> + I ought to have controlled myself; but it was not to be done. + </p> + <p> + “Hope of your daughter being my rich widow?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + Her bitter answer followed instantly. + </p> + <p> + “Even then,” she said, “Susan wouldn’t marry Rothsay.” + </p> + <p> + A lie! If circumstances favored her, I knew, on Rothsay’s authority, what + Susan would do. + </p> + <p> + The thought burst on my mind, like light bursting on the eyes of a man + restored to sight. If Susan agreed to go through the form of marriage with + a dying bridegroom, my rich widow could (and would) become Rothsay’s wife. + Once more, the remembrance of the play at Rome returned, and set the last + embers of resolution, which sickness and suffering had left to me, in a + flame. The devoted friend of that imaginary story had counted on death to + complete his generous purpose in vain: <i>he</i> had been condemned by the + tribunal of man, and had been reprieved. I—in his place, and with + his self-sacrifice in my mind—might found a firmer trust in the + future; for I had been condemned by the tribunal of God. + </p> + <p> + Encouraged by my silence, the obstinate woman persisted. “Won’t you even + send a message to Susan?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Rashly, madly, without an instant’s hesitation, I answered: + </p> + <p> + “Go back to Susan, and say I leave it to <i>her</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Rymer started to her feet. “You leave it to Susan to be your wife, if + she likes?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “And if she consents?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> consent.” + </p> + <p> + In two weeks and a day from that time, the deed was done. When Rothsay + returned to England, he would ask for Susan—and he would find my + virgin-widow rich and free. + </p> + <p> + SEVENTH EPOCH. + </p> + <p> + WHATEVER may be thought of my conduct, let me say this in justice to + myself—I was resolved that Susan should not be deceived. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour after Mrs. Rymer had left my house, I wrote to her daughter, + plainly revealing the motive which led me to offer marriage, solely in the + future interest of Rothsay and herself. “If you refuse,” I said in + conclusion, “you may depend on my understanding you and feeling for you. + But, if you consent—then I have a favor to ask Never let us speak to + one another of the profanation that we have agreed to commit, for your + faithful lover’s sake.” + </p> + <p> + I had formed a high opinion of Susan—too high an opinion as it + seemed. Her reply surprised and disappointed me. In other words, she gave + her consent. + </p> + <p> + I stipulated that the marriage should be kept strictly secret, for a + certain period. In my own mind I decided that the interval should be held + to expire, either on the day of my death, or on the day when Rothsay + returned. + </p> + <p> + My next proceeding was to write in confidence to the priest whom I have + already mentioned, in an earlier part of these pages. He has reasons of + his own for not permitting me to disclose the motive which induced him to + celebrate my marriage privately in the chapel at Lord Lepel’s house. My + uncle’s desire that I should try change of air, as offering a last chance + of recovery, was known to my medical attendant, and served as a sufficient + reason (although he protested against the risk) for my removal to the + country. I was carried to the station, and placed on a bed—slung by + ropes to the ceiling of a saloon carriage, so as to prevent me from + feeling the vibration when the train was in motion. Faithful Mrs. Mozeen + entreated to be allowed to accompany me. I was reluctantly compelled to + refuse compliance with this request, in justice to the claims of my lord’s + housekeeper; who had been accustomed to exercise undivided authority in + the household, and who had made every preparation for my comfort. With her + own hands, Mrs. Mozeen packed everything that I required, including the + medicines prescribed for the occasion. She was deeply affected, poor soul, + when we parted. + </p> + <p> + I bore the journey—happily for me, it was a short one—better + than had been anticipated. For the first few days that followed, the purer + air of the country seemed, in some degree, to revive me. But the deadly + sense of weakness, the slow sinking of the vital power in me, returned as + the time drew near for the marriage. The ceremony was performed at night. + Only Susan and her mother were present. No persons in the house but + ourselves had the faintest suspicion of what had happened. + </p> + <p> + I signed my new will (the priest and Mrs. Rymer being the witnesses) in my + bed that night. It left everything that I possessed, excepting a legacy to + Mrs. Mozeen, to my wife. + </p> + <p> + Obliged, it is needless to say, to preserve appearances, Susan remained at + the lodge as usual. But it was impossible to resist her entreaty to be + allowed to attend on me, for a few hours daily, as assistant to the + regular nurse. When she was alone with me, and had no inquisitive eyes to + dread, the poor girl showed a depth of feeling, which I was unable to + reconcile with the motives that could alone have induced her (as I then + supposed) to consent to the mockery of our marriage. On occasions when I + was so far able to resist the languor that oppressed me as to observe what + was passing at my bedside—I saw Susan look at me as if there were + thoughts in her pressing for utterance which she hesitated to express. + Once, she herself acknowledged this. “I have so much to say to you,” she + owned, “when you are stronger and fitter to hear me.” At other times, her + nerves seemed to be shaken by the spectacle of my sufferings. Her kind + hands trembled and made mistakes, when they had any nursing duties to + perform near me. The servants, noticing her, used to say, “That pretty + girl seems to be the most awkward person in the house.” On the day that + followed the ceremony in the chapel, this want of self-control brought + about an accident which led to serious results. + </p> + <p> + In removing the small chest which held my medicines from the shelf on + which it was placed, Susan let it drop on the floor. The two full bottles + still left were so completely shattered that not even a teaspoonful of the + contents was saved. + </p> + <p> + Shocked at what she had done, the poor girl volunteered to go herself to + my chemist in London by the first train. I refused to allow it. What did + it matter to me now, if my death from exhaustion was hastened by a day or + two? Why need my life be prolonged artificially by drugs, when I had + nothing left to live for? An excuse for me which would satisfy others was + easily found. I said that I had been long weary of physic, and that the + accident had decided me on refusing to take more. + </p> + <p> + That night I did not wake quite so often as usual. When she came to me the + next day, Susan noticed that I looked better. The day after, the other + nurse made the same observation. At the end of the week, I was able to + leave my bed, and sit by the fireside, while Susan read to me. Some + mysterious change in my health had completely falsified the prediction of + the medical men. I sent to London for my doctor—and told him that + the improvement in me had begun on the day when I left off taking his + remedies. “Can you explain it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He answered that no such “resurrection from the dead” (as he called it) + had ever happened in his long experience. On leaving me, he asked for the + latest prescriptions that had been written. I inquired what he was going + to do with them. “I mean to go to the chemist,” he replied, “and to + satisfy myself that your medicines have been properly made up.” + </p> + <p> + I owed it to Mrs. Mozeen’s true interest in me to tell her what had + happened. The same day I wrote to her. I also mentioned what the doctor + had said, and asked her to call on him, and ascertain if the prescriptions + had been shown to the chemist, and if any mistake had been made. + </p> + <p> + A more innocently intended letter than this never was written. And yet + there are people who have declared that it was inspired by suspicion of + Mrs. Mozeen! + </p> + <p> + EIGHTH EPOCH. + </p> + <p> + WHETHER I was so weakened by illness as to be incapable of giving my mind + to more than one subject for reflection at a time (that subject being now + the extraordinary recovery of my health)—or whether I was + preoccupied by the effort, which I was in honor bound to make, to resist + the growing attraction to me of Susan’s society—I cannot presume to + say. This only I know: when the discovery of the terrible position toward + Rothsay in which I now stood suddenly overwhelmed me, an interval of some + days had passed. I cannot account for it. I can only say—so it was. + </p> + <p> + Susan was in the room. I was wholly unable to hide from her the sudden + change of color which betrayed the horror that had overpowered me. She + said, anxiously: “What has frightened you?” + </p> + <p> + I don’t think I heard her. The play was in my memory again—the fatal + play, which had wound itself into the texture of Rothsay’s life and mine. + In vivid remembrance, I saw once more the dramatic situation of the first + act, and shrank from the reflection of it in the disaster which had fallen + on my friend and myself. + </p> + <p> + “What has frightened you?” Susan repeated. + </p> + <p> + I answered in one word—I whispered his name: “Rothsay!” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me in innocent surprise. “Has he met with some misfortune?” + she asked, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Misfortune”—did she call it? Had I not said enough to disturb her + tranquillity in mentioning Rothsay’s name? “I am living!” I said. “Living—and + likely to live!” + </p> + <p> + Her answer expressed fervent gratitude. “Thank God for it!” + </p> + <p> + I looked at her, astonished as she had been astonished when she looked at + me. + </p> + <p> + “Susan, Susan,” I cried—“must I own it? I love you!” + </p> + <p> + She came nearer to me with timid pleasure in her eyes—with the first + faint light of a smile playing round her lips. + </p> + <p> + “You say it very strangely,” she murmured. “Surely, my dear one, you ought + to love me? Since the first day when you gave me my French lesson—haven’t + I loved You?” + </p> + <p> + “You love <i>me?</i>” I repeated. “Have you read—?” My voice failed + me; I could say no more. + </p> + <p> + She turned pale. “Read what?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “My letter.” + </p> + <p> + “What letter?” + </p> + <p> + “The letter I wrote to you before we were married.” + </p> + <p> + Am I a coward? The bare recollection of what followed that reply makes me + tremble. Time has passed. I am a new man now; my health is restored; my + happiness is assured: I ought to be able to write on. No: it is not to be + done. How can I think coolly? how force myself to record the suffering + that I innocently, most innocently, inflicted on the sweetest and truest + of women? Nothing saved us from a parting as absolute as the parting that + follows death but the confession that had been wrung from me at a time + when my motive spoke for itself. The artless avowal of her affection had + been justified, had been honored, by the words which laid my heart at her + feet when I said “I love you.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + She had risen to leave me. In a last look, we had silently resigned + ourselves to wait, apart from each other, for the day of reckoning that + must follow Rothsay’s return, when we heard the sound of carriage-wheels + on the drive that led to the house. In a minute more the man himself + entered the room. + </p> + <p> + He looked first at Susan—then at me. In both of us he saw the traces + that told of agitation endured, but not yet composed. Worn and weary he + waited, hesitating, near the door. + </p> + <p> + “Am I intruding?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “We were thinking of you, and speaking of you,” I replied, “just before + you came in.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>We?</i>” he repeated, turning toward Susan once more. After a pause, + he offered me his hand—and drew it back. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t shake hands with me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I am waiting, Rothsay, until I know that we are the same firm friends as + ever.” + </p> + <p> + For the third time he looked at Susan. + </p> + <p> + “Will <i>you</i> shake hands?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She gave him her hand cordially. “May I stay here?” she said, addressing + herself to me. + </p> + <p> + In my situation at that moment, I understood the generous purpose that + animated her. But she had suffered enough already—I led her gently + to the door. “It will be better,” I whispered, “if you will wait + downstairs in the library.” She hesitated. “What will they say in the + house?” she objected, thinking of the servants and of the humble position + which she was still supposed to occupy. “It matters nothing what they say, + now.” I told her. She left us. + </p> + <p> + “There seems to be some private understanding between you,” Rothsay said, + when we were alone. + </p> + <p> + “You shall hear what it is,” I answered. “But I must beg you to excuse me + if I speak first of myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you alluding to your health?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite needless, Lepel. I met your doctor this morning. I know that a + council of physicians decided you would die before the year was out.” + </p> + <p> + He paused there. + </p> + <p> + “And they proved to be wrong,” I added. + </p> + <p> + “They might have proved to be right,” Rothsay rejoined, “but for the + accident which spilled your medicine and the despair of yourself which + decided you on taking no more.” + </p> + <p> + I could hardly believe that I understood him. “Do you assert,” I said, + “that my medicine would have killed me, if I had taken the rest of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no doubt that it would.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you explain what you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me have your explanation first. I was not prepared to find Susan in + your room. I was surprised to see traces of tears in her face. Something + has happened in my absence. Am I concerned in it?” + </p> + <p> + “You are.” + </p> + <p> + I said it quietly—in full possession of myself. The trial of + fortitude through which I had already passed seemed to have blunted my + customary sense of feeling. I approached the disclosure which I was now + bound to make with steady resolution, resigned to the worst that could + happen when the truth was known. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember the time,” I resumed, “when I was so eager to serve you + that I proposed to make Susan your wife by making her rich?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember asking me if I was thinking of the play we saw together + at Rome? Is the story as present to your mind now, as it was then?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite as present.” + </p> + <p> + “You asked if I was performing the part of the Marquis—and if you + were the Count. Rothsay! the devotion of that ideal character to his + friend has been my devotion; his conviction that his death would justify + what he had done for his friend’s sake, has been <i>my</i> conviction; and + as it ended with him, so it has ended with me—his terrible position + is <i>my</i> terrible position toward you, at this moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you mad?” Rothsay asked, sternly. + </p> + <p> + I passed over that first outbreak of his anger in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me you have married Susan?” he went on. + </p> + <p> + “Bear this in mind,” I said. “When I married her, I was doomed to death. + Nay, more. In your interests—as God is my witness—I welcomed + death.” + </p> + <p> + He stepped up to me, in silence, and raised his hand with a threatening + gesture. + </p> + <p> + That action at once deprived me of my self-possession. I spoke with the + ungovernable rashness of a boy. + </p> + <p> + “Carry out your intention,” I said. “Insult me.” + </p> + <p> + His hand dropped. + </p> + <p> + “Insult me,” I repeated; “it is one way out of the unendurable situation + in which we are placed. You may trust me to challenge you. Duels are still + fought on the Continent; I will follow you abroad; I will choose pistols; + I will take care that we fight on the fatal foreign system; and I will + purposely miss you. Make her what I intended her to be—my rich + widow.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me attentively. + </p> + <p> + “Is <i>that</i> your refuge?” he asked, scornfully. “No! I won’t help you + to commit suicide.” + </p> + <p> + God forgive me! I was possessed by a spirit of reckless despair; I did my + best to provoke him. + </p> + <p> + “Reconsider your decision,” I said; “and remember—you tried to + commit suicide yourself.” + </p> + <p> + He turned quickly to the door, as if he distrusted his own powers of + self-control. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to speak to Susan,” he said, keeping his back turned on me. + </p> + <p> + “You will find her in the library.” + </p> + <p> + He left me. + </p> + <p> + I went to the window. I opened it and let the cold wintry air blow over my + burning head. I don’t know how long I sat at the window. There came a time + when I saw Rothsay on the house steps. He walked rapidly toward the park + gate. His head was down; he never once looked back at the room in which he + had left me. + </p> + <p> + As he passed out of my sight, I felt a hand laid gently on my shoulder. + Susan had returned to me. + </p> + <p> + “He will not come back,” she said. “Try still to remember him as your old + friend. He asks you to forgive and forget.” + </p> + <p> + She had made the peace between us. I was deeply touched; my eyes filled + with tears as I looked at her. She kissed me on the forehead and went out. + I afterward asked what had passed between them when Rothsay spoke with her + in the library. She never has told me what they said to each other; and + she never will. She is right. + </p> + <p> + Later in the day I was told that Mrs. Rymer had called, and wished to “pay + her respects.” + </p> + <p> + I refused to see her. Whatever claim she might have otherwise had on my + consideration had been forfeited by the infamy of her conduct, when she + intercepted my letter to Susan. Her sense of injury on receiving my + message was expressed in writing, and was sent to me the same evening. The + last sentence in her letter was characteristic of the woman. + </p> + <p> + “However your pride may despise me,” she wrote, “I am indebted to you for + the rise in life that I have always desired. You may refuse to see me—but + you can’t prevent my being the mother-in-law of a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + Soon afterward, I received a visit which I had hardly ventured to expect. + Busy as he was in London, my doctor came to see me. He was not in his + usual good spirits. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you don’t bring me any bad news?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “You shall judge for yourself,” he replied. “I come from Mr. Rothsay, to + say for him what he is not able to say for himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He has left England.” + </p> + <p> + “For any purpose that you know of?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He has sailed to join the expedition of rescue—I ought rather + to call it the forlorn hope—which is to search for the lost + explorers in Central Australia.” + </p> + <p> + In other words, he had gone to seek death in the fatal footsteps of Burke + and Wills. I could not trust myself to speak. + </p> + <p> + The doctor saw that there was a reason for my silence, and that he would + do well not to notice it. He changed the subject. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask,” he said, “if you have heard from the servants left in charge + at your house in London?” + </p> + <p> + “Has anything happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Something has happened which they are evidently afraid to tell you, + knowing the high opinion which you have of Mrs. Mozeen. She has suddenly + quitted your service, and has gone, nobody knows where. I have taken + charge of a letter which she left for you.” + </p> + <p> + He handed me the letter. As soon as I had recovered myself, I looked at + it. + </p> + <p> + There was this inscription on the address: “For my good master, to wait + until he returns home.” The few lines in the letter itself ran thus: + </p> + <p> + “Distressing circumstances oblige me to leave you, sir, and do not permit + me to enter into particulars. In asking your pardon, I offer my sincere + thanks for your kindness, and my fervent prayers for your welfare.” + </p> + <p> + That was all. The date had a special interest for me. Mrs. Mozeen had + written on the day when she must have received my letter—the letter + which has already appeared in these pages. + </p> + <p> + “Is there really nothing known of the poor woman’s motives?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “There are two explanations suggested,” the doctor informed me. “One of + them, which is offered by your female servants, seems to me absurd. They + declare that Mrs. Mozeen, at her mature age, was in love with the young + man who is your footman! It is even asserted that she tried to recommend + herself to him, by speaking of the money which she expected to bring to + the man who would make her his wife. The footman’s reply, informing her + that he was already engaged to be married, is alleged to be the cause + which has driven her from your house.” + </p> + <p> + I begged that the doctor would not trouble himself to repeat more of what + my women servants had said. + </p> + <p> + “If the other explanation,” I added, “is equally unworthy of notice—” + </p> + <p> + “The other explanation,” the doctor interposed, “comes from Mr. Rothsay, + and is of a very serious kind.” + </p> + <p> + Rothsay’s opinion demanded my respect. + </p> + <p> + “What view does he take?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + “A view that startles me,” the doctor said. “You remember my telling you + of the interest he took in your symptoms, and in the remedies I had + employed? Well! Mr. Rothsay accounts for the incomprehensible recovery of + your health by asserting that poison—probably administered in small + quantities, and intermitted at intervals in fear of discovery—has + been mixed with your medicine; and he asserts that the guilty person is + Mrs. Mozeen.” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible that I could openly express the indignation that I felt + on hearing this. My position toward Rothsay forced me to restrain myself. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask,” the doctor continued, “if Mrs. Mozeen was aware that she had + a legacy to expect at your death?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Has she a brother who is one of the dispensers employed by your + chemists?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she know that I doubted if my prescriptions had been properly + prepared, and that I intended to make inquiries?” + </p> + <p> + “I wrote to her myself on the subject.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think her brother told her that I was referred to <i>him</i>, when + I went to the chemists?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no means of knowing what her brother did.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you at least tell me when she received your letter?” + </p> + <p> + “She must have received it on the day when she left my house.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor rose with a grave face. + </p> + <p> + “These are rather extraordinary coincidences,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + I merely replied, “Mrs. Mozeen is as incapable of poisoning as I am.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor wished me good-morning. + </p> + <p> + I repeat here my conviction of my housekeeper’s innocence. I protest + against the cruelty which accuses her. And, whatever may have been her + motive in suddenly leaving my service, I declare that she still possesses + my sympathy and esteem, and I invite her to return to me if she ever sees + these lines. + </p> + <p> + I have only to add, by way of postscript, that we have heard of the safe + return of the expedition of rescue. Time, as my wife and I both hope, may + yet convince Rothsay that he will not be wrong in counting on Susan’s love—the + love of a sister. + </p> + <p> + In the meanwhile we possess a memorial of our absent friend. We have + bought his picture. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MR. CAPTAIN AND THE NYMPH. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> + <p> + “THE Captain is still in the prime of life,” the widow remarked. “He has + given up his ship; he possesses a sufficient income, and he has nobody to + live with him. I should like to know why he doesn’t marry.” + </p> + <p> + “The Captain was excessively rude to Me,” the widow’s younger sister + added, on her side. “When we took leave of him in London, I asked if there + was any chance of his joining us at Brighton this season. He turned his + back on me as if I had mortally offended him; and he made me this + extraordinary answer: ‘Miss! I hate the sight of the sea.’ The man has + been a sailor all his life. What does he mean by saying that he hates the + sight of the sea?” + </p> + <p> + These questions were addressed to a third person present—and the + person was a man. He was entirely at the mercy of the widow and the + widow’s sister. The other ladies of the family—who might have taken + him under their protection—had gone to an evening concert. He was + known to be the Captain’s friend, and to be well acquainted with events in + the Captain’s life. As it happened, he had reasons for hesitating to + revive associations connected with those events. But what polite + alternative was left to him? He must either inflict disappointment, and, + worse still, aggravate curiosity—or he must resign himself to + circumstances, and tell the ladies why the Captain would never marry, and + why (sailor as he was) he hated the sight of the sea. They were both young + women and handsome women—and the person to whom they had appealed + (being a man) followed the example of submission to the sex, first set in + the garden of Eden. He enlightened the ladies, in the terms that follow: + </p> + <p> + THE British merchantman, <i>Fortuna</i>, sailed from the port of Liverpool + (at a date which it is not necessary to specify) with the morning tide. + She was bound for certain islands in the Pacific Ocean, in search of a + cargo of sandal-wood—a commodity which, in those days, found a ready + and profitable market in the Chinese Empire. + </p> + <p> + A large discretion was reposed in the Captain by the owners, who knew him + to be not only trustworthy, but a man of rare ability, carefully + cultivated during the leisure hours of a seafaring life. Devoted heart and + soul to his professional duties, he was a hard reader and an excellent + linguist as well. Having had considerable experience among the inhabitants + of the Pacific Islands, he had attentively studied their characters, and + had mastered their language in more than one of its many dialects. Thanks + to the valuable information thus obtained, the Captain was never at a loss + to conciliate the islanders. He had more than once succeeded in finding a + cargo under circumstances in which other captains had failed. + </p> + <p> + Possessing these merits, he had also his fair share of human defects. For + instance, he was a little too conscious of his own good looks—of his + bright chestnut hair and whiskers, of his beautiful blue eyes, of his fair + white skin, which many a woman had looked at with the admiration that is + akin to envy. His shapely hands were protected by gloves; a broad-brimmed + hat sheltered his complexion in fine weather from the sun. He was nice in + the choice of his perfumes; he never drank spirits, and the smell of + tobacco was abhorrent to him. New men among his officers and his crew, + seeing him in his cabin, perfectly dressed, washed, and brushed until he + was an object speckless to look upon—a merchant-captain soft of + voice, careful in his choice of words, devoted to study in his leisure + hours—were apt to conclude that they had trusted themselves at sea + under a commander who was an anomalous mixture of a schoolmaster and a + dandy. But if the slightest infraction of discipline took place, or if the + storm rose and the vessel proved to be in peril, it was soon discovered + that the gloved hands held a rod of iron; that the soft voice could make + itself heard through wind and sea from one end of the deck to the other; + and that it issued orders which the greatest fool on board discovered to + be orders that had saved the ship. Throughout his professional life, the + general impression that this variously gifted man produced on the little + world about him was always the same. Some few liked him; everybody + respected him; nobody understood him. The Captain accepted these results. + He persisted in reading his books and protecting his complexion, with this + result: his owners shook hands with him, and put up with his gloves. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Fortuna</i> touched at Rio for water, and for supplies of food + which might prove useful in case of scurvy. In due time the ship rounded + Cape Horn, favored by the finest weather ever known in those latitudes by + the oldest hand on board. The mate—one Mr. Duncalf—a boozing, + wheezing, self-confident old sea-dog, with a flaming face and a vast + vocabulary of oaths, swore that he didn’t like it. “The foul weather’s + coming, my lads,” said Mr. Duncalf. “Mark my words, there’ll be wind + enough to take the curl out of the Captain’s whiskers before we are many + days older!” + </p> + <p> + For one uneventful week, the ship cruised in search of the islands to + which the owners had directed her. At the end of that time the wind took + the predicted liberties with the Captain’s whiskers; and Mr. Duncalf stood + revealed to an admiring crew in the character of a true prophet. + </p> + <p> + For three days and three nights the <i>Fortuna</i> ran before the storm, + at the mercy of wind and sea. On the fourth morning the gale blew itself + out, the sun appeared again toward noon, and the Captain was able to take + an observation. The result informed him that he was in a part of the + Pacific Ocean with which he was entirely unacquainted. Thereupon, the + officers were called to a council in the cabin. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Duncalf, as became his rank, was consulted first. His opinion + possessed the merit of brevity. “My lads, this ship’s bewitched. Take my + word for it, we shall wish ourselves back in our own latitudes before we + are many days older.” Which, being interpreted, meant that Mr. Duncalf was + lost, like his superior officer, in a part of the ocean of which he knew + nothing. + </p> + <p> + The remaining members of the council having no suggestions to offer, left + the Captain to take his own way. He decided (the weather being fine again) + to stand on under an easy press of sail for four-and-twenty hours more, + and to see if anything came of it. + </p> + <p> + Soon after nightfall, something did come of it. The lookout forward hailed + the quarter-deck with the dread cry, “Breakers ahead!” In less than a + minute more, everybody heard the crash of the broken water. The <i>Fortuna</i> + was put about, and came round slowly in the light wind. Thanks to the + timely alarm and the fine weather, the safety of the vessel was easily + provided for. They kept her under a short sail; and they waited for the + morning. + </p> + <p> + The dawn showed them in the distance a glorious green island, not marked + in the ship’s charts—an island girt about by a coral-reef, and + having in its midst a high-peaked mountain which looked, through the + telescope, like a mountain of volcanic origin. Mr. Duncalf, taking his + morning draught of rum and water, shook his groggy old head and said (and + swore): “My lads, I don’t like the look of that island.” The Captain was + of a different opinion. He had one of the ship’s boats put into the water; + he armed himself and four of his crew who accompanied him; and away he + went in the morning sunlight to visit the island. + </p> + <p> + Skirting round the coral reef, they found a natural breach, which proved + to be broad enough and deep enough not only for the passage of the boat, + but of the ship herself if needful. Crossing the broad inner belt of + smooth water, they approached the golden sands of the island, strewed + with magnificent shells, and crowded by the dusky islanders—men, + women, and children, all waiting in breathless astonishment to see the + strangers land. + </p> + <p> + The Captain kept the boat off, and examined the islanders carefully. The + innocent, simple people danced, and sang, and ran into the water, + imploring their wonderful white visitors by gestures to come on shore. Not + a creature among them carried arms of any sort; a hospitable curiosity + animated the entire population. The men cried out, in their smooth musical + language, “Come and eat!” and the plump black-eyed women, all laughing + together, added their own invitation, “Come and be kissed!” Was it in + mortals to resist such temptations as these? The Captain led the way on + shore, and the women surrounded him in an instant, and screamed for joy at + the glorious spectacle of his whiskers, his complexion, and his gloves. So + the mariners from the far north were welcomed to the newly-discovered + island. + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + THE morning wore on. Mr. Duncalf, in charge of the ship, cursing the + island over his rum and water, as a “beastly green strip of a place, not + laid down in any Christian chart,” was kept waiting four mortal hours + before the Captain returned to his command, and reported himself to his + officers as follows: + </p> + <p> + He had found his knowledge of the Polynesian dialects sufficient to make + himself in some degree understood by the natives of the new island. Under + the guidance of the chief he had made a first journey of exploration, and + had seen for himself that the place was a marvel of natural beauty and + fertility. The one barren spot in it was the peak of the volcanic + mountain, composed of crumbling rock; originally no doubt lava and ashes, + which had cooled and consolidated with the lapse of time. So far as he + could see, the crater at the top was now an extinct crater. But, if he had + understood rightly, the chief had spoken of earthquakes and eruptions at + certain bygone periods, some of which lay within his own earliest + recollections of the place. + </p> + <p> + Adverting next to considerations of practical utility, the Captain + announced that he had seen sandal-wood enough on the island to load a + dozen ships, and that the natives were willing to part with it for a few + toys and trinkets generally distributed among them. To the mate’s disgust, + the <i>Fortuna</i> was taken inside the reef that day, and was anchored + before sunset in a natural harbor. Twelve hours of recreation, beginning + with the next morning, were granted to the men, under the wise + restrictions in such cases established by the Captain. That interval over, + the work of cutting the precious wood and loading the ship was to be + unremittingly pursued. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Duncalf had the first watch after the <i>Fortuna</i> had been made + snug. He took the boatswain aside (an ancient sea-dog like himself), and + he said in a gruff whisper: “My lad, this here ain’t the island laid down + in our sailing orders. See if mischief don’t come of disobeying orders + before we are many days older.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing in the shape of mischief happened that night. But at sunrise the + next morning a suspicious circumstance occurred; and Mr. Duncalf whispered + to the boatswain: “What did I tell you?” The Captain and the chief of the + islanders held a private conference in the cabin, and the Captain, after + first forbidding any communication with the shore until his return, + suddenly left the ship, alone with the chief, in the chief’s own canoe. + </p> + <p> + What did this strange disappearance mean? The Captain himself, when he + took his seat in the canoe, would have been puzzled to answer that + question. He asked, in the nearest approach that his knowledge could make + to the language used in the island, whether he would be a long time or a + short time absent from his ship. + </p> + <p> + The chief answered mysteriously (as the Captain understood him) in these + words: “Long time or short time, your life depends on it, and the lives of + your men.” + </p> + <p> + Paddling his light little boat in silence over the smooth water inside the + reef, the chief took his visitor ashore at a part of the island which was + quite new to the Captain. The two crossed a ravine, and ascended an + eminence beyond. There the chief stopped, and silently pointed out to sea. + </p> + <p> + The Captain looked in the direction indicated to him, and discovered a + second and a smaller island, lying away to the southwest. Taking out his + telescope from the case by which it was slung at his back, he narrowly + examined the place. Two of the native canoes were lying off the shore of + the new island; and the men in them appeared to be all kneeling or + crouching in curiously chosen attitudes. Shifting the range of his glass, + he next beheld a white-robed figure, tall and solitary—the one + inhabitant of the island whom he could discover. The man was standing on + the highest point of a rocky cape. A fire was burning at his feet. Now he + lifted his arms solemnly to the sky; now he dropped some invisible fuel + into the fire, which made a blue smoke; and now he cast other invisible + objects into the canoes floating beneath him, which the islanders + reverently received with bodies that crouched in abject submission. + Lowering his telescope, the Captain looked round at the chief for an + explanation. The chief gave the explanation readily. His language was + interpreted by the English stranger in these terms: + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful white man! the island you see yonder is a Holy Island. As such + it is <i>Taboo</i>—an island sanctified and set apart. The honorable + person whom you notice on the rock is an all-powerful favorite of the + gods. He is by vocation a Sorcerer, and by rank a Priest. You now see him + casting charms and blessings into the canoes of our fishermen, who kneel + to him for fine weather and great plenty of fish. If any profane person, + native or stranger, presumes to set foot on that island, my otherwise + peaceful subjects will (in the performance of a religious duty) put that + person to death. Mention this to your men. They will be fed by my male + people, and fondled by my female people, so long as they keep clear of the + Holy Isle. As they value their lives, let them respect this prohibition. + Is it understood between us? Wonderful white man! my canoe is waiting for + you. Let us go back.” + </p> + <p> + Understanding enough of the chief’s language (illustrated by his gestures) + to receive in the right spirit the communication thus addressed to him, + the Captain repeated the warning to the ship’s company in the plainest + possible English. The officers and men then took their holiday on shore, + with the exception of Mr. Duncalf, who positively refused to leave the + ship. For twelve delightful hours they were fed by the male people, and + fondled by the female people, and then they were mercilessly torn from the + flesh-pots and the arms of their new friends, and set to work on the + sandal-wood in good earnest. Mr. Duncalf superintended the loading, and + waited for the mischief that was to come of disobeying the owners’ orders + with a confidence worthy of a better cause. + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + STRANGELY enough, chance once more declared itself in favor of the mate’s + point of view. The mischief did actually come; and the chosen instrument + of it was a handsome young islander, who was one of the sons of the chief. + </p> + <p> + The Captain had taken a fancy to the sweet-tempered, intelligent lad. + Pursuing his studies in the dialect of the island, at leisure hours, he + had made the chief’s son his tutor, and had instructed the youth in + English by way of return. More than a month had passed in this + intercourse, and the ship’s lading was being rapidly completed—when, + in an evil hour, the talk between the two turned on the subject of the + Holy Island. + </p> + <p> + “Does nobody live on the island but the Priest?” the Captain asked. + </p> + <p> + The chief’s son looked round him suspiciously. “Promise me you won’t tell + anybody!” he began very earnestly. + </p> + <p> + The Captain gave his promise. + </p> + <p> + “There is one other person on the island,” the lad whispered; “a person to + feast your eyes upon, if you could only see her! She is the Priest’s + daughter. Removed to the island in her infancy, she has never left it + since. In that sacred solitude she has only looked on two human beings—her + father and her mother. I once saw her from my canoe, taking care not to + attract her notice, or to approach too near the holy soil. Oh, so young, + dear master, and, oh, so beautiful!” The chief’s son completed the + description by kissing his own hands as an expression of rapture. + </p> + <p> + The Captain’s fine blue eyes sparkled. He asked no more questions; but, + later on that day, he took his telescope with him, and paid a secret visit + to the eminence which overlooked the Holy Island. The next day, and the + next, he privately returned to the same place. On the fourth day, fatal + Destiny favored him. He discovered the nymph of the island. + </p> + <p> + Standing alone upon the cape on which he had already seen her father, she + was feeding some tame birds which looked like turtle-doves. The glass + showed the Captain her white robe, fluttering in the sea-breeze; her long + black hair falling to her feet; her slim and supple young figure; her + simple grace of attitude, as she turned this way and that, attending to + the wants of her birds. Before her was the blue ocean; behind her rose the + lustrous green of the island forest. He looked and looked until his eyes + and arms ached. When she disappeared among the trees, followed by her + favorite birds, the Captain shut up his telescope with a sigh, and said to + himself: “I have seen an angel!” + </p> + <p> + From that hour he became an altered man; he was languid, silent, + interested in nothing. General opinion, on board his ship, decided that he + was going to be taken ill. + </p> + <p> + A week more elapsed, and the officers and crew began to talk of the voyage + to their market in China. The Captain refused to fix a day for sailing. He + even took offense at being asked to decide. Instead of sleeping in his + cabin, he went ashore for the night. + </p> + <p> + Not many hours afterward (just before daybreak), Mr. Duncalf, snoring in + his cabin on deck, was aroused by a hand laid on his shoulder. The + swinging lamp, still alight, showed him the dusky face of the chief’s son, + convulsed with terror. By wild signs, by disconnected words in the little + English which he had learned, the lad tried to make the mate understand + him. Dense Mr. Duncalf, understanding nothing, hailed the second officer, + on the opposite side of the deck. The second officer was young and + intelligent; he rightly interpreted the terrible news that had come to the + ship. + </p> + <p> + The Captain had broken his own rules. Watching his opportunity, under + cover of the night, he had taken a canoe, and had secretly crossed the + channel to the Holy Island. No one had been near him at the time but the + chief’s son. The lad had vainly tried to induce him to abandon his + desperate enterprise, and had vainly waited on the shore in the hope of + hearing the sound of the paddle announcing his return. Beyond all + reasonable doubt, the infatuated man had set foot on the shores of the + tabooed island. + </p> + <p> + The one chance for his life was to conceal what he had done, until the + ship could be got out of the harbor, and then (if no harm had come to him + in the interval) to rescue him after nightfall. It was decided to spread + the report that he had really been taken ill, and that he was confined to + his cabin. The chief’s son, whose heart the Captain’s kindness had won, + could be trusted to do this, and to keep the secret faithfully for his + good friend’s sake. + </p> + <p> + Toward noon, the next day, they attempted to take the ship to sea, and + failed for want of wind. Hour by hour, the heat grew more oppressive. As + the day declined, there were ominous appearances in the western heaven. + The natives, who had given some trouble during the day by their anxiety to + see the Captain, and by their curiosity to know the cause of the sudden + preparations for the ship’s departure, all went ashore together, looking + suspiciously at the sky, and reappeared no more. Just at midnight, the + ship (still in her snug berth inside the reef) suddenly trembled from her + keel to her uppermost masts. Mr. Duncalf, surrounded by the startled crew, + shook his knotty fist at the island as if he could see it in the dark. “My + lads, what did I tell you? That was a shock of earthquake.” + </p> + <p> + With the morning the threatening aspect of the weather unexpectedly + disappeared. A faint hot breeze from the land, just enough to give the + ship steerage-way, offered Mr. Duncalf a chance of getting to sea. Slowly + the <i>Fortuna</i>, with the mate himself at the wheel, half sailed, half + drifted into the open ocean. At a distance of barely two miles from the + island the breeze was felt no more, and the vessel lay becalmed for the + rest of the day. + </p> + <p> + At night the men waited their orders, expecting to be sent after their + Captain in one of the boats. The intense darkness, the airless heat, and a + second shock of earthquake (faintly felt in the ship at her present + distance from the land) warned the mate to be cautious. “I smell mischief + in the air,” said Mr. Duncalf. “The Captain must wait till I am surer of + the weather.” + </p> + <p> + Still no change came with the new day. The dead calm continued, and the + airless heat. As the day declined, another ominous appearance became + visible. A thin line of smoke was discovered through the telescope, + ascending from the topmost peak of the mountain on the main island. Was + the volcano threatening an eruption? The mate, for one, entertained no + doubt of it. “By the Lord, the place is going to burst up!” said Mr. + Duncalf. “Come what may of it, we must find the Captain to-night!” + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + WHAT was the Captain doing? and what chance had the crew of finding him + that night? + </p> + <p> + He had committed himself to his desperate adventure, without forming any + plan for the preservation of his own safety; without giving even a + momentary consideration to the consequences which might follow the risk + that he had run. The charming figure that he had seen haunted him night + and day. The image of the innocent creature, secluded from humanity in her + island solitude, was the one image that filled his mind. A man, passing a + woman in the street, acts on the impulse to turn and follow her, and in + that one thoughtless moment shapes the destiny of his future life. The + Captain had acted on a similar impulse, when he took the first canoe he + had found on the beach, and shaped his reckless course for the tabooed + island. + </p> + <p> + Reaching the shore while it was still dark, he did one sensible thing—he + hid the canoe so that it might not betray him when the daylight came. That + done, he waited for the morning on the outskirts of the forest. + </p> + <p> + The trembling light of dawn revealed the mysterious solitude around him. + Following the outer limits of the trees, first in one direction, then in + another, and finding no trace of any living creature, he decided on + penetrating to the interior of the island. He entered the forest. + </p> + <p> + An hour of walking brought him to rising ground. Continuing the ascent, he + got clear of the trees, and stood on the grassy top of a broad cliff which + overlooked the sea. An open hut was on the cliff. He cautiously looked in, + and discovered that it was empty. The few household utensils left about, + and the simple bed of leaves in a corner, were covered with fine sandy + dust. Night-birds flew blundering out of the inner cavities of the roof, + and took refuge in the shadows of the forest below. It was plain that the + hut had not been inhabited for some time past. + </p> + <p> + Standing at the open doorway and considering what he should do next, the + Captain saw a bird flying toward him out of the forest. It was a + turtle-dove, so tame that it fluttered close up to him. At the same moment + the sound of sweet laughter became audible among the trees. His heart beat + fast; he advanced a few steps and stopped. In a moment more the nymph of + the island appeared, in her white robe, ascending the cliff in pursuit of + her truant bird. She saw the strange man, and suddenly stood still; struck + motionless by the amazing discovery that had burst upon her. The Captain + approached, smiling and holding out his hand. She never moved; she stood + before him in helpless wonderment—her lovely black eyes fixed + spellbound on his face; her dusky bosom palpitating above the fallen folds + of her robe; her rich red lips parted in mute astonishment. Feasting his + eyes on her beauty in silence, the Captain after a while ventured to speak + to her in the language of the main island. The sound of his voice, + addressing her in the words that she understood, roused the lovely + creature to action. She started, stepped close up to him, and dropped on + her knees at his feet. + </p> + <p> + “My father worships invisible deities,” she said, softly. “Are you a + visible deity? Has my mother sent you?” She pointed as she spoke to the + deserted hut behind them. “You appear,” she went on, “in the place where + my mother died. Is it for her sake that you show yourself to her child? + Beautiful deity, come to the Temple—come to my father!” + </p> + <p> + The Captain gently raised her from the ground. If her father saw him, he + was a doomed man. + </p> + <p> + Infatuated as he was, he had sense enough left to announce himself plainly + in his own character, as a mortal creature arriving from a distant land. + The girl instantly drew back from him with a look of terror. + </p> + <p> + “He is not like my father,” she said to herself; “he is not like me. Is he + the lying demon of the prophecy? Is he the predestined destroyer of our + island?” + </p> + <p> + The Captain’s experience of the sex showed him the only sure way out of + the awkward position in which he was now placed. He appealed to his + personal appearance. + </p> + <p> + “Do I look like a demon?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes met his eyes; a faint smile trembled on her lips. He ventured on + asking what she meant by the predestined destruction of the island. She + held up her hand solemnly, and repeated the prophecy. + </p> + <p> + The Holy Island was threatened with destruction by an evil being, who + would one day appear on its shores. To avert the fatality the place had + been sanctified and set apart, under the protection of the gods and their + priest. Here was the reason for the taboo, and for the extraordinary rigor + with which it was enforced. Listening to her with the deepest interest, + the Captain took her hand and pressed it gently. + </p> + <p> + “Do I feel like a demon?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + Her slim brown fingers closed frankly on his hand. “You feel soft and + friendly,” she said with the fearless candor of a child. “Squeeze me + again. I like it!” + </p> + <p> + The next moment she snatched her hand away from him; the sense of his + danger had suddenly forced itself on her mind. “If my father sees you,” + she said, “he will light the signal fire at the Temple, and the people + from the other island will come here and put you to death. Where is your + canoe? No! It is daylight. My father may see you on the water.” She + considered a little, and, approaching him, laid her hands on his + shoulders. “Stay here till nightfall,” she resumed. “My father never comes + this way. The sight of the place where my mother died is horrible to him. + You are safe here. Promise to stay where you are till night-time.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain gave his promise. + </p> + <p> + Freed from anxiety so far, the girl’s mobile temperament recovered its + native cheerfulness, its sweet gayety and spirit. She admired the + beautiful stranger as she might have admired a new bird that had flown to + her to be fondled with the rest. She patted his fair white skin, and + wished she had a skin like it. She lifted the great glossy folds of her + long black hair, and compared it with the Captain’s bright curly locks, + and longed to change colors with him from the bottom of her heart. His + dress was a wonder to her; his watch was a new revelation. She rested her + head on his shoulder to listen delightedly to the ticking, as he held the + watch to her ear. Her fragrant breath played on his face, her warm, supple + figure rested against him softly. The Captain’s arm stole round her waist, + and the Captain’s lips gently touched her cheek. She lifted her head with + a look of pleased surprise. “Thank you,” said the child of Nature, simply. + “Kiss me again; I like it. May I kiss you?” The tame turtle-dove perched + on her shoulder as she gave the Captain her first kiss, and diverted her + thoughts to the pets that she had left, in pursuit of the truant dove. + “Come,” she said, “and see my birds. I keep them on this side of the + forest. There is no danger, so long as you don’t show yourself on the + other side. My name is Aimata. Aimata will take care of you. Oh, what a + beautiful white neck you have!” She put her arm admiringly round his neck. + The Captain’s arm held her tenderly to him. Slowly the two descended the + cliff, and were lost in the leafy solitudes of the forest. And the tame + dove fluttered before them, a winged messenger of love, cooing to his + mate. + </p> + <p> + VI. + </p> + <p> + THE night had come, and the Captain had not left the island. + </p> + <p> + Aimata’s resolution to send him away in the darkness was a forgotten + resolution already. She had let him persuade her that he was in no danger, + so long as he remained in the hut on the cliff; and she had promised, at + parting, to return to him while the Priest was still sleeping, at the dawn + of day. + </p> + <p> + He was alone in the hut. The thought of the innocent creature whom he + loved was sorrowfully as well as tenderly present to his mind. He almost + regretted his rash visit to the island. “I will take her with me to + England,” he said to himself. “What does a sailor care for the opinion of + the world? Aimata shall be my wife.” + </p> + <p> + The intense heat oppressed him. He stepped out on the cliff, toward + midnight, in search of a breath of air. + </p> + <p> + At that moment, the first shock of earthquake (felt in the ship while she + was inside the reef) shook the ground he stood on. He instantly thought of + the volcano on the main island. Had he been mistaken in supposing the + crater to be extinct? Was the shock that he had just felt a warning from + the volcano, communicated through a submarine connection between the two + islands? He waited and watched through the hours of darkness, with a vague + sense of apprehension, which was not to be reasoned away. With the first + light of daybreak he descended into the forest, and saw the lovely being + whose safety was already precious to him as his own, hurrying to meet him + through the trees. + </p> + <p> + She waved her hand distractedly as she approached him. “Go!” she cried; + “go away in your canoe before our island is destroyed!” + </p> + <p> + He did his best to quiet her alarm. Was it the shock of earthquake that + had frightened her? No: it was more than the shock of earthquake—it + was something terrible which had followed the shock. There was a lake near + the Temple, the waters of which were supposed to be heated by subterranean + fires. The lake had risen with the earthquake, had bubbled furiously, and + had then melted away into the earth and been lost. Her father, viewing the + portent with horror, had gone to the cape to watch the volcano on the main + island, and to implore by prayers and sacrifices the protection of the + gods. Hearing this, the Captain entreated Aimata to let him see the + emptied lake, in the absence of the Priest. She hesitated; but his + influence was all-powerful. He prevailed on her to turn back with him + through the forest. + </p> + <p> + Reaching the furthest limit of the trees, they came out upon open rocky + ground which sloped gently downward toward the center of the island. + Having crossed this space, they arrived at a natural amphitheater of rock. + On one side of it the Temple appeared, partly excavated, partly formed by + a natural cavern. In one of the lateral branches of the cavern was the + dwelling of the Priest and his daughter. The mouth of it looked out on the + rocky basin of the lake. Stooping over the edge, the Captain discovered, + far down in the empty depths, a light cloud of steam. Not a drop of water + was visible, look where he might. + </p> + <p> + Aimata pointed to the abyss, and hid her face on his bosom. “My father + says,” she whispered, “that it is your doing.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain started. “Does your father know that I am on the island?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him with a quick glance of reproach. “Do you think I + would tell him, and put your life in peril?” she asked. “My father felt + the destroyer of the island in the earthquake; my father saw the coming + destruction in the disappearance of the lake.” Her eyes rested on him with + a loving languor. “Are you indeed the demon of the prophecy?” she said, + winding his hair round her finger. “I am not afraid of you, if you are. I + am a creature bewitched; I love the demon.” She kissed him passionately. + “I don’t care if I die,” she whispered between the kisses, “if I only die + with you!” + </p> + <p> + The Captain made no attempt to reason with her. He took the wiser way—he + appealed to her feelings. + </p> + <p> + “You will come and live with me happily in my own country,” he said. “My + ship is waiting for us. I will take you home with me, and you shall be my + wife.” + </p> + <p> + She clapped her hands for joy. Then she thought of her father, and drew + back from him in tears. + </p> + <p> + The Captain understood her. “Let us leave this dreary place,” he + suggested. “We will talk about it in the cool glades of the forest, where + you first said you loved me.” + </p> + <p> + She gave him her hand. “Where I first said I loved you!” she repeated, + smiling tenderly as she looked at him. They left the lake together. + </p> + <p> + VII. + </p> + <p> + THE darkness had fallen again; and the ship was still becalmed at sea. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Duncalf came on deck after his supper. The thin line of smoke, seen + rising from the peak of the mountain that evening, was now succeeded by + ominous flashes of fire from the same quarter, intermittently visible. The + faint hot breeze from the land was felt once more. “There’s just an air of + wind,” Mr. Duncalf remarked. “I’ll try for the Captain while I have the + chance.” + </p> + <p> + One of the boats was lowered into the water—under command of the + second mate, who had already taken the bearings of the tabooed island by + daylight. Four of the men were to go with him, and they were all to be + well armed. Mr. Duncalf addressed his final instructions to the officer in + the boat. + </p> + <p> + “You will keep a lookout, sir, with a lantern in the bows. If the natives + annoy you, you know what to do. Always shoot natives. When you get anigh + the island, you will fire a gun and sing out for the Captain.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite needless,” interposed a voice from the sea. “The Captain is here!” + </p> + <p> + Without taking the slightest notice of the astonishment that he had + caused, the commander of the <i>Fortuna</i> paddled his canoe to the side + of the ship. Instead of ascending to the deck, he stepped into the boat, + waiting alongside. “Lend me your pistols,” he said quietly to the second + officer, “and oblige me by taking your men back to their duties on board.” + He looked up at Mr. Duncalf and gave some further directions. “If there is + any change in the weather, keep the ship standing off and on, at a safe + distance from the land, and throw up a rocket from time to time to show + your position. Expect me on board again by sunrise.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried the mate. “Do you mean to say you are going back to the + island—in that boat—all by yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going back to the island,” answered the Captain, as quietly as ever; + “in this boat—all by myself.” He pushed off from the ship, and + hoisted the sail as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “You’re deserting your duty!” the old sea-dog shouted, with one of his + loudest oaths. + </p> + <p> + “Attend to my directions,” the Captain shouted back, as he drifted away + into the darkness. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Duncalf—violently agitated for the first time in his life—took + leave of his superior officer, with a singular mixture of solemnity and + politeness, in these words: + </p> + <p> + “The Lord have mercy on your soul! I wish you good-evening.” + </p> + <p> + VIII. + </p> + <p> + ALONE in the boat, the Captain looked with a misgiving mind at the + flashing of the volcano on the main island. + </p> + <p> + If events had favored him, he would have removed Aimata to the shelter of + the ship on the day when he saw the emptied basin on the lake. But the + smoke of the Priest’s sacrifice had been discovered by the chief; and he + had dispatched two canoes with instructions to make inquiries. One of the + canoes had returned; the other was kept in waiting off the cape, to place + a means of communicating with the main island at the disposal of the + Priest. The second shock of earthquake had naturally increased the alarm + of the chief. He had sent messages to the Priest, entreating him to leave + the island, and other messages to Aimata suggesting that she should exert + her influence over her father, if he hesitated. The Priest refused to + leave the Temple. He trusted in his gods and his sacrifices—he + believed they might avert the fatality that threatened his sanctuary. + </p> + <p> + Yielding to the holy man, the chief sent re-enforcements of canoes to take + their turn at keeping watch off the headland. Assisted by torches, the + islanders were on the alert (in superstitious terror of the demon of the + prophecy) by night as well as by day. The Captain had no alternative but + to keep in hiding, and to watch his opportunity of approaching the place + in which he had concealed his canoe. It was only after Aimata had left him + as usual, to return to her father at the close of evening, that the + chances declared themselves in his favor. The fire-flashes from the + mountain, visible when the night came, had struck terror into the hearts + of the men on the watch. They thought of their wives, their children, and + their possessions on the main island, and they one and all deserted their + Priest. The Captain seized the opportunity of communicating with the ship, + and of exchanging a frail canoe which he was ill able to manage, for a + swift-sailing boat capable of keeping the sea in the event of stormy + weather. + </p> + <p> + As he now neared the land, certain small sparks of red, moving on the + distant water, informed him that the canoes of the sentinels had been + ordered back to their duty. + </p> + <p> + Carefully avoiding the lights, he reached his own side of the island + without accident, and, guided by the boat’s lantern, anchored under the + cliff. He climbed the rocks, advanced to the door of the hut, and was met, + to his delight and astonishment, by Aimata on the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “I dreamed that some dreadful misfortune had parted us forever,” she said; + “and I came here to see if my dream was true. You have taught me what it + is to be miserable; I never felt my heart ache till I looked into the hut + and found that you had gone. Now I have seen you, I am satisfied. No! you + must not go back with me. My father may be out looking for me. It is you + that are in danger, not I. I know the forest as well by dark as by + daylight.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain detained her when she tried to leave him. + </p> + <p> + “Now you <i>are</i> here,” he said, “why should I not place you at once in + safety? I have been to the ship; I have brought back one of the boats. The + darkness will befriend us—let us embark while we can.” + </p> + <p> + She shrank away as he took her hand. “You forget my father!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Your father is in no danger, my love. The canoes are waiting for him at + the cape; I saw the lights as I passed.” + </p> + <p> + With that reply he drew her out of the hut and led her toward the sea. Not + a breath of the breeze was now to be felt. The dead calm had returned—and + the boat was too large to be easily managed by one man alone at the oars. + </p> + <p> + “The breeze may come again,” he said. “Wait here, my angel, for the + chance.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, the deep silence of the forest below them was broken by a + sound. A harsh wailing voice was heard, calling: + </p> + <p> + “Aimata! Aimata!” + </p> + <p> + “My father!” she whispered; “he has missed me. If he comes here you are + lost.” + </p> + <p> + She kissed him with passionate fervor; she held him to her for a moment + with all her strength. + </p> + <p> + “Expect me at daybreak,” she said, and disappeared down the landward slope + of the cliff. + </p> + <p> + He listened, anxious for her safety. The voices of the father and daughter + just reached him from among the trees. The Priest spoke in no angry tones; + she had apparently found an acceptable excuse for her absence. Little by + little, the failing sound of their voices told him that they were on their + way back together to the Temple. The silence fell again. Not a ripple + broke on the beach. Not a leaf rustled in the forest. Nothing moved but + the reflected flashes of the volcano on the main island over the black + sky. It was an airless and an awful calm. + </p> + <p> + He went into the hut, and laid down on his bed of leaves—not to + sleep, but to rest. All his energies might be required to meet the coming + events of the morning. After the voyage to and from the ship, and the long + watching that had preceded it, strong as he was he stood in need of + repose. + </p> + <p> + For some little time he kept awake, thinking. Insensibly the oppression of + the intense heat, aided in its influence by his own fatigue, treacherously + closed his eyes. In spite of himself, the weary man fell into a deep + sleep. + </p> + <p> + He was awakened by a roar like the explosion of a park of artillery. The + volcano on the main island had burst into a state of eruption. Smoky + flame-light overspread the sky, and flashed through the open doorway of + the hut. He sprang from his bed—and found himself up to his knees in + water. + </p> + <p> + Had the sea overflowed the land? + </p> + <p> + He waded out of the hut, and the water rose to his middle. He looked round + him by the lurid light of the eruption. The one visible object within the + range of view was the sea, stained by reflections from the blood-red sky, + swirling and rippling strangely in the dead calm. In a moment more, he + became conscious that the earth on which he stood was sinking under his + feet. The water rose to his neck; the last vestige of the roof of the hut + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + He looked round again, and the truth burst on him. The island was sinking—slowly, + slowly sinking into volcanic depths, below even the depth of the sea! The + highest object was the hut, and that had dropped inch by inch under water + before his own eyes. Thrown up to the surface by occult volcanic + influences, the island had sunk back, under the same influences, to the + obscurity from which it had emerged! + </p> + <p> + A black shadowy object, turning in a wide circle, came slowly near him as + the all-destroying ocean washed its bitter waters into his mouth. The + buoyant boat, rising as the sea rose, had dragged its anchor, and was + floating round in the vortex made by the slowly sinking island. With a + last desperate hope that Aimata might have been saved as <i>he</i> had + been saved, he swam to the boat, seized the heavy oars with the strength + of a giant, and made for the place (so far as he could guess at it now) + where the lake and the Temple had once been. + </p> + <p> + He looked round and round him; he strained his eyes in the vain attempt to + penetrate below the surface of the seething dimpling sea. Had the + panic-stricken watchers in the canoes saved themselves, without an effort + to preserve the father and daughter? Or had they both been suffocated + before they could make an attempt to escape? He called to her in his + misery, as if she could hear him out of the fathomless depths: “Aimata! + Aimata!” The roar of the distant eruption answered him. The mounting fires + lit the solitary sea far and near over the sinking island. The boat turned + slowly and more slowly in the lessening vortex. Never again would those + gentle eyes look at him with unutterable love! Never again would those + fresh lips touch his lips with their fervent kiss! Alone, amid the savage + forces of Nature in conflict, the miserable mortal lifted his hands in + frantic supplication—and the burning sky glared down on him in its + pitiless grandeur, and struck him to his knees in the boat. His reason + sank with his sinking limbs. In the merciful frenzy that succeeded the + shock, he saw afar off, in her white robe, an angel poised on the waters, + beckoning him to follow her to the brighter and the better world. He + loosened the sail, he seized the oars; and the faster he pursued it, the + faster the mocking vision fled from him over the empty and endless sea. + </p> + <p> + IX. + </p> + <p> + THE boat was discovered, on the next morning, from the ship. + </p> + <p> + All that the devotion of the officers of the <i>Fortuna</i> could do for + their unhappy commander was done on the homeward voyage. Restored to his + own country, and to skilled medical help, the Captain’s mind by slow + degrees recovered its balance. He has taken his place in society again—he + lives and moves and manages his affairs like the rest of us. But his heart + is dead to all new emotions; nothing remains in it but the sacred + remembrance of his lost love. He neither courts nor avoids the society of + women. Their sympathy finds him grateful, but their attractions seem to be + lost on him; they pass from his mind as they pass from his eyes—they + stir nothing in him but the memory of Aimata. + </p> + <p> + “Now you know, ladies, why the Captain will never marry, and why (sailor + as he is) he hates the sight of the sea.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MR. MARMADUKE AND THE MINISTER. + </h2> + <h3> + I. + </h3> + <p> + September 13th.—Winter seems to be upon us, on the Highland Border, + already. + </p> + <p> + I looked out of window, as the evening closed in, before I barred the + shutters and drew the curtains for the night. The clouds hid the hilltops + on either side of our valley. Fantastic mists parted and met again on the + lower slopes, as the varying breeze blew them. The blackening waters of + the lake before our window seemed to anticipate the coming darkness. On + the more distant hills the torrents were just visible, in the breaks of + the mist, stealing their way over the brown ground like threads of silver. + It was a dreary scene. The stillness of all things was only interrupted by + the splashing of our little waterfall at the back of the house. I was not + sorry to close the shutters, and confine the view to the four walls of our + sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + The day happened to be my birthday. I sat by the peat-fire, waiting for + the lamp and the tea-tray, and contemplating my past life from the + vantage-ground, so to speak, of my fifty-fifth year. + </p> + <p> + There was wonderfully little to look back on. Nearly thirty years since, + it pleased an all-wise Providence to cast my lot in this remote Scottish + hamlet, and to make me Minister of Cauldkirk, on a stipend of seventy-four + pounds sterling per annum. I and my surroundings have grown quietly older + and older together. I have outlived my wife; I have buried one generation + among my parishioners, and married another; I have borne the wear and tear + of years better than the kirk in which I minister and the manse (or + parsonage-house) in which I live—both sadly out of repair, and both + still trusting for the means of reparation to the pious benefactions of + people richer than myself. Not that I complain, be it understood, of the + humble position which I occupy. I possess many blessings; and I thank the + Lord for them. I have my little bit of land and my cow. I have also my + good daughter, Felicia; named after her deceased mother, but inheriting + her comely looks, it is thought, rather from myself. + </p> + <p> + Neither let me forget my elder sister, Judith; a friendless single person, + sheltered under my roof, whose temperament I could wish somewhat less + prone to look at persons and things on the gloomy side, but whose + compensating virtues Heaven forbid that I should deny. No; I am grateful + for what has been given me (from on high), and resigned to what has been + taken away. With what fair prospects did I start in life! Springing from a + good old Scottish stock, blessed with every advantage of education that + the institutions of Scotland and England in turn could offer; with a + career at the Bar and in Parliament before me—and all cast to the + winds, as it were, by the measureless prodigality of my unhappy father, + God forgive him! I doubt if I had five pounds left in my purse, when the + compassion of my relatives on the mother’s side opened a refuge to me at + Cauldkirk, and hid me from the notice of the world for the rest of my + life. + </p> + <p> + September 14th.—Thus far I had posted up my Diary on the evening of + the 13th, when an event occurred so completely unexpected by my household + and myself, that the pen, I may say, dropped incontinently from my hand. + </p> + <p> + It was the time when we had finished our tea, or supper—I hardly + know which to call it. In the silence, we could hear the rain pouring + against the window, and the wind that had risen with the darkness howling + round the house. My sister Judith, taking the gloomy view according to + custom—copious draughts of good Bohea and two helpings of such a + mutton ham as only Scotland can produce had no effect in raising her + spirits—my sister, I say, remarked that there would be ships lost at + sea and men drowned this night. My daughter Felicia, the + brightest-tempered creature of the female sex that I have ever met with, + tried to give a cheerful turn to her aunt’s depressing prognostication. + “If the ships must be lost,” she said, “we may surely hope that the men + will be saved.” “God willing,” I put in—thereby giving to my + daughter’s humane expression of feeling the fit religious tone that was + all it wanted—and then went on with my written record of the events + and reflections of the day. No more was said. Felicia took up a book. + Judith took up her knitting. + </p> + <p> + On a sudden, the silence was broken by a blow on the house-door. + </p> + <p> + My two companions, as is the way of women, set up a scream. I was startled + myself, wondering who could be out in the rain and the darkness and + striking at the door of the house. A stranger it must be. Light or dark, + any person in or near Cauldkirk, wanting admission, would know where to + find the bell-handle at the side of the door. I waited a while to hear + what might happen next. The stroke was repeated, but more softly. It + became me as a man and a minister to set an example. I went out into the + passage, and I called through the door, “Who’s there?” + </p> + <p> + A man’s voice answered—so faintly that I could barely hear him—“A + lost traveler.” + </p> + <p> + Immediately upon this my cheerful sister expressed her view of the matter + through the open parlor door. “Brother Noah, it’s a robber. Don’t let him + in!” + </p> + <p> + What would the Good Samaritan have done in my place? Assuredly he would + have run the risk and opened the door. I imitated the Good Samaritan. + </p> + <p> + A man, dripping wet, with a knapsack on his back and a thick stick in his + hand, staggered in, and would, I think, have fallen in the passage if I + had not caught him by the arm. Judith peeped out at the parlor door, and + said, “He’s drunk.” Felicia was behind her, holding up a lighted candle, + the better to see what was going on. “Look at his face, aunt,” says she. + “Worn out with fatigue, poor man. Bring him in, father—bring him + in.” + </p> + <p> + Good Felicia! I was proud of my girl. “He’ll spoil the carpet,” says + sister Judith. I said, “Silence, for shame!” and brought him in, and + dropped him dripping into my own armchair. Would the Good Samaritan have + thought of his carpet or his chair? I did think of them, but I overcame + it. Ah, we are a decadent generation in these latter days! + </p> + <p> + “Be quick, father”’ says Felicia; “he’ll faint if you don’t give him + something!” + </p> + <p> + I took out one of our little drinking cups (called among us a “Quaigh”), + while Felicia, instructed by me, ran to the kitchen for the cream-jug. + Filling the cup with whisky and cream in equal proportions, I offered it + to him. He drank it off as if it had been so much water. “Stimulant and + nourishment, you’ll observe, sir, in equal portions,” I remarked to him. + “How do you feel now?” + </p> + <p> + “Ready for another,” says he. + </p> + <p> + Felicia burst out laughing. I gave him another. As I turned to hand it to + him, sister Judith came behind me, and snatched away the cream-jug. Never + a generous person, sister Judith, at the best of times—more + especially in the matter of cream. + </p> + <p> + He handed me back the empty cup. “I believe, sir, you have saved my life,” + he said. “Under Providence,” I put in—adding, “But I would remark, + looking to the state of your clothes, that I have yet another service to + offer you, before you tell us how you came into this pitiable state.” With + that reply, I led him upstairs, and set before him the poor resources of + my wardrobe, and left him to do the best he could with them. He was rather + a small man, and I am in stature nigh on six feet. When he came down to us + in my clothes, we had the merriest evening that I can remember for years + past. I thought Felicia would have had a hysteric fit; and even sister + Judith laughed—he did look such a comical figure in the minister’s + garments. + </p> + <p> + As for the misfortune that had befallen him, it offered one more example + of the preternatural rashness of the English traveler in countries unknown + to him. He was on a walking tour through Scotland; and he had set forth to + go twenty miles a-foot, from a town on one side of the Highland Border, to + a town on the other, without a guide. The only wonder is that he found his + way to Cauldkirk, instead of perishing of exposure among the lonesome + hills. + </p> + <p> + “Will you offer thanks for your preservation to the Throne of Grace, in + your prayers to-night?” I asked him. And he answered, “Indeed I will!” + </p> + <p> + We have a spare room at the manse; but it had not been inhabited for more + than a year past. Therefore we made his bed, for that night, on the sofa + in the parlor; and so left him, with the fire on one side of his couch, + and the whisky and the mutton ham on the other in case of need. He + mentioned his name when we bade him good-night. Marmaduke Falmer of + London, son of a minister of the English Church Establishment, now + deceased. It was plain, I may add, before he spoke, that we had offered + the hospitality of the manse to a man of gentle breeding. + </p> + <p> + September 15th.—I have to record a singularly pleasant day; due + partly to a return of the fine weather, partly to the good social gifts of + our guest. + </p> + <p> + Attired again in his own clothing, he was, albeit wanting in height, a + finely proportioned man, with remarkably small hands and feet; having also + a bright mobile face, and large dark eyes of an extraordinary diversity of + expression. Also, he was of a sweet and cheerful humor; easily pleased + with little things, and amiably ready to make his gifts agreeable to all + of us. At the same time, a person of my experience and penetration could + not fail to perceive that he was most content when in company with + Felicia. I have already mentioned my daughter’s comely looks and good + womanly qualities. It was in the order of nature that a young man (to use + his own phrase) getting near to his thirty-first birthday should feel + drawn by sympathy toward a well-favored young woman in her + four-and-twentieth year. In matters of this sort I have always cultivated + a liberal turn of mind, not forgetting my own youth. + </p> + <p> + As the evening closed in, I was sorry to notice a certain change in our + guest for the worse. He showed signs of fatigue—falling asleep at + intervals in his chair, and waking up and shivering. The spare room was + now well aired, having had a roaring fire in it all day. + </p> + <p> + I begged him not to stand on ceremony, and to betake himself at once to + his bed. Felicia (having learned the accomplishment from her excellent + mother) made him a warm sleeping-draught of eggs, sugar, nutmeg, and + spirits, delicious alike to the senses of smell and taste. Sister Judith + waited until he had closed the door behind him, and then favored me with + one of her dismal predictions. “You’ll rue the day, brother, when you let + him into the house. He is going to fall ill on our hands.” + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + November 28th.—God be praised for all His mercies! This day, our + guest, Marmaduke Falmer, joined us downstairs in the sitting-room for the + first time since his illness. + </p> + <p> + He is sadly deteriorated, in a bodily sense, by the wasting rheumatic + fever that brought him nigh to death; but he is still young, and the + doctor (humanly speaking) has no doubt of his speedy and complete + recovery. My sister takes the opposite view. She remarked, in his hearing, + that nobody ever thoroughly got over a rheumatic fever. Oh, Judith! + Judith! it’s well for humanity that you’re a single person! If haply, + there had been any man desperate enough to tackle such a woman in the + bonds of marriage, what a pessimist progeny must have proceeded from you! + </p> + <p> + Looking back over my Diary for the last two months and more, I see one + monotonous record of the poor fellow’s sufferings; cheered and varied, I + am pleased to add, by the devoted services of my daughter at the sick + man’s bedside. With some help from her aunt (most readily given when he + was nearest to the point of death), and with needful services performed in + turn by two of our aged women in Cauldkirk, Felicia could not have nursed + him more assiduously if he had been her own brother. Half the credit of + bringing him through it belonged (as the doctor himself confessed) to the + discreet young nurse, always ready through the worst of the illness, and + always cheerful through the long convalescence that followed. I must also + record to the credit of Marmaduke that he was indeed duly grateful. When I + led him into the parlor, and he saw Felicia waiting by the armchair, + smiling and patting the pillows for him, he took her by the hand, and + burst out crying. Weakness, in part, no doubt—but sincere gratitude + at the bottom of it, I am equally sure. + </p> + <p> + November 29th.—However, there are limits even to sincere gratitude. + Of this truth Mr. Marmaduke seems to be insufficiently aware. Entering the + sitting-room soon after noon today, I found our convalescent guest and his + nurse alone. His head was resting on her shoulder; his arm was round her + waist—and (the truth before everything) Felicia was kissing him. + </p> + <p> + A man may be of a liberal turn of mind, and may yet consistently object to + freedom when it takes the form of unlicensed embracing and kissing; the + person being his own daughter, and the place his own house. I signed to my + girl to leave us; and I advanced to Mr. Marmaduke, with my opinion of his + conduct just rising in words to my lips—when he staggered me with + amazement by asking for Felicia’s hand in marriage. + </p> + <p> + “You need feel no doubt of my being able to offer to your daughter a + position of comfort and respectability,” he said. “I have a settled income + of eight hundred pounds a year.” + </p> + <p> + His raptures over Felicia; his protestations that she was the first woman + he had ever really loved; his profane declaration that he preferred to + die, if I refused to let him be her husband—all these flourishes, as + I may call them, passed in at one of my ears and out at the other. But + eight hundred pounds sterling per annum, descending as it were in a golden + avalanche on the mind of a Scottish minister (accustomed to thirty years’ + annual contemplation of seventy-four pounds)—eight hundred a year, + in one young man’s pocket, I say, completely overpowered me. I just + managed to answer, “Wait till tomorrow”—and hurried out of doors to + recover my self-respect, if the thing was to be anywise done. I took my + way through the valley. The sun was shining, for a wonder. When I saw my + shadow on the hillside, I saw the Golden Calf as an integral part of me, + bearing this inscription in letters of flame—“Here’s another of + them!” + </p> + <p> + <i>November 30th.</i>—I have made amends for yesterday’s + backsliding; I have acted as becomes my parental dignity and my sacred + calling. + </p> + <p> + The temptation to do otherwise, has not been wanting. Here is sister + Judith’s advice: “Make sure that he has got the money first; and, for + Heaven’s sake, nail him!” Here is Mr. Marmaduke’s proposal: “Make any + conditions you please, so long as you give me your daughter.” And, lastly, + here is Felicia’s confession: “Father, my heart is set on him. Oh, don’t + be unkind to me for the first time in your life!” + </p> + <p> + But I have stood firm. I have refused to hear any more words on the + subject from any one of them, for the next six months to come. + </p> + <p> + “So serious a venture as the venture of marriage,” I said, “is not to be + undertaken on impulse. As soon as Mr. Marmaduke can travel, I request him + to leave us, and not to return again for six months. If, after that + interval, he is still of the same mind, and my daughter is still of the + same mind, let him return to Cauldkirk, and (premising that I am in all + other respects satisfied) let him ask me for his wife.” + </p> + <p> + There were tears, there were protestations; I remained immovable. A week + later, Mr. Marmaduke left us, on his way by easy stages to the south. I am + not a hard man. I rewarded the lovers for their obedience by keeping + sister Judith out of the way, and letting them say their farewell words + (accompaniments included) in private. + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + May 28th.—A letter from Mr. Marmaduke, informing me that I may + expect him at Cauldkirk, exactly at the expiration of the six months’ + interval—viz., on June the seventh. + </p> + <p> + Writing to this effect, he added a timely word on the subject of his + family. Both his parents were dead; his only brother held a civil + appointment in India, the place being named. His uncle (his father’s + brother) was a merchant resident in London; and to this near relative he + referred me, if I wished to make inquiries about him. The names of his + bankers, authorized to give me every information in respect to his + pecuniary affairs, followed. Nothing could be more plain and + straightforward. I wrote to his uncle, and I wrote to his bankers. In both + cases the replies were perfectly satisfactory—nothing in the + slightest degree doubtful, no prevarications, no mysteries. In a word, Mr. + Marmaduke himself was thoroughly well vouched for, and Mr. Marmaduke’s + income was invested in securities beyond fear and beyond reproach. Even + sister Judith, bent on picking a hole in the record somewhere, tried hard, + and could make nothing of it. + </p> + <p> + The last sentence in Mr. Marmaduke’s letter was the only part of it which + I failed to read with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + He left it to me to fix the day for the marriage, and he entreated that I + would make it as early a day as possible. I had a touch of the heartache + when I thought of parting with Felicia, and being left at home with nobody + but Judith. However, I got over it for that time, and, after consulting my + daughter, we decided on naming a fortnight after Mr. Marmaduke’s arrival—that + is to say, the twenty-first of June. This gave Felicia time for her + preparations, besides offering to me the opportunity of becoming better + acquainted with my son-in-law’s disposition. The happiest marriage does + indubitably make its demands on human forbearance; and I was anxious, + among other things, to assure myself of Mr. Marmaduke’s good temper. + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + June 22d.—The happy change in my daughter’s life (let me say nothing + of the change in <i>my</i> life) has come: they were married yesterday. + The manse is a desert; and sister Judith was never so uncongenial a + companion to me as I feel her to be now. Her last words to the married + pair, when they drove away, were: “Lord help you both; you have all your + troubles before you!” + </p> + <p> + I had no heart to write yesterday’s record, yesterday evening, as usual. + The absence of Felicia at the supper-table completely overcame me. I, who + have so often comforted others in their afflictions, could find no comfort + for myself. Even now that the day has passed, the tears come into my eyes, + only with writing about it. Sad, sad weakness! Let me close my Diary, and + open the Bible—and be myself again. + </p> + <p> + June 23d.—More resigned since yesterday; a more becoming and more + pious frame of mind—obedient to God’s holy will, and content in the + belief that my dear daughter’s married life will be a happy one. + </p> + <p> + They have gone abroad for their holiday—to Switzerland, by way of + France. I was anything rather than pleased when I heard that my son-in-law + proposed to take Felicia to that sink of iniquity, Paris. He knows already + what I think of balls and playhouses, and similar devils’ diversions, and + how I have brought up my daughter to think of them—the subject + having occurred in conversation among us more than a week since. That he + could meditate taking a child of mine to the headquarters of indecent + jiggings and abominable stage-plays, of spouting rogues and painted + Jezebels, was indeed a heavy blow. + </p> + <p> + However, Felicia reconciled me to it in the end. She declared that her + only desire in going to Paris was to see the picture-galleries, the public + buildings, and the fair outward aspect of the city generally. “Your + opinions, father, are my opinions,” she said; “and Marmaduke, I am sure, + will so shape our arrangements as to prevent our passing a Sabbath in + Paris.” Marmaduke not only consented to this (with the perfect good temper + of which I have observed more than one gratifying example in him), but + likewise assured me that, speaking for himself personally, it would be a + relief to him when they got to the mountains and the lakes. So that matter + was happily settled. Go where they may, God bless and prosper them! + </p> + <p> + Speaking of relief, I must record that Judith has gone away to Aberdeen on + a visit to some friends. “You’ll be wretched enough here,” she said at + parting, “all by yourself.” Pure vanity and self-complacence! It may be + resignation to her absence, or it may be natural force of mind, I began to + be more easy and composed the moment I was alone, and this blessed state + of feeling has continued uninterruptedly ever since. + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + September 5th.—A sudden change in my life, which it absolutely + startles me to record. I am going to London! + </p> + <p> + My purpose in taking this most serious step is of a twofold nature. I have + a greater and a lesser object in view. + </p> + <p> + The greater object is to see my daughter, and to judge for myself whether + certain doubts on the vital question of her happiness, which now torment + me night and day, are unhappily founded on truth. She and her husband + returned in August from their wedding-tour, and took up their abode in + Marmaduke’s new residence in London. Up to this time, Felicia’s letters to + me were, in very truth, the delight of my life—she was so entirely + happy, so amazed and delighted with all the wonderful things she saw, so + full of love and admiration for the best husband that ever lived. Since + her return to London, I perceive a complete change. + </p> + <p> + She makes no positive complaint, but she writes in a tone of weariness and + discontent; she says next to nothing of Marmaduke, and she dwells + perpetually on the one idea of my going to London to see her. I hope with + my whole heart that I am wrong; but the rare allusions to her husband, and + the constantly repeated desire to see her father (while she has not been + yet three months married), seem to me to be bad signs. In brief, my + anxiety is too great to be endured. I have so arranged matters with one of + my brethren as to be free to travel to London cheaply by steamer; and I + begin the journey tomorrow. + </p> + <p> + My lesser object may be dismissed in two words. Having already decided on + going to London, I propose to call on the wealthy nobleman who owns all + the land hereabouts, and represent to him the discreditable, and indeed + dangerous, condition of the parish kirk for want of means to institute the + necessary repairs. If I find myself well received, I shall put in a word + for the manse, which is almost in as deplorable a condition as the church. + My lord is a wealthy man—may his heart and his purse be opened unto + me! + </p> + <p> + Sister Judith is packing my portmanteau. According to custom, she forbodes + the worst. “Never forget,” she says, “that I warned you against Marmaduke, + on the first night when he entered the house.” + </p> + <p> + VI. + </p> + <p> + September 10th.—After more delays than one, on land and sea, I was + at last set ashore near the Tower, on the afternoon of yesterday. God help + us, my worst anticipations have been realized! My beloved Felicia has + urgent and serious need of me. + </p> + <p> + It is not to be denied that I made my entry into my son-in-law’s house in + a disturbed and irritated frame of mind. First, my temper was tried by the + almost interminable journey, in the noisy and comfortless vehicle which + they call a cab, from the river-wharf to the west-end of London, where + Marmaduke lives. In the second place, I was scandalized and alarmed by an + incident which took place—still on the endless journey from east to + west—in a street hard by the market of Covent Garden. + </p> + <p> + We had just approached a large building, most profusely illuminated with + gas, and exhibiting prodigious colored placards having inscribed on them + nothing but the name of Barrymore. The cab came suddenly to a standstill; + and looking out to see what the obstacle might be, I discovered a huge + concourse of men and women, drawn across the pavement and road alike, so + that it seemed impossible to pass by them. I inquired of my driver what + this assembling of the people meant. “Oh,” says he, “Barrymore has made + another hit.” This answer being perfectly unintelligible to me, I + requested some further explanation, and discovered that “Barrymore” was + the name of a stage-player favored by the populace; that the building was + a theater, and that all these creatures with immortal souls were waiting, + before the doors opened, to get places at the show! + </p> + <p> + The emotions of sorrow and indignation caused by this discovery so + absorbed me that I failed to notice an attempt the driver made to pass + through, where the crowd seemed to be thinner, until the offended people + resented the proceeding. Some of them seized the horse’s head; others were + on the point of pulling the driver off his box, when providentially the + police interfered. Under their protection, we drew back, and reached our + destination in safety, by another way. I record this otherwise unimportant + affair, because it grieved and revolted me (when I thought of the people’s + souls), and so indisposed my mind to take cheerful views of anything. + Under these circumstances, I would fain hope that I have exaggerated the + true state of the case, in respect to my daughter’s married life. + </p> + <p> + My good girl almost smothered me with kisses. When I at last got a fair + opportunity of observing her, I thought her looking pale and worn and + anxious. Query: Should I have arrived at this conclusion if I had met with + no example of the wicked dissipations of London, and if I had ridden at my + ease in a comfortable vehicle? + </p> + <p> + They had a succulent meal ready for me, and, what I call, fair enough + whisky out of Scotland. Here again I remarked that Felicia ate very + little, and Marmaduke nothing at all. He drank wine, too—and, good + heavens, champagne wine!—a needless waste of money surely when there + was whisky on the table. My appetite being satisfied, my son-in-law went + out of the room, and returned with his hat in his hand. “You and Felicia + have many things to talk about on your first evening together. I’ll leave + you for a while—I shall only be in the way.” So he spoke. It was in + vain that his wife and I assured him he was not in the way at all. He + kissed his hand, and smiled pleasantly, and left us. + </p> + <p> + “There, father!” says Felicia. “For the last ten days he has gone out like + that, and left me alone for the whole evening. When we first returned from + Switzerland, he left me in the same mysterious way, only it was after + breakfast then. Now he stays at home in the daytime, and goes out at + night.” + </p> + <p> + I inquired if she had not summoned him to give her some explanation. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what to make of his explanation,” says Felicia. “When he + went away in the daytime, he told me he had business in the City. Since he + took to going out at night, he says he goes to his club.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you asked where his club is, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “He says it’s in Pall Mall. There are dozens of clubs in that street—and + he has never told me the name of <i>his</i> club. I am completely shut out + of his confidence. Would you believe it, father? he has not introduced one + of his friends to me since we came home. I doubt if they know where he + lives, since he took this house.” + </p> + <p> + What could I say? + </p> + <p> + I said nothing, and looked round the room. It was fitted up with perfectly + palatial magnificence. I am an ignorant man in matters of this sort, and + partly to satisfy my curiosity, partly to change the subject, I asked to + see the house. Mercy preserve us, the same grandeur everywhere! I wondered + if even such an income as eight hundred a year could suffice for it all. + In a moment when I was considering this, a truly frightful suspicion + crossed my mind. Did these mysterious absences, taken in connection with + the unbridled luxury that surrounded us, mean that my son-in-law was a + gamester? a shameless shuffler of cards, or a debauched bettor on horses? + While I was still completely overcome by my own previsions of evil, my + daughter put her arm in mine to take me to the top of the house. + </p> + <p> + For the first time I observed a bracelet of dazzling gems on her wrist. + “Not diamonds?” I said. She answered, with as much composure as if she had + been the wife of a nobleman, “Yes, diamonds—a present from + Marmaduke.” This was too much for me; my previsions, so to speak, forced + their way into words. “Oh, my poor child!” I burst out, “I’m in mortal + fear that your husband’s a gamester!” + </p> + <p> + She showed none of the horror I had anticipated; she only shook her head + and began to cry. + </p> + <p> + “Worse than that, I’m afraid,” she said. + </p> + <p> + I was petrified; my tongue refused its office, when I would fain have + asked her what she meant. Her besetting sin, poor soul, is a proud spirit. + She dried her eyes on a sudden, and spoke out freely, in these words: “I + am not going to cry about it. The other day, father, we were out walking + in the park. A horrid, bold, yellow-haired woman passed us in an open + carriage. She kissed her hand to Marmaduke, and called out to him, ‘How + are you, Marmy?’ I was so indignant that I pushed him away from me, and + told him to go and take a drive with his lady. He burst out laughing. + ‘Nonsense!’ he said; ‘she has known me for years—you don’t + understand our easy London manners.’ We have made it up since then; but I + have my own opinion of the creature in the open carriage.” + </p> + <p> + Morally speaking, this was worse than all. But, logically viewed, it + completely failed as a means of accounting for the diamond bracelet and + the splendor of the furniture. + </p> + <p> + We went on to the uppermost story. It was cut off from the rest of the + house by a stout partition of wood, and a door covered with green baize. + </p> + <p> + When I tried the door it was locked. “Ha!” says Felicia, “I wanted you to + see it for yourself!” More suspicious proceedings on the part of my + son-in-law! He kept the door constantly locked, and the key in his pocket. + When his wife asked him what it meant, he answered: “My study is up there—and + I like to keep it entirely to myself.” After such a reply as that, the + preservation of my daughter’s dignity permitted but one answer: “Oh, keep + it to yourself, by all means!” + </p> + <p> + My previsions, upon this, assumed another form. + </p> + <p> + I now asked myself—still in connection with my son-in-law’s + extravagant expenditure—whether the clew to the mystery might not + haply be the forging of bank-notes on the other side of the baize door. My + mind was prepared for anything by this time. We descended again into the + dining-room. Felicia saw how my spirits were dashed, and came and perched + upon my knee. “Enough of my troubles for to-night, father,” she said. “I + am going to be your little girl again, and we will talk of nothing but + Cauldkirk, until Marmaduke comes back.” I am one of the firmest men + living, but I could not keep the hot tears out of my eyes when she put her + arm round my neck and said those words. By good fortune I was sitting with + my back to the lamp; she didn’t notice me. + </p> + <p> + A little after eleven o’clock Marmaduke returned. He looked pale and + weary. But more champagne, and this time something to eat with it, seemed + to set him to rights again—no doubt by relieving him from the + reproaches of a guilty conscience. + </p> + <p> + I had been warned by Felicia to keep what had passed between us a secret + from her husband for the present; so we had (superficially speaking) a + merry end to the evening. My son-in-law was nearly as good company as + ever, and wonderfully fertile in suggestions and expedients when he saw + they were wanted. Hearing from his wife, to whom I had mentioned it, that + I purposed representing the decayed condition of the kirk and manse to the + owner of Cauldkirk and the country round about, he strongly urged me to + draw up a list of repairs that were most needful, before I waited on my + lord. This advice, vicious and degraded as the man who offered it may be, + is sound advice nevertheless. I shall assuredly take it. + </p> + <p> + So far I had written in my Diary, in the forenoon. Returning to my daily + record, after a lapse of some hours, I have a new mystery of iniquity to + chronicle. My abominable son-in-law now appears (I blush to write it) to + be nothing less than an associate of thieves! + </p> + <p> + After the meal they call luncheon, I thought it well before recreating + myself with the sights of London, to attend first to the crying + necessities of the kirk and the manse. Furnished with my written list, I + presented myself at his lordship’s residence. I was immediately informed + that he was otherwise engaged, and could not possibly receive me. If I + wished to see my lord’s secretary, Mr. Helmsley, I could do so. Consenting + to this, rather than fail entirely in my errand, I was shown into the + secretary’s room. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Helmsley heard what I had to say civilly enough; expressing, however, + grave doubts whether his lordship would do anything for me, the demands on + his purse being insupportably numerous already. However, he undertook to + place my list before his employer, and to let me know the result. “Where + are you staying in London?” he asked. I answered: “With my son-in-law, Mr. + Marmaduke Falmer.” Before I could add the address, the secretary started + to his feet and tossed my list back to me across the table in the most + uncivil manner. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word,” says he, “your assurance exceeds anything I ever heard of. + Your son-in-law is concerned in the robbery of her ladyship’s diamond + bracelet—the discovery was made not an hour ago. Leave the house, + sir, and consider yourself lucky that I have no instructions to give you + in charge to the police.” I protested against this unprovoked outrage, + with a violence of language which I would rather not recall. As a + minister, I ought, under every provocation, to have preserved my + self-control. + </p> + <p> + The one thing to do next was to drive back to my unhappy daughter. + </p> + <p> + Her guilty husband was with her. I was too angry to wait for a fit + opportunity of speaking. The Christian humility which I have all my life + cultivated as the first of virtues sank, as it were, from under me. In + terms of burning indignation I told them what had happened. The result was + too distressing to be described. It ended in Felicia giving her husband + back the bracelet. The hardened reprobate laughed at us. “Wait till I have + seen his lordship and Mr. Helmsley,” he said, and left the house. + </p> + <p> + Does he mean to escape to foreign parts? Felicia, womanlike, believes in + him still; she is quite convinced that there must be some mistake. I am + myself in hourly expectation of the arrival of the police. + </p> + <p> + With gratitude to Providence, I note before going to bed the harmless + termination of the affair of the bracelet—so far as Marmaduke is + concerned. The agent who sold him the jewel has been forced to come + forward and state the truth. His lordship’s wife is the guilty person; the + bracelet was hers—a present from her husband. Harassed by debts that + she dare not acknowledge, she sold it; my lord discovered that it was + gone; and in terror of his anger the wretched woman took refuge in a lie. + </p> + <p> + She declared that the bracelet had been stolen from her. Asked for the + name of the thief, the reckless woman (having no other name in her mind at + the moment) mentioned the man who had innocently bought the jewel of her + agent, otherwise my unfortunate son-in-law. Oh, the profligacy of the + modern Babylon! It was well I went to the secretary when I did or we + should really have had the police in the house. Marmaduke found them in + consultation over the supposed robbery, asking for his address. There was + a dreadful exhibition of violence and recrimination at his lordship’s + residence: in the end he re-purchased the bracelet. My son-in-law’s money + has been returned to him; and Mr. Helmsley has sent me a written apology. + </p> + <p> + In a worldly sense, this would, I suppose, be called a satisfactory + ending. + </p> + <p> + It is not so to my mind. I freely admit that I too hastily distrusted + Marmaduke; but am I, on that account, to give him back immediately the + place which he once occupied in my esteem? Again this evening he + mysteriously quitted the house, leaving me alone with Felicia, and giving + no better excuse for his conduct than that he had an engagement. And this + when I have a double claim on his consideration, as his father-in-law and + his guest. + </p> + <p> + September 11th.—The day began well enough. At breakfast, Marmaduke + spoke feelingly of the unhappy result of my visit to his lordship, and + asked me to let him look at the list of repairs. “It is just useless to + expect anything from my lord, after what has happened,” I said. “Besides, + Mr. Helmsley gave me no hope when I stated my case to him.” Marmaduke + still held out his hand for the list. “Let me try if I can get some + subscribers,” he replied. This was kindly meant, at any rate. I gave him + the list; and I began to recover some of my old friendly feeling for him. + Alas! the little gleam of tranquillity proved to be of short duration. + </p> + <p> + We made out our plans for the day pleasantly enough. The check came when + Felicia spoke next of our plans for the evening. “My father has only four + days more to pass with us,” she said to her husband. “Surely you won’t go + out again to-night, and leave him?” Marmaduke’s face clouded over + directly; he looked embarrassed and annoyed. I sat perfectly silent, + leaving them to settle it by themselves. + </p> + <p> + “You will stay with us this evening, won’t you?” says Felicia. No: he was + not free for the evening. “What! another engagement? Surely you can put it + off?” No; impossible to put it off. “Is it a ball, or a party of some + kind?” No answer; he changed the subject—he offered Felicia the + money repaid to him for the bracelet. “Buy one for yourself, my dear, this + time.” Felicia handed him back the money, rather too haughtily, perhaps. + “I don’t want a bracelet,” she said; “I want your company in the evening.” + </p> + <p> + He jumped up, good-tempered as he was, in something very like a rage—then + looked at me, and checked himself on the point (as I believe) of using + profane language. “This is downright persecution!” he burst out, with an + angry turn of his head toward his wife. Felicia got up, in her turn. “Your + language is an insult to my father and to me!” He looked thoroughly + staggered at this: it was evidently their first serious quarrel. + </p> + <p> + Felicia took no notice of him. “I will get ready directly, father; and we + will go out together.” He stopped her as she was leaving the room—recovering + his good temper with a readiness which it pleased me to see. “Come, come, + Felicia! We have not quarreled yet, and we won’t quarrel now. Let me off + this one time more, and I will devote the next three evenings of your + father’s visit to him and to you. Give me a kiss, and make it up.” My + daughter doesn’t do things by halves. She gave him a dozen kisses, I + should think—and there was a happy end of it. + </p> + <p> + “But what shall we do to-morrow evening?” says Marmaduke, sitting down by + his wife, and patting her hand as it lay in his. + </p> + <p> + “Take us somewhere,” says she. Marmaduke laughed. “Your father objects to + public amusements. Where does he want to go to?” Felicia took up the + newspaper. “There is an oratorio at Exeter Hall,” she said; “my father + likes music.” He turned to me. “You don’t object to oratorios, sir?” “I + don’t object to music,” I answered, “so long as I am not required to enter + a theater.” Felicia handed the newspaper to me. “Speaking of theaters, + father, have you read what they say about the new play? What a pity it + can’t be given out of a theater!” I looked at her in speechless amazement. + She tried to explain herself. “The paper says that the new play is a + service rendered to the cause of virtue; and that the great actor, + Barrymore, has set an example in producing it which deserves the + encouragement of all truly religious people. Do read it, father!” I held + up my hands in dismay. My own daughter perverted! pinning her faith on a + newspaper! speaking, with a perverse expression of interest, of a + stage-play and an actor! Even Marmaduke witnessed this lamentable + exhibition of backsliding with some appearance of alarm. “It’s not her + fault, sir,” he said, interceding with me. “It’s the fault of the + newspaper. Don’t blame her!” I held my peace; determining inwardly to pray + for her. Shortly afterward my daughter and I went out. Marmaduke + accompanied us part of the way, and left us at a telegraph office. “Who + are you going to telegraph to?” Felicia asked. Another mystery! He + answered, “Business of my own, my dear”—and went into the office. + </p> + <p> + September 12th.—Is my miserable son-in-law’s house under a curse? + The yellow-haired woman in the open carriage drove up to the door at + half-past ten this morning, in a state of distraction. Felicia and I saw + her from the drawing-room balcony—a tall woman in gorgeous garments. + She knocked with her own hand at the door—she cried out + distractedly, “Where is he? I must see him!” At the sound of her voice, + Marmaduke (playing with his little dog in the drawing-room) rushed + downstairs and out into the street. “Hold your tongue!” we heard him say + to her. “What are you here for?” + </p> + <p> + What she answered we failed to hear; she was certainly crying. Marmaduke + stamped on the pavement like a man beside himself—took her roughly + by the arm, and led her into the house. + </p> + <p> + Before I could utter a word, Felicia left me and flew headlong down the + stairs. + </p> + <p> + She was in time to hear the dining-room locked. Following her, I prevented + the poor jealous creature from making a disturbance at the door. God + forgive me—not knowing how else to quiet her—I degraded myself + by advising her to listen to what they said. She instantly opened the door + of the back dining-room, and beckoned to me to follow. I naturally + hesitated. “I shall go mad,” she whispered, “if you leave me by myself!” + What could I do? I degraded myself the second time. For my own child—in + pity for my own child! + </p> + <p> + We heard them, through the flimsy modern folding-doors, at those times + when he was most angry, and she most distracted. That is to say, we heard + them when they spoke in their loudest tones. + </p> + <p> + “How did you find out where I live?” says he. “Oh, you’re ashamed of me?” + says she. “Mr. Helmsley was with us yesterday evening. That’s how I found + out!” “What do you mean?” “I mean that Mr. Helmsley had your card and + address in his pocket. Ah, you were obliged to give your address when you + had to clear up that matter of the bracelet! You cruel, cruel man, what + have I done to deserve such a note as you sent me this morning?” “Do what + the note tells you!” “Do what the note tells me? Did anybody ever hear a + man talk so, out of a lunatic asylum? Why, you haven’t even the grace to + carry out your own wicked deception—you haven’t even gone to bed!” + There the voices grew less angry, and we missed what followed. Soon the + lady burst out again, piteously entreating him this time. “Oh, Marmy, + don’t ruin me! Has anybody offended you? Is there anything you wish to + have altered? Do you want more money? It is too cruel to treat me in this + way—it is indeed!” He made some answer, which we were not able to + hear; we could only suppose that he had upset her temper again. She went + on louder than ever “I’ve begged and prayed of you—and you’re as + hard as iron. I’ve told you about the Prince—and <i>that</i> has had + no effect on you. I have done now. We’ll see what the doctor says.” He got + angry, in his turn; we heard him again. “I won’t see the doctor!” “Oh, you + refuse to see the doctor?—I shall make your refusal known—and + if there’s law in England, you shall feel it!” Their voices dropped again; + some new turn seemed to be taken by the conversation. We heard the lady + once more, shrill and joyful this time. “There’s a dear! You see it, don’t + you, in the right light? And you haven’t forgotten the old times, have + you? You’re the same dear, honorable, kind-hearted fellow that you always + were!” + </p> + <p> + I caught hold of Felicia, and put my hand over her mouth. + </p> + <p> + There was a sound in the next room which might have been—I cannot be + certain—the sound of a kiss. The next moment, we heard the door of + the room unlocked. Then the door of the house was opened, and the noise of + retreating carriage-wheels followed. We met him in the hall, as he entered + the house again. + </p> + <p> + My daughter walked up to him, pale and determined. + </p> + <p> + “I insist on knowing who that woman is, and what she wants here.” Those + were her first words. He looked at her like a man in utter confusion. + “Wait till this evening; I am in no state to speak to you now!” With that, + he snatched his hat off the hall table and rushed out of the house. + </p> + <p> + It is little more than three weeks since they returned to London from + their happy wedding-tour—and it has come to this! + </p> + <p> + The clock has just struck seven; a letter has been left by a messenger, + addressed to my daughter. I had persuaded her, poor soul, to lie down in + her own room. God grant that the letter may bring her some tidings of her + husband! I please myself in the hope of hearing good news. + </p> + <p> + My mind has not been kept long in suspense. Felicia’s waiting-woman has + brought me a morsel of writing paper, with these lines penciled on it in + my daughter’s handwriting: “Dearest father, make your mind easy. + Everything is explained. I cannot trust myself to speak to you about it + to-night—and <i>he</i> doesn’t wish me to do so. Only wait till + tomorrow, and you shall know all. He will be back about eleven o’clock. + Please don’t wait up for him—he will come straight to me.” + </p> + <p> + September 13th.—The scales have fallen from my eyes; the light is + let in on me at last. My bewilderment is not to be uttered in words—I + am like a man in a dream. + </p> + <p> + Before I was out of my room in the morning, my mind was upset by the + arrival of a telegram addressed to myself. It was the first thing of the + kind I ever received; I trembled under the prevision of some new + misfortune as I opened the envelope. + </p> + <p> + Of all the people in the world, the person sending the telegram was sister + Judith! Never before did this distracting relative confound me as she + confounded me now. Here is her message: “You can’t come back. An architect + from Edinburgh asserts his resolution to repair the kirk and the manse. + The man only waits for his lawful authority to begin. The money is ready—but + who has found it? Mr. Architect is forbidden to tell. We live in awful + times. How is Felicia?” + </p> + <p> + Naturally concluding that Judith’s mind must be deranged, I went + downstairs to meet my son-in-law (for the first time since the events of + yesterday) at the late breakfast which is customary in this house. He was + waiting for me—but Felicia was not present. “She breakfasts in her + room this morning,” says Marmaduke; “and I am to give you the explanation + which has already satisfied your daughter. Will you take it at great + length, sir? or will you have it in one word?” There was something in his + manner that I did not at all like—he seemed to be setting me at + defiance. I said, stiffly, “Brevity is best; I will have it in one word.” + </p> + <p> + “Here it is then,” he answered. “I am Barrymore.” + </p> + <p> + POSTSCRIPT ADDED BY FELICIA. + </p> + <p> + If the last line extracted from my dear father’s Diary does not contain + explanation enough in itself, I add some sentences from Marmaduke’s letter + to me, sent from the theater last night. (N. B.—I leave out the + expressions of endearment: they are my own private property.) + </p> + <p> + ... “Just remember how your father talked about theaters and actors, when + I was at Cauldkirk, and how you listened in dutiful agreement with him. + Would he have consented to your marriage if he had known that I was one of + the ‘spouting rogues,’ associated with the ‘painted Jezebels’ of the + playhouse? He would never have consented—and you yourself, my + darling, would have trembled at the bare idea of marrying an actor. + </p> + <p> + “Have I been guilty of any serious deception? and have my friends been + guilty in helping to keep my secret? My birth, my name, my surviving + relatives, my fortune inherited from my father—all these important + particulars have been truly stated. The name of Barrymore is nothing but + the name that I assumed when I went on the stage. + </p> + <p> + “As to what has happened, since our return from Switzerland, I own that I + ought to have made my confession to you. Forgive me if I weakly hesitated. + I was so fond of you; and I so distrusted the Puritanical convictions + which your education had rooted in your mind, that I put it off from day + to day. Oh, my angel....! + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I kept the address of my new house a secret from all my friends, + knowing they would betray me if they paid us visits. As for my + mysteriously-closed study, it was the place in which I privately rehearsed + my new part. When I left you in the mornings, it was to go to the theater + rehearsals. My evening absences began of course with the first + performance. + </p> + <p> + “Your father’s arrival seriously embarrassed me. When you (most properly) + insisted on my giving up some of my evenings to him, you necessarily made + it impossible for me to appear on the stage. The one excuse I could make + to the theater was, that I was too ill to act. It did certainly occur to + me to cut the Gordian knot by owning the truth. But your father’s horror, + when you spoke of the newspaper review of the play, and the shame and fear + you showed at your own boldness, daunted me once more. + </p> + <p> + “The arrival at the theater of my written excuse brought the manageress + down upon me, in a state of distraction. Nobody could supply my place; all + the seats were taken; and the Prince was expected. There was what we call + a scene between the poor lady and myself. I felt I was in the wrong; I saw + that the position in which I had impulsively placed myself was unworthy of + me—and it ended in my doing my duty to the theater and the public. + But for the affair of the bracelet, which obliged me as an honorable man + to give my name and address, the manageress would not have discovered me. + She, like every one else, only knew of my address at my bachelor chambers. + How could you be jealous of the old theatrical comrade of my first days on + the stage? Don’t you know yet that you are the one woman in the world....? + </p> + <p> + “A last word relating to your father, and I have done. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember my leaving you at the telegraph office? It was to send a + message to a friend of mine, an architect in Edinburgh, instructing him to + go immediately to Cauldkirk, and provide for the repairs at my expense. + The theater, my dear, more than trebles my paternal income, and I can well + afford it. Will your father refuse to accept a tribute of respect to a + Scottish minister, because it is paid out of an actor’s pocket? You shall + ask him the question. + </p> + <p> + “And, I say, Felicia—will you come and see me act? I don’t expect + your father to enter a theater; but, by way of further reconciling him to + his son-in-law, suppose you ask him to hear me read the play?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MR. PERCY AND THE PROPHET. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART 1.—THE PREDICTION. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <h3> + THE QUACK. + </h3> + <p> + THE disasters that follow the hateful offense against Christianity, which + men call war, were severely felt in England during the peace that ensued + on the overthrow of Napoleon at Waterloo. With rare exceptions, distress + prevailed among all classes of the community. The starving nation was ripe + and ready for a revolutionary rising against its rulers, who had shed the + people’s blood and wasted the people’s substance in a war which had + yielded to the popular interests absolutely nothing in return. + </p> + <p> + Among the unfortunate persons who were driven, during the disastrous early + years of this century, to strange shifts and devices to obtain the means + of living, was a certain obscure medical man, of French extraction, named + Lagarde. The Doctor (duly qualified to bear the title) was an inhabitant + of London; living in one of the narrow streets which connect the great + thoroughfare of the Strand with the bank of the Thames. + </p> + <p> + The method of obtaining employment chosen by poor Lagarde, as the one + alternative left in the face of starvation, was, and is still considered + by the medical profession to be, the method of a quack. He advertised in + the public journals. + </p> + <p> + Addressing himself especially to two classes of the community, the Doctor + proceeded in these words: + </p> + <p> + “I have the honor of inviting to my house, in the first place: Persons + afflicted with maladies which ordinary medical practice has failed to cure—and, + in the second place: Persons interested in investigations, the object of + which is to penetrate the secrets of the future. Of the means by which I + endeavor to alleviate suffering and to enlighten doubt, it is impossible + to speak intelligibly within the limits of an advertisement. I can only + offer to submit my system to public inquiry, without exacting any + preliminary fee from ladies and gentlemen who may honor me with a visit. + Those who see sufficient reason to trust me, after personal experience, + will find a money-box fixed on the waiting-room table, into which they can + drop their offerings according to their means. Those whom I am not + fortunate enough to satisfy will be pleased to accept the expression of my + regret, and will not be expected to give anything. I shall be found at + home every evening between the hours of six and ten.” + </p> + <p> + Toward the close of the year 1816 this strange advertisement became a + general topic of conversation among educated people in London. For some + weeks the Doctor’s invitations were generally accepted—and, all + things considered, were not badly remunerated. A faithful few believed in + him, and told wonderful stories of what he had pronounced and prophesied + in the sanctuary of his consulting-room. The majority of his visitors + simply viewed him in the light of a public amusement, and wondered why + such a gentlemanlike man should have chosen to gain his living by + exhibiting himself as a quack. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <h3> + THE NUMBERS. + </h3> + <p> + ON a raw and snowy evening toward the latter part of January, 1817, a + gentleman, walking along the Strand, turned into the street in which + Doctor Lagarde lived, and knocked at the physician’s door. + </p> + <p> + He was admitted by an elderly male servant to a waiting-room on the first + floor. The light of one little lamp, placed on a bracket fixed to the + wall, was so obscured by a dark green shade as to make it difficult, if + not impossible, for visitors meeting by accident to recognize each other. + The metal money-box fixed to the table was just visible. In the flickering + light of a small fire, the stranger perceived the figures of three men + seated, apart and silent, who were the only occupants of the room beside + himself. + </p> + <p> + So far as objects were to be seen, there was nothing to attract attention + in the waiting-room. The furniture was plain and neat, and nothing more. + The elderly servant handed a card, with a number inscribed on it, to the + new visitor, said in a whisper, “Your number will be called, sir, in your + turn,” and disappeared. For some minutes nothing disturbed the deep + silence but the faint ticking of a clock. After a while a bell rang from + an inner room, a door opened, and a gentleman appeared, whose interview + with Doctor Lagarde had terminated. His opinion of the sitting was openly + expressed in one emphatic word—“Humbug!” No contribution dropped + from his hand as he passed the money-box on his way out. + </p> + <p> + The next number (being Number Fifteen) was called by the elderly servant, + and the first incident occurred in the strange series of events destined + to happen in the Doctor’s house that night. + </p> + <p> + One after another the three men who had been waiting rose, examined their + cards under the light of the lamp, and sat down again surprised and + disappointed. + </p> + <p> + The servant advanced to investigate the matter. The numbers possessed by + the three visitors, instead of being Fifteen, Sixteen and Seventeen, + proved to be Sixteen, Seventeen and Eighteen. Turning to the stranger who + had arrived the last, the servant said: + </p> + <p> + “Have I made a mistake, sir? Have I given you Number Fifteen instead of + Number Eighteen?” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman produced his numbered card. + </p> + <p> + A mistake had certainly been made, but not the mistake that the servant + supposed. The card held by the latest visitor turned out to be the card + previously held by the dissatisfied stranger who had just left the room—Number + Fourteen! As to the card numbered Fifteen, it was only discovered the next + morning lying in a corner, dropped on the floor! + </p> + <p> + Acting on his first impulse, the servant hurried out, calling to the + original holder of Fourteen to come back and bear his testimony to that + fact. The street-door had been opened for him by the landlady of the + house. She was a pretty woman—and the gentleman had fortunately + lingered to talk to her. He was induced, at the intercession of the + landlady, to ascend the stairs again. + </p> + <p> + On returning to the waiting-room, he addressed a characteristic question + to the assembled visitors. “<i>More</i> humbug?” asked the gentleman who + liked to talk to a pretty woman. + </p> + <p> + The servant—completely puzzled by his own stupidity—attempted + to make his apologies. + </p> + <p> + “Pray forgive me, gentlemen,” he said. “I am afraid I have confused the + cards I distribute with the cards returned to me. I think I had better + consult my master.” + </p> + <p> + Left by themselves, the visitors began to speak jestingly of the strange + situation in which they were placed. The original holder of Number + Fourteen described his experience of the Doctor in his own pithy way. “I + applied to the fellow to tell my fortune. He first went to sleep over it, + and then he said he could tell me nothing. I asked why. ‘I don’t know,’ + says he. ‘<i> I</i> do,’ says I—‘humbug!’ I’ll bet you the long + odds, gentlemen, that <i>you</i> find it humbug, too.” + </p> + <p> + Before the wager could be accepted or declined, the door of the inner room + was opened again. The tall, spare, black figure of a new personage + appeared on the threshold, relieved darkly against the light in the room + behind him. He addressed the visitors in these words: + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, I must beg your indulgence. The accident—as we now + suppose it to be—which has given to the last comer the number + already held by a gentleman who has unsuccessfully consulted me, may have + a meaning which we can none of us at present see. If the three visitors + who have been so good as to wait will allow the present holder of Number + Fourteen to consult me out of his turn—and if the earlier visitor + who left me dissatisfied with his consultation will consent to stay here a + little longer—something may happen which will justify a trifling + sacrifice of your own convenience. Is ten minutes’ patience too much to + ask of you?” + </p> + <p> + The three visitors who had waited longest consulted among themselves, and + (having nothing better to do with their time) decided on accepting the + Doctor’s proposal. The visitor who believed it all to be “humbug” coolly + took a gold coin out of his pocket, tossed it into the air, caught it in + his closed hand, and walked up to the shaded lamp on the bracket. + </p> + <p> + “Heads, stay,” he said, “Tails, go.” He opened his hand, and looked at the + coin. “Heads! Very good. Go on with your hocus-pocus, Doctor—I’ll + wait.” + </p> + <p> + “You believe in chance,” said the Doctor, quietly observing him. “That is + not my experience of life.” + </p> + <p> + He paused to let the stranger who now held Number Fourteen pass him into + the inner room—then followed, closing the door behind him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <h3> + THE CONSULTATION. + </h3> + <p> + THE consulting-room was better lighted than the waiting-room, and that was + the only difference between the two. In the one, as in the other, no + attempt was made to impress the imagination. Everywhere, the commonplace + furniture of a London lodging-house was left without the slightest effort + to alter or improve it by changes of any kind. + </p> + <p> + Seen under the clearer light, Doctor Lagarde appeared to be the last + person living who would consent to degrade himself by an attempt at + imposture of any kind. His eyes were the dreamy eyes of a visionary; his + look was the prematurely-aged look of a student, accustomed to give the + hours to his book which ought to have been given to his bed. To state it + briefly, he was a man who might easily be deceived by others, but who was + incapable of consciously practicing deception himself. + </p> + <p> + Signing to his visitor to be seated, he took a chair on the opposite side + of the small table that stood between them—waited a moment with his + face hidden in his hands, as if to collect himself—and then spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Do you come to consult me on a case of illness?” he inquired, “or do you + ask me to look to the darkness which hides your future life?” + </p> + <p> + The answer to these questions was frankly and briefly expressed. “I have + no need to consult you about my health. I come to hear what you can tell + me of my future life.” + </p> + <p> + “I can try,” pursued the Doctor; “but I cannot promise to succeed.” + </p> + <p> + “I accept your conditions,” the stranger rejoined. “I never believe nor + disbelieve. If you will excuse my speaking frankly, I mean to observe you + closely, and to decide for myself.” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Lagarde smiled sadly. + </p> + <p> + “You have heard of me as a charlatan who contrives to amuse a few idle + people,” he said. “I don’t complain of that; my present position leads + necessarily to misinterpretation of myself and my motives. Still, I may at + least say that I am the victim of a sincere avowal of my belief in a great + science. Yes! I repeat it, a great science! New, I dare say, to the + generation we live in, though it was known and practiced in the days when + pyramids were built. The age is advancing; and the truths which it is my + misfortune to advocate, before the time is ripe for them, are steadily + forcing their way to recognition. I am resigned to wait. My sincerity in + this matter has cost me the income that I derived from my medical + practice. Patients distrust me; doctors refuse to consult with me. I could + starve if I had no one to think of but myself. But I have another person + to consider, who is very dear to me; and I am driven, literally driven, + either to turn beggar in the streets, or do what I am doing now.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and looked round toward the corner of the room behind him. + “Mother,” he said gently, “are you ready?” + </p> + <p> + An elderly lady, dressed in deep mourning, rose from her seat in the + corner. She had been, thus far, hidden from notice by the high back of the + easy-chair in which her son sat. Excepting some folds of fine black lace, + laid over her white hair so as to form a head-dress at once simple and + picturesque, there was nothing remarkable in her attire. The visitor rose + and bowed. She gravely returned his salute, and moved so as to place + herself opposite to her son. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask what this lady is going to do?” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “To be of any use to you,” answered Doctor Lagarde, “I must be thrown into + the magnetic trance. The person who has the strongest influence over me is + the person who will do it to-night.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to his mother. “When you like,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Bending over him, she took both the Doctor’s hands, and looked steadily + into his eyes. No words passed between them; nothing more took place. In a + minute or two, his head was resting against the back of the chair, and his + eyelids had closed. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sleeping?” asked Madame Lagarde. + </p> + <p> + “I am sleeping,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + She laid his hands gently on the arms of the chair, and turned to address + the visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Let the sleep gain on him for a minute or two more,” she said. “Then take + one of his hands, and put to him what questions you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he hear us now, madam?” + </p> + <p> + “You might fire off a pistol, sir, close to his ear, and he would not hear + it. The vibration might disturb him; that is all. Until you or I touch + him, and so establish the nervous sympathy, he is as lost to all sense of + our presence here, as if he were dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you speaking of the thing called Animal Magnetism, madam?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And you believe in it, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “My son’s belief, sir, is my belief in this thing as in other things. I + have heard what he has been saying to you. It is for me that he sacrifices + himself by holding these exhibitions; it is in my poor interests that his + hardly-earned money is made. I am in infirm health; and, remonstrate as I + may, my son persists in providing for me, not the bare comforts only, but + even the luxuries of life. Whatever I may suffer, I have my compensation; + I can still thank God for giving me the greatest happiness that a woman + can enjoy, the possession of a good son.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled fondly as she looked at the sleeping man. “Draw your chair + nearer to him,” she resumed, “and take his hand. You may speak freely in + making your inquiries. Nothing that happens in this room goes out of it.” + </p> + <p> + With those words she returned to her place, in the corner behind her son’s + chair. + </p> + <p> + The visitor took Doctor Lagarde’s hand. As they touched each other, he was + conscious of a faintly-titillating sensation in his own hand—a + sensation which oddly reminded him of bygone experiments with an + electrical machine, in the days when he was a boy at school! + </p> + <p> + “I wish to question you about my future life,” he began. “How ought I to + begin?” + </p> + <p> + The Doctor spoke his first words in the monotonous tones of a man talking + in his sleep. + </p> + <p> + “Own your true motive before you begin,” he said. “Your interest in your + future life is centered in a woman. You wish to know if her heart will be + yours in the time that is to come—and there your interest in your + future life ends.” + </p> + <p> + This startling proof of the sleeper’s capacity to look, by sympathy, into + his mind, and to see there his most secret thoughts, instead of convincing + the stranger, excited his suspicions. “You have means of getting + information,” he said, “that I don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + The Doctor smiled, as if the idea amused him. + </p> + <p> + Madame Lagarde rose from her seat and interposed. + </p> + <p> + “Hundreds of strangers come here to consult my son,” she said quietly. “If + you believe that we know who those strangers are, and that we have the + means of inquiring into their private lives before they enter this room, + you believe in something much more incredible than the magnetic sleep!” + </p> + <p> + This was too manifestly true to be disputed. The visitor made his + apologies. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to have <i>some</i> explanation,” he added. “The thing is + so very extraordinary. How can I prevail upon Doctor Lagarde to enlighten + me?” + </p> + <p> + “He can only tell you what he sees,” Madame Lagarde answered; “ask him + that, and you will get a direct reply. Say to him: ‘Do you see the lady?’” + </p> + <p> + The stranger repeated the question. The reply followed at once, in these + words: + </p> + <p> + “I see two figures standing side by side. One of them is your figure. The + other is the figure of a lady. She only appears dimly. I can discover + nothing but that she is taller than women generally are, and that she is + dressed in pale blue.” + </p> + <p> + The man to whom he was speaking started at those last words. “Her favorite + color!” he thought to himself—forgetting that, while he held the + Doctor’s hand, the Doctor could think with <i>his</i> mind. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” added the sleeper quietly, “her favorite color, as you know. She + fades and fades as I look at her,” he went on. “She is gone. I only see <i>you</i>, + under a new aspect. You have a pistol in your hand. Opposite to you, there + stands the figure of another man. He, too, has a pistol in his hand. Are + you enemies? Are you meeting to fight a duel? Is the lady the cause? I + try, but I fail to see her.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you describe the man?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. So far, he is only a shadow in the form of a man.” + </p> + <p> + There was another interval. An appearance of disturbance showed itself on + the sleeper’s face. Suddenly, he waved his free hand in the direction of + the waiting-room. + </p> + <p> + “Send for the visitors who are there,” he said. “They are all to come in. + Each one of them is to take one of my hands in turn—while you remain + where you are, holding the other hand. Don’t let go of me, even for a + moment. My mother will ring.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Lagarde touched a bell on the table. The servant received his + orders from her and retired. After a short absence, he appeared again in + the consulting-room, with one visitor only waiting on the threshold behind + him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <h3> + THE MAN. + </h3> + <p> + “The other three gentlemen have gone away, madam,” the servant explained, + addressing Madame Lagarde. “They were tired of waiting. I found <i>this</i> + gentleman fast asleep; and I am afraid he is angry with me for taking the + liberty of waking him.” + </p> + <p> + “Sleep of the common sort is evidently not allowed in this house.” With + that remark the gentleman entered the room, and stood revealed as the + original owner of the card numbered Fourteen. + </p> + <p> + Viewed by the clear lamplight, he was a tall, finely-made man, in the + prime of life, with a florid complexion, golden-brown hair, and sparkling + blue eyes. Noticing Madame Lagarde, he instantly checked the flow of his + satire, with the instinctive good-breeding of a gentleman. “I beg your + pardon,” he said; “I have a great many faults, and a habit of making bad + jokes is one of them. Is the servant right, madam, in telling me that I + have the honor of presenting myself here at your request?” + </p> + <p> + Madame Lagarde briefly explained what had passed. + </p> + <p> + The florid gentleman (still privately believing it to be all “humbug”) was + delighted to make himself of any use. “I congratulate you, sir,” he said, + with his easy humor, as he passed the visitor who had become possessed of + his card. “Number Fourteen seems to be a luckier number in your keeping + than it was in mine.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, he took Doctor Lagarde’s disengaged hand. The instant they + touched each other the sleeper started. His voice rose; his face flushed. + “You are the man!” he exclaimed. “I see you plainly now!” + </p> + <p> + “What am I doing?” + </p> + <p> + “You are standing opposite to the gentleman here who is holding my other + hand; and (as I have said already) you have met to fight a duel.” + </p> + <p> + The unbeliever cast a shrewd look at his companion in the consultation. + </p> + <p> + “Considering that you and I are total strangers, sir,” he said, “don’t you + think the Doctor had better introduce us, before he goes any further? We + have got to fighting a duel already, and we may as well know who we are, + before the pistols go off.” He turned to Doctor Lagarde. “Dramatic + situations don’t amuse me out of the theater,” he resumed. “Let me put you + to a very commonplace test. I want to be introduced to this gentleman. Has + he told you his name?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, you know it, without being told?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. I have only to look into your own knowledge of yourselves, + while I am in this trance, and while you have got my hands, to know both + your names as well as you do.” + </p> + <p> + “Introduce us, then!” retorted the jesting gentleman. “And take my name + first.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Percy Linwood,” replied the Doctor; “I have the honor of presenting + you to Captain Bervie, of the Artillery.” + </p> + <p> + With one accord, the gentlemen both dropped Doctor Lagarde’s hands, and + looked at each other in blank amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Of course he has discovered our names somehow!” said Mr. Percy Linwood, + explaining the mystery to his own perfect satisfaction in that way. + </p> + <p> + Captain Bervie had not forgotten what Madame Lagarde had said to him, when + he too had suspected a trick. He now repeated it (quite ineffectually) for + Mr. Linwood’s benefit. “If you don’t feel the force of that argument as I + feel it,” he added, “perhaps, as a favor to me, sir, you will not object + to our each taking the Doctor’s hand again, and hearing what more he can + tell us while he remains in the state of trance?” + </p> + <p> + “With the greatest pleasure!” answered good-humored Mr. Linwood. “Our + friend is beginning to amuse me; I am as anxious as you are to know what + he is going to see next.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Bervie put the next question. + </p> + <p> + “You have seen us ready to fight a duel—can you tell us the result?” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you nothing more than I have told you already. The figures of + the duelists have faded away, like the other figures I saw before them. + What I see now looks like the winding gravel-path of a garden. A man and a + woman are walking toward me. The man stops, and places a ring on the + woman’s finger, and kisses her.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Bervie opened his lips to continue his inquiries—turned pale—and + checked himself. Mr. Linwood put the next question. + </p> + <p> + “Who is the happy man?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> are the happy man,” was the instantaneous reply. + </p> + <p> + “Who is the woman?” cried Captain Bervie, before Mr. Linwood could speak + again. + </p> + <p> + “The same woman whom I saw before; dressed in the same color, in pale + blue.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Bervie positively insisted on receiving clearer information than + this. “Surely you can see <i>something</i> of her personal appearance?” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “I can see that she has long dark-brown hair, falling below her waist. I + can see that she has lovely dark-brown eyes. She has the look of a + sensitive nervous person. She is quite young. I can see no more.” + </p> + <p> + “Look again at the man who is putting the ring on her finger,” said the + Captain. “Are you sure that the face you see is the face of Mr. Percy + Linwood?” + </p> + <p> + “I am absolutely sure.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Bervie rose from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, madam,” he said to the Doctor’s mother. “I have heard enough.” + </p> + <p> + He walked to the door. Mr. Percy Linwood dropped Doctor Lagarde’s hand, + and appealed to the retiring Captain with a broad stare of astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t really believe this?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I only say I have heard enough,” Captain Bervie answered. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Linwood could hardly fail to see that any further attempt to treat the + matter lightly might lead to undesirable results. + </p> + <p> + “It is difficult to speak seriously of this kind of exhibition,” he + resumed quietly. “But I suppose I may mention a mere matter of fact, + without meaning or giving offense. The description of the lady, I can + positively declare, does not apply in any single particular to any one + whom I know.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Bervie turned round at the door. His patience was in some danger + of failing him. Mr. Linwood’s unruffled composure, assisted in its + influence by the presence of Madame Lagarde, reminded him of the claims of + politeness. He restrained the rash words as they rose to his lips. “You + may make new acquaintances, sir,” was all that he said. “<i>You</i> have + the future before you.” + </p> + <p> + Upon that, he went out. Percy Linwood waited a little, reflecting on the + Captain’s conduct. + </p> + <p> + Had Doctor Lagarde’s description of the lady accidentally answered the + description of a living lady whom Captain Bervie knew? Was he by any + chance in love with her? and had the Doctor innocently reminded him that + his love was not returned? Assuming this to be likely, was it really + possible that he believed in prophetic revelations offered to him under + the fantastic influence of a trance? Could any man in the possession of + his senses go to those lengths? The Captain’s conduct was simply + incomprehensible. + </p> + <p> + Pondering these questions, Percy decided on returning to his place by the + Doctor’s chair. “Of one thing I am certain, at any rate,” he thought to + himself. “I’ll see the whole imposture out before I leave the house!” + </p> + <p> + He took Doctor Lagarde’s hand. “Now, then! what is the next discovery?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + The sleeper seemed to find some difficulty in answering the question. + </p> + <p> + “I indistinctly see the man and the woman again,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Am I the man still?” Percy inquired. + </p> + <p> + “No. The man, this time, is the Captain. The woman is agitated by + something that he is saying to her. He seems to be trying to persuade her + to go away with him. She hesitates. He whispers something in her ear. She + yields. He leads her away. The darkness gathers behind them. I look and + look, and I can see no more.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we wait awhile?” Percy suggested, “and then try again?” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Lagarde sighed, and reclined in his chair. “My head is heavy,” he + said; “my spirits are dull. The darkness baffles me. I have toiled long + enough for you. Drop my hand and leave me to rest.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing those words, Madame Lagarde approached her son’s chair. + </p> + <p> + “It will be useless, sir, to ask him any more questions to-night,” she + said. “He has been weak and nervous all day, and he is worn out by the + effort he has made. Pardon me, if I ask you to step aside for a moment, + while I give him the repose that he needs.” + </p> + <p> + She laid her right hand gently on the Doctor’s head, and kept it there for + a minute or so. “Are you at rest now?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am at rest,” he answered, in faint, drowsy tones. + </p> + <p> + Madame Lagarde returned to Percy. “If you are not yet satisfied,” she + said, “my son will be at your service to-morrow evening, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, madam, I have only one more question to ask, and you can no + doubt answer it. When your son wakes, will he remember what he has said to + Captain Bervie and to myself?” + </p> + <p> + “My son will be as absolutely ignorant of everything that he has seen, and + of everything that he has said in the trance, as if he had been at the + other end of the world.” + </p> + <p> + Percy Linwood swallowed this last outrageous assertion with an effort + which he was quite unable to conceal. “Many thanks, madam,” he said; “I + wish you good-night.” + </p> + <p> + Returning to the waiting-room, he noticed the money-box fixed to the + table. “These people look poor,” he thought to himself, “and I feel really + indebted to them for an amusing evening. Besides, I can afford to be + liberal, for I shall certainly never go back.” He dropped a five-pound + note into the money-box, and left the house. + </p> + <p> + Walking toward his club, Percy’s natural serenity of mind was a little + troubled by the remembrance of Captain Bervie’s language and conduct. The + Captain had interested the young man in spite of himself. His first idea + was to write to Bervie, and mention what had happened at the renewed + consultation with Doctor Lagarde. On second thoughts, he saw reason to + doubt how the Captain might receive such an advance as this, on the part + of a stranger. “After all,” Percy decided, “the whole thing is too absurd + to be worth thinking about seriously. Neither he nor I are likely to meet + again, or to see the Doctor again—and there’s an end of it.” + </p> + <p> + He never was more mistaken in his life. The end of it was not to come for + many a long day yet. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II.—THE FULFILLMENT. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <h3> + THE BALLROOM. + </h3> + <p> + WHILE the consultation at Doctor Lagarde’s was still fresh in the memory + of the persons present at it, Chance or Destiny, occupied in sowing the + seeds for the harvest of the future, discovered as one of its fit + instruments a retired military officer named Major Mulvany. + </p> + <p> + The Major was a smart little man, who persisted in setting up the + appearance of youth as a means of hiding the reality of fifty. Being still + a bachelor, and being always ready to make himself agreeable, he was + generally popular in the society of women. In the ballroom he was a really + welcome addition to the company. The German waltz had then been imported + into England little more than three years since. The outcry raised against + the dance, by persons skilled in the discovery of latent impropriety, had + not yet lost its influence in certain quarters. Men who could waltz were + scarce. The Major had successfully grappled with the difficulties of + learning the dance in mature life; and the young ladies rewarded him nobly + for the effort. That is to say, they took the assumption of youth for + granted in the palpable presence of fifty. + </p> + <p> + Knowing everybody and being welcome everywhere, playing a good hand at + whist, and having an inexhaustible fancy in the invention of a dinner, + Major Mulvany naturally belonged to all the best clubs of his time. Percy + Linwood and he constantly met in the billiard-room or at the dinner-table. + The Major approved of the easy, handsome, pleasant-tempered young man. “I + have lost the first freshness of youth,” he used to say, with pathetic + resignation, “and I see myself revived, as it were, in Percy. Naturally I + like Percy.” + </p> + <p> + About three weeks after the memorable evening at Doctor Lagarde’s, the two + friends encountered each other on the steps of a club. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got anything to do to-night?” asked the Major. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing that I know of,” said Percy, “unless I go to the theater.” + </p> + <p> + “Let the theater wait, my boy. My old regiment gives a ball at Woolwich + to-night. I have got a ticket to spare; and I know several sweet girls who + are going. Some of them waltz, Percy! Gather your rosebuds while you may. + Come with me.” + </p> + <p> + The invitation was accepted as readily as it was given. The Major found + the carriage, and Percy paid for the post-horses. They entered the + ballroom among the earlier guests; and the first person whom they met, + waiting near the door, was—Captain Bervie. + </p> + <p> + Percy bowed a little uneasily. “I feel some doubt,” he said, laughing, + “whether we have been properly introduced to one another or not.” + </p> + <p> + “Not properly introduced!” cried Major Mulvany. “I’ll soon set that right. + My dear friend, Percy Linwood; my dear friend, Arthur Bervie—be + known to each other! esteem each other!” + </p> + <p> + Captain Bervie acknowledged the introduction by a cold salute. Percy, + yielding to the good-natured impulse of the moment, alluded to what had + happened in Doctor Lagarde’s consulting-room. + </p> + <p> + “You missed something worth hearing when you left the Doctor the other + night,” he said. “We continued the sitting; and <i>you</i> turned up again + among the persons of the drama, in a new character—” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me for interrupting you,” said Captain Bervie. “I am a member of + the committee, charged with the arrangements of the ball, and I must + really attend to my duties.” + </p> + <p> + He withdrew without waiting for a reply. Percy looked round wonderingly at + Major Mulvany. “Strange!” he said, “I feel rather attracted toward Captain + Bervie; and he seems to have taken such a dislike to me that he can hardly + behave with common civility. What does it mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you,” answered the Major, confidentially. “Arthur Bervie is + madly in love—madly is really the word—with a Miss Bowmore. + And (this is between ourselves) the young lady doesn’t feel it quite in + the same way. A sweet girl; I’ve often had her on my knee when she was a + child. Her father and mother are old friends of mine. She is coming to the + ball to-night. That’s the true reason why Arthur left you just now. Look + at him—waiting to be the first to speak to her. If he could have his + way, he wouldn’t let another man come near the poor girl all through the + evening; he really persecutes her. I’ll introduce you to Miss Bowmore; and + you will see how he looks at us for presuming to approach her. It’s a + great pity; she will never marry him. Arthur Bervie is a man in a + thousand; but he’s fast becoming a perfect bear under the strain on his + temper. What’s the matter? You don’t seem to be listening to me.” + </p> + <p> + This last remark was perfectly justified. In telling the Captain’s + love-story, Major Mulvany had revived his young friend’s memory of the + lady in the blue dress, who had haunted the visions of Doctor Lagarde. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” said Percy, “what is Miss Bowmore like? Is there anything + remarkable in her personal appearance? I have a reason for asking.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, there arose among the guests in the rapidly-filling ballroom + a low murmur of surprise and admiration. The Major laid one hand on + Percy’s shoulder, and, lifting the other, pointed to the door. + </p> + <p> + “What is Miss Bowmore like?” he repeated. “There she is! Let her answer + for herself.” + </p> + <p> + Percy turned toward the lower end of the room. + </p> + <p> + A young lady was entering, dressed in plain silk, and the color of it was + a pale blue! Excepting a white rose at her breast, she wore no ornament of + any sort. Doubly distinguished by the perfect simplicity of her apparel, + and by her tall, supple, commanding figure, she took rank at once as the + most remarkable woman in the room. Moving nearer to her through the crowd, + under the guidance of the complaisant Major, young Linwood gained a + clearer view of her hair, her complexion, and the color of her eyes. In + every one of these particulars she was the living image of the woman + described by Doctor Lagarde! + </p> + <p> + While Percy was absorbed over this strange discovery, Major Mulvany had + got within speaking distance of the young lady and of her mother, as they + stood together in conversation with Captain Bervie. “My dear Mrs. Bowmore, + how well you are looking! My dear Miss Charlotte, what a sensation you + have made already! The glorious simplicity (if I may so express myself) of + your dress is—is—what was I going to say?—the ideas come + thronging on me; I merely want words.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Bowmore’s magnificent brown eyes, wandering from the Major to Percy, + rested on the young man with a modest and momentary interest, which + Captain Bervie’s jealous attention instantly detected. + </p> + <p> + “They are forming a dance,” he said, pressing forward impatiently to claim + his partner. “If we don’t take our places we shall be too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! stop!” cried the Major. “There is a time for everything, and this + is the time for presenting my dear friend here, Mr. Percy Linwood. He is + like me, Miss Charlotte—<i>he</i> has been struck by your glorious + simplicity, and <i>he</i> wants words.” At this part of the presentation, + he happened to look toward the irate Captain, and instantly gave him a + hint on the subject of his temper. “I say, Arthur Bervie! we are all + good-humored people here. What have you got on your eyebrows? It looks + like a frown; and it doesn’t become you. Send for a skilled waiter, and + have it brushed off and taken away directly!” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask, Miss Bowmore, if you are disengaged for the next dance?” said + Percy, the moment the Major gave him an opportunity of speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Bowmore is engaged to <i>me</i> for the next dance,” said the angry + Captain, before the young lady could answer. + </p> + <p> + “The third dance, then?” Percy persisted, with his brightest smile. + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure, Mr. Linwood,” said Miss Bowmore. She would have been no + true woman if she had not resented the open exhibition of Arthur’s + jealousy; it was like asserting a right over her to which he had not the + shadow of a claim. She threw a look at Percy as her partner led her away, + which was the severest punishment she could inflict on the man who + ardently loved her. + </p> + <p> + The third dance stood in the programme as a waltz. + </p> + <p> + In jealous distrust of Percy, the Captain took the conductor of the band + aside, and used his authority as committeeman to substitute another dance. + He had no sooner turned his back on the orchestra than the wife of the + Colonel of the regiment, who had heard him, spoke to the conductor in her + turn, and insisted on the original programme being retained. “Quote the + Colonel’s authority,” said the lady, “if Captain Bervie ventures to + object.” In the meantime, the Captain, on his way to rejoin Charlotte, was + met by one of his brother officers, who summoned him officially to an + impending debate of the committee charged with the administrative + arrangements of the supper-table. Bervie had no choice but to follow his + brother officer to the committee-room. + </p> + <p> + Barely a minute later the conductor appeared at his desk, and the first + notes of the music rose low and plaintive, introducing the third dance. + </p> + <p> + “Percy, my boy!” cried the Major, recognizing the melody, “you’re in + luck’s way—it’s going to be a waltz!” + </p> + <p> + Almost as he spoke, the notes of the symphony glided by subtle modulations + into the inspiriting air of the waltz. Percy claimed his partner’s hand. + Miss Charlotte hesitated, and looked at her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Surely you waltz?” said Percy. + </p> + <p> + “I have learned to waltz,” she answered, modestly; “but this is such a + large room, and there are so many people!” + </p> + <p> + “Once round,” Percy pleaded; “only once round!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Bowmore looked again at her mother. Her foot was keeping time with + the music, under her dress; her heart was beating with a delicious + excitement; kind-hearted Mrs. Bowmore smiled and said: “Once round, my + dear, as Mr. Linwood suggests.” + </p> + <p> + In another moment Percy’s arm took possession of her waist, and they were + away on the wings of the waltz! + </p> + <p> + Could words describe, could thought realize, the exquisite enjoyment of + the dance? Enjoyment? It was more—it was an epoch in Charlotte’s + life—it was the first time she had waltzed with a man. What a + difference between the fervent clasp of Percy’s arm and the cold, formal + contact of the mistress who had taught her! How brightly his eyes looked + down into hers; admiring her with such a tender restraint, that there + could surely be no harm in looking up at him now and then in return. Round + and round they glided, absorbed in the music and in themselves. + Occasionally her bosom just touched him, at those critical moments when + she was most in need of support. At other intervals, she almost let her + head sink on his shoulder in trying to hide from him the smile which + acknowledged his admiration too boldly. “Once round,” Percy had suggested; + “once round,” her mother had said. They had been ten, twenty, thirty times + round; they had never stopped to rest like other dancers; they had + centered the eyes of the whole room on them—including the eyes of + Captain Bervie—without knowing it; her delicately pale complexion + had changed to rosy-red; the neat arrangement of her hair had become + disturbed; her bosom was rising and falling faster and faster in the + effort to breathe—before fatigue and heat overpowered her at last, + and forced her to say to him faintly, “I’m very sorry—I can’t dance + any more!” + </p> + <p> + Percy led her into the cooler atmosphere of the refreshment-room, and + revived her with a glass of lemonade. Her arm still rested on his—she + was just about to thank him for the care he had taken of her—when + Captain Bervie entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Bowmore wishes me to take you back to her,” he said to Charlotte. + Then, turning to Percy, he added: “Will you kindly wait here while I take + Miss Bowmore to the ballroom? I have a word to say to you—I will + return directly.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain spoke with perfect politeness—but his face betrayed him. + It was pale with the sinister whiteness of suppressed rage. + </p> + <p> + Percy sat down to cool and rest himself. With his experience of the ways + of men, he felt no surprise at the marked contrast between Captain + Bervie’s face and Captain Bervie’s manner. “He has seen us waltzing, and + he is coming back to pick a quarrel with me.” Such was the interpretation + which Mr. Linwood’s knowledge of the world placed on Captain Bervie’s + politeness. In a minute or two more the Captain returned to the + refreshment-room, and satisfied Percy that his anticipations had not + deceived him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <h3> + LOVE. + </h3> + <p> + FOUR days had passed since the night of the ball. + </p> + <p> + Although it was no later in the year than the month of February, the sun + was shining brightly, and the air was as soft as the air of a day in + spring. Percy and Charlotte were walking together in the little garden at + the back of Mr. Bowmore’s cottage, near the town of Dartford, in Kent. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Linwood,” said the young lady, “you were to have paid us your first + visit the day after the ball. Why have you kept us waiting? Have you been + too busy to remember your new friends?” + </p> + <p> + “I have counted the hours since we parted, Miss Charlotte. If I had not + been detained by business—” + </p> + <p> + “I understand! For three days business has controlled you. On the fourth + day, you have controlled business—and here you are? I don’t believe + one word of it, Mr. Linwood!” + </p> + <p> + There was no answering such a declaration as this. Guiltily conscious that + Charlotte was right in refusing to accept his well-worn excuse, Percy made + an awkward attempt to change the topic of conversation. + </p> + <p> + They happened, at the moment, to be standing near a small conservatory at + the end of the garden. The glass door was closed, and the few plants and + shrubs inside had a lonely, neglected look. “Does nobody ever visit this + secluded place?” Percy asked, jocosely, “or does it hide discoveries in + the rearing of plants which are forbidden mysteries to a stranger?” + </p> + <p> + “Satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Linwood, by all means,” Charlotte answered in + the same tone. “Open the door, and I will follow you.” + </p> + <p> + Percy obeyed. In passing through the doorway, he encountered the bare + hanging branches of some creeping plant, long since dead, and detached + from its fastenings on the woodwork of the roof. He pushed aside the + branches so that Charlotte could easily follow him in, without being aware + that his own forced passage through them had a little deranged the folds + of spotless white cambric which a well-dressed gentleman wore round his + neck in those days. Charlotte seated herself, and directed Percy’s + attention to the desolate conservatory with a saucy smile. + </p> + <p> + “The mystery which your lively imagination has associated with this + place,” she said, “means, being interpreted, that we are too poor to keep + a gardener. Make the best of your disappointment, Mr. Linwood, and sit + here by me. We are out of hearing and out of sight of mamma’s other + visitors. You have no excuse now for not telling me what has really kept + you away from us.” + </p> + <p> + She fixed her eyes on him as she said those words. Before Percy could + think of another excuse, her quick observation detected the disordered + condition of his cravat, and discovered the upper edge of a black plaster + attached to one side of his neck. + </p> + <p> + “You have been hurt in the neck!” she said. “That is why you have kept + away from us for the last three days!” + </p> + <p> + “A mere trifle,” he answered, in great confusion; “please don’t notice + it.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes, still resting on his face, assumed an expression of suspicious + inquiry, which Percy was entirely at a loss to understand. Suddenly, she + started to her feet, as if a new idea had occurred to her. “Wait here,” + she said, flushing with excitement, “till I come back: I insist on it!” + </p> + <p> + Before Percy could ask for an explanation she had left the conservatory. + </p> + <p> + In a minute or two, Miss Bowmore returned, with a newspaper in her hand. + “Read that,” she said, pointing to a paragraph distinguished by a line + drawn round it in ink. + </p> + <p> + The passage that she indicated contained an account of a duel which had + recently taken place in the neighborhood of London. The names of the + duelists were not mentioned. One was described as an officer, and the + other as a civilian. They had quarreled at cards, and had fought with + pistols. The civilian had had a narrow escape of his life. His + antagonist’s bullet had passed near enough to the side of his neck to tear + the flesh, and had missed the vital parts, literally, by a hair’s-breadth. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte’s eyes, riveted on Percy, detected a sudden change of color in + his face the moment he looked at the newspaper. That was enough for her. + “You <i>are</i> the man!” she cried. “Oh, for shame, for shame! To risk + your life for a paltry dispute about cards!” + </p> + <p> + “I would risk it again,” said Percy, “to hear you speak as if you set some + value on it.” + </p> + <p> + She looked away from him without a word of reply. Her mind seemed to be + busy again with its own thoughts. Did she meditate returning to the + subject of the duel? Was she not satisfied with the discovery which she + had just made? + </p> + <p> + No such doubts as these troubled the mind of Percy Linwood. Intoxicated by + the charm of her presence, emboldened by her innocent betrayal of the + interest that she felt in him, he opened his whole heart to her as + unreservedly as if they had known each other from the days of their + childhood. There was but one excuse for him. Charlotte was his first love. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know how completely you have become a part of my life, since we + met at the ball,” he went on. “That one delightful dance seemed, by some + magic which I can’t explain, to draw us together in a few minutes as if we + had known each other for years. Oh, dear! I could make such a confession + of what I felt—only I am afraid of offending you by speaking too + soon. Women are so dreadfully difficult to understand. How is a man to + know at what time it is considerate toward them to conceal his true + feelings; and at what time it is equally considerate to express his true + feelings? One doesn’t know whether it is a matter of days or weeks or + months—there ought to be a law to settle it. Dear Miss Charlotte, + when a poor fellow loves you at first sight, as he has never loved any + other woman, and when he is tormented by the fear that some other man may + be preferred to him, can’t you forgive him if he lets out the truth a + little too soon?” He ventured, as he put that very downright question, to + take her hand. “It really isn’t my fault,” he said, simply. “My heart is + so full of you I can talk of nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + To Percy’s delight, the first experimental pressure of his hand, far from + being resented, was softly returned. Charlotte looked at him again, with a + new resolution in her face. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll forgive you for talking nonsense, Mr. Linwood,” she said; “and I + will even permit you to come and see me again, on one condition—that + you tell the whole truth about the duel. If you conceal the smallest + circumstance, our acquaintance is at an end.” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t I owned everything already?” Percy inquired, in great perplexity. + “Did I say No, when you told me I was the man?” + </p> + <p> + “Could you say No, with that plaster on your neck?” was the ready + rejoinder. “I am determined to know more than the newspaper tells me. Will + you declare, on your word of honor, that Captain Bervie had nothing to do + with the duel? Can you look me in the face, and say that the real cause of + the quarrel was a disagreement at cards? When you were talking with me + just before I left the ball, how did you answer a gentleman who asked you + to make one at the whist-table? You said, ‘I don’t play at cards.’ Ah! You + thought I had forgotten that? Don’t kiss my hand! Trust me with the whole + truth, or say good-by forever.” + </p> + <p> + “Only tell me what you wish to know, Miss Charlotte,” said Percy humbly. + “If you will put the questions, I will give the answers—as well as I + can.” + </p> + <p> + On this understanding, Percy’s evidence was extracted from him as follows: + </p> + <p> + “Was it Captain Bervie who quarreled with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it about me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “He said I had committed an impropriety in waltzing with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because your parents disapproved of your waltzing in a public ballroom.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s not true! What did he say next?” + </p> + <p> + “He said I had added tenfold to my offense, by waltzing with you in such a + manner as to make you the subject of remark to the whole room.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! did you let him say that?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I contradicted him instantly. And I said, besides, ‘It’s an insult to + Miss Bowmore, to suppose that she would permit any impropriety.’” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right! And what did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he lost his temper; I would rather not repeat what he said when he + was mad with jealousy. There was nothing to be done with him but to give + him his way.” + </p> + <p> + “Give him his way? Does that mean fight a duel with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be angry—it does.” + </p> + <p> + “And you kept my name out of it, by pretending to quarrel at the + card-table?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. We managed it when the cardroom was emptying at supper-time, and + nobody was present but Major Mulvany and another friend as witnesses.” + </p> + <p> + “And when did you fight the duel?” + </p> + <p> + “The next morning.” + </p> + <p> + “You never thought of <i>me</i>, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I did; I was very glad that you had no suspicion of what we were + at.” + </p> + <p> + “Was that all?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I had your flower with me, the flower you gave me out of your + nosegay, at the ball.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind, it doesn’t matter.” + </p> + <p> + “It does matter. What did you do with my flower?” + </p> + <p> + “I gave it a sly kiss while they were measuring the ground; and (don’t + tell anybody!) I put it next to my heart to bring me luck.” + </p> + <p> + “Was that just before he shot at you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “How did he shoot?” + </p> + <p> + “He walked (as the seconds had arranged it) ten paces forward; and then he + stopped, and lifted his pistol—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t tell me any more! Oh, to think of my being the miserable cause of + such horrors! I’ll never dance again as long as I live. Did you think he + had killed you, when the bullet wounded your poor neck?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I hardly felt it at first.” + </p> + <p> + “Hardly felt it? How he talks! And when the wretch had done his best to + kill you, and when it came to your turn, what did you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “What! You didn’t walk your ten paces forward?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “And you never shot at him in return?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I had no quarrel with him, poor fellow; I just stood where I was, and + fired in the air—” + </p> + <p> + Before he could stop her, Charlotte seized his hand, and kissed it with an + hysterical fervor of admiration, which completely deprived him of his + presence of mind. + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t I kiss the hand of a hero?” she cried, with tears of + enthusiasm sparkling in her eyes. “Nobody but a hero would have given that + man his life; nobody but a hero would have pardoned him, while the blood + was streaming from the wound that he had inflicted. I respect you, I + admire you. Oh, don’t think me bold! I can’t control myself when I hear of + anything noble and good. You will understand me better when we get to be + old friends—won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + She spoke in low sweet tones of entreaty. Percy’s arm stole softly round + her. + </p> + <p> + “Are we never to be nearer and dearer to each other than old friends?” he + asked in a whisper. “I am not a hero—your goodness overrates me, + dear Miss Charlotte. My one ambition is to be the happy man who is worthy + enough to win <i>you</i>. At your own time! I wouldn’t distress you, I + wouldn’t confuse you, I wouldn’t for the whole world take advantage of the + compliment which your sympathy has paid to me. If it offends you, I won’t + even ask if I may hope.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed as he said the last words; trembled a little, and silently + looked at him. + </p> + <p> + Percy read his answer in her eyes. Without meaning it on either side their + heads drew nearer together; their cheeks, then their lips, touched. She + started back from him, and rose to leave the conservatory. At the same + moment, the sound of slowly-approaching footsteps became audible on the + gravel walk of the garden. Charlotte hurried to the door. + </p> + <p> + “My father!” she exclaimed, turning to Percy. “Come, and be introduced to + him.” + </p> + <p> + Percy followed her into the garden. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <h3> + POLITICS. + </h3> + <p> + JUDGING by appearances, Mr. Bowmore looked like a man prematurely wasted + and worn by the cares of a troubled life. His eyes presented the one + feature in which his daughter resembled him. In shape and color they were + exactly reproduced in Charlotte; the difference was in the expression. The + father’s look was habitually restless, eager, and suspicious. Not a trace + was to be seen in it of the truthfulness and gentleness which made the + charm of the daughter’s expression. A man whose bitter experience of the + world had soured his temper and shaken his faith in his fellow-creatures—such + was Mr. Bowmore as he presented himself on the surface. He received Percy + politely—but with a preoccupied air. Every now and then, his + restless eyes wandered from the visitor to an open letter in his hand. + Charlotte, observing him, pointed to the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any bad news there, papa?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Dreadful news!” Mr. Bowmore answered. “Dreadful news, my child, to every + Englishman who respects the liberties which his ancestors won. My + correspondent is a man who is in the confidence of the Ministers,” he + continued, addressing Percy. “What do you think is the remedy that the + Government proposes for the universal distress among the population, + caused by an infamous and needless war? Despotism, Mr. Linwood; despotism + in this free country is the remedy! In one week more, sir, Ministers will + bring in a Bill for suspending the Habeas Corpus Act!” + </p> + <p> + Before Percy could do justice in words to the impression produced on him, + Charlotte innocently asked a question which shocked her father. + </p> + <p> + “What is the Habeas Corpus Act, papa?” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” cried Mr. Bowmore, “is it possible that a child of mine has + grown up to womanhood, in ignorance of the palladium of English liberty? + Oh, Charlotte! Charlotte!” + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry, papa. If you will only tell me, I will never forget it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bowmore reverently uncovered his head, saluting an invisible Habeas + Corpus Act. He took his daughter by the hand, with a certain parental + sternness: his voice trembled with emotion as he spoke his next words: + </p> + <p> + “The Habeas Corpus Act, my child, forbids the imprisonment of an English + subject, unless that imprisonment can be first justified by law. Not even + the will of the reigning monarch can prevent us from appearing before the + judges of the land, and summoning them to declare whether our committal to + prison is legally just.” + </p> + <p> + He put on his hat again. “Never forget what I have told you, Charlotte!” + he said solemnly. “I would not remove my hat, sir,” he continuing, turning + to Percy, “in the presence of the proudest autocrat that ever sat on a + throne. I uncover, in homage to the grand law which asserts the sacredness + of human liberty. When Parliament has sanctioned the infamous Bill now + before it, English patriots may be imprisoned, may even be hanged, on + warrants privately obtained by the paid spies and informers of the men who + rule us. Perhaps I weary you, sir. You are a young man; the conduct of the + Ministry may not interest you.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary,” said Percy, “I have the strongest personal interest in + the conduct of the Ministry.” + </p> + <p> + “How? in what way?” cried Mr. Bowmore eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “My late father had a claim on government,” Percy answered, “for money + expended in foreign service. As his heir, I inherit the claim, which has + been formally recognized by the present Ministers. My petition for a + settlement will be presented by friends of mine who can advocate my + interests in the House of Commons.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bowmore took Percy’s hand, and shook it warmly. + </p> + <p> + “In such a matter as this you cannot have too many friends to help you,” + he said. “I myself have some influence, as representing opinion outside + the House; and I am entirely at your service. Come tomorrow, and let us + talk over the details of your claim at my humble dinner-table. To-day I + must attend a meeting of the Branch-Hampden-Club, of which I am + vice-president, and to which I am now about to communicate the alarming + news which my letter contains. Excuse me for leaving you—and count + on a hearty welcome when we see you to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The amiable patriot saluted his daughter with a smile, and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you like my father?” said Charlotte. “All our friends say he ought + to be in Parliament. He has tried twice. The expenses were dreadful; and + each time the other man defeated him. The agent says he would be certainly + elected, if he tried again; but there is no money, and we mustn’t think of + it.” + </p> + <p> + A man of a suspicious turn of mind might have discovered, in those artless + words, the secret of Mr. Bowmore’s interest in the success of his young + friend’s claim on the Government. One British subject, with a sum of ready + money at his command, may be an inestimably useful person to another + British subject (without ready money) who cannot sit comfortably unless he + sits in Parliament. But honest Percy Linwood was not a man of a suspicious + turn of mind. He had just opened his lips to echo Charlotte’s filial + glorification of her father, when a shabbily-dressed man-servant met them + with a message, for which they were both alike unprepared: + </p> + <p> + “Captain Bervie has called, Miss, to say good-by, and my mistress requests + your company in the parlor.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <h3> + THE WARNING. + </h3> + <p> + HAVING delivered his little formula of words, the shabby servant cast a + look of furtive curiosity at Percy and withdrew. Charlotte turned to her + lover, with indignation sparkling in her eyes and flushing on her cheeks + at the bare idea of seeing Captain Bervie again. “Does he think I will + breathe the same air,” she exclaimed, “with the man who attempted to take + your life!” + </p> + <p> + Percy gently remonstrated with her. + </p> + <p> + “You are sadly mistaken,” he said. “Captain Bervie stood to receive my + fire as fairly as I stood to receive his. When I discharged my pistol in + the air, he was the first man who ran up to me, and asked if I was + seriously hurt. They told him my wound was a trifle; and he fell on his + knees and thanked God for preserving my life from his guilty hand. ‘I am + no longer the rival who hates you,’ he said. ‘Give me time to try if + change of scene will quiet my mind; and I will be <i>your</i> brother, and + <i>her</i> brother.’ Whatever his faults may be, Charlotte, Arthur Bervie + has a great heart. Go in, I entreat you, and be friends with him as I am.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte listened with downcast eyes and changing color. “You believe + him?” she asked in low and trembling tones. + </p> + <p> + “I believe him as I believe You,” Percy answered. + </p> + <p> + She secretly resented the comparison, and detested the Captain more + heartily than ever. “I will go in and see him, if you wish it,” she said. + “But not by myself. I want you to come with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” Percy asked. + </p> + <p> + “I want to see what his face says, when you and he meet.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you still doubt him, Charlotte?” + </p> + <p> + She made no reply. Percy had done his best to convince her, and had + evidently failed. + </p> + <p> + They went together into the cottage. Fixing her eyes steadily on the + Captain’s face, Charlotte saw it turn pale when Percy followed her into + the parlor. The two men greeted one another cordially. Charlotte sat down + by her mother, preserving her composure so far as appearances went. “I + hear you have called to bid us good-by,” she said to Bervie. “Is it to be + a long absence?” + </p> + <p> + “I have got two months’ leave,” the Captain answered, without looking at + her while he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going abroad?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I think so.” + </p> + <p> + She turned away to her mother. Bervie seized the opportunity of speaking + to Percy. “I have a word of advice for your private ear.” At the same + moment, Charlotte whispered to her mother: “Don’t encourage him to prolong + his visit.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain showed no intention to prolong his visit. To Charlotte’s + surprise, when he took leave of the ladies, Percy also rose to go. “His + carriage,” he said, “was waiting at the door; and he had offered to take + Captain Bervie back to London.” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte instantly suspected an arrangement between the two men for a + confidential interview. Her obstinate distrust of Bervie strengthened + tenfold. She reluctantly gave him her hand, as he parted from her at the + parlor-door. The effort of concealing her true feeling toward him gave a + color and a vivacity to her face which made her irresistibly beautiful. + Bervie looked at the woman whom he had lost with an immeasurable sadness + in his eyes. “When we meet again,” he said, “you will see me in a new + character.” He hurried out of the gate, as if he feared to trust himself + for a moment longer in her presence. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte followed Percy into the passage. “I shall be here to-morrow, + dearest!” he said, and tried to raise her hand to his lips. She abruptly + drew it away. “Not that hand!” she answered. “Captain Bervie has just + touched it. Kiss the other!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you still doubt the Captain?” said Percy, amused by her petulance. + </p> + <p> + She put her arm over his shoulder, and touched the plaster on his neck + gently with her finger. “There’s one thing I don’t doubt,” she said: “the + Captain did <i>that!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Percy left her, laughing. At the front gate of the cottage he found Arthur + Bervie in conversation with the same shabbily-dressed man-servant who had + announced the Captain’s visit to Charlotte. + </p> + <p> + “What has become of the other servant?” Bervie asked. “I mean the old man + who has been with Mr. Bowmore for so many years.” + </p> + <p> + “He has left his situation, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “As I understand, sir, he spoke disrespectfully to the master.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! And how came the master to hear of <i>you?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “I advertised; and Mr. Bowmore answered my advertisement.” + </p> + <p> + Bervie looked hard at the man for a moment, and then joined Percy at the + carriage door. The two gentlemen started for London. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of Mr. Bowmore’s new servant?” asked the Captain as + they drove away from the cottage. “I don’t like the look of the fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t particularly notice him,” Percy answered. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. When the conversation was resumed, it turned on + common-place subjects. The Captain looked uneasily out of the carriage + window. Percy looked uneasily at the Captain. + </p> + <p> + They had left Dartford about two miles behind them, when Percy noticed an + old gabled house, sheltered by magnificent trees, and standing on an + eminence well removed from the high-road. Carriages and saddle-horses were + visible on the drive in front, and a flag was hoisted on a staff placed in + the middle of the lawn. + </p> + <p> + “Something seems to be going on there,” Percy remarked. “A fine old house! + Who does it belong to?” + </p> + <p> + Bervie smiled. “It belongs to my father,” he said. “He is chairman of the + bench of local magistrates, and he receives his brother justices to-day, + to celebrate the opening of the sessions.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped and looked at Percy with some embarrassment. “I am afraid I + have surprised and disappointed you,” he resumed, abruptly changing the + subject. “I told you when we met just now at Mr. Bowmore’s cottage that I + had something to say to you; and I have not yet said it. The truth is, I + don’t feel sure whether I have been long enough your friend to take the + liberty of advising you.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever your advice is,” Percy answered, “trust me to take it kindly on + my side.” + </p> + <p> + Thus encouraged, the Captain spoke out. + </p> + <p> + “You will probably pass much of your time at the cottage,” he began, “and + you will be thrown a great deal into Mr. Bowmore’s society. I have known + him for many years. Speaking from that knowledge, I most seriously warn + you against him as a thoroughly unprincipled and thoroughly dangerous + man.” + </p> + <p> + This was strong language—and, naturally enough, Percy said so. The + Captain justified his language. + </p> + <p> + “Without alluding to Mr. Bowmore’s politics,” he went on, “I can tell you + that the motive of everything he says and does is vanity. To the + gratification of that one passion he would sacrifice you or me, his wife + or his daughter, without hesitation and without remorse. His one desire is + to get into Parliament. You are wealthy, and you can help him. He will + leave no effort untried to reach that end; and, if he gets you into + political difficulties, he will desert you without scruple.” + </p> + <p> + Percy made a last effort to take Mr. Bowmore’s part—for the one + irresistible reason that he was Charlotte’s father. + </p> + <p> + “Pray don’t think I am unworthy of your kind interest in my welfare,” he + pleaded. “Can you tell me of any <i>facts</i> which justify what you have + just said?” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you of three facts,” Bervie said. “Mr. Bowmore belongs to one + of the most revolutionary clubs in England; he has spoken in the ranks of + sedition at public meetings; and his name is already in the black book at + the Home Office. So much for the past. As to the future, if the rumor be + true that Ministers mean to stop the insurrectionary risings among the + population by suspending the Habeas Corpus Act, Mr. Bowmore will certainly + be in danger; and it may be my father’s duty to grant the warrant that + apprehends him. Write to my father to verify what I have said, and I will + forward your letter by way of satisfying him that he can trust you. In the + meantime, refuse to accept Mr. Bowmore’s assistance in the matter of your + claim on Parliament; and, above all things, stop him at the outset, when + he tries to steal his way into your intimacy. I need not caution you to + say nothing against him to his wife and daughter. His wily tongue has long + since deluded them. Don’t let him delude <i>you!</i> Have you thought any + more of our evening at Doctor Lagarde’s?” he asked, abruptly changing the + subject. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know,” said Percy, still under the impression of the formidable + warning which he had just received. + </p> + <p> + “Let me jog your memory,” the other continued. “You went on with the + consultation by yourself, after I had left the Doctor’s house. It will be + really doing me a favor if you can call to mind what Lagarde saw in the + trance—in my absence?” + </p> + <p> + Thus entreated Percy roused himself. His memory of events were still fresh + enough to answer the call that his friend had made on it. In describing + what had happened, he accurately repeated all that the Doctor had said. + </p> + <p> + Bervie dwelt on the words with alarm in his face as well as surprise. + </p> + <p> + “A man like me, trying to persuade a woman like—” he checked + himself, as if he was afraid to let Charlotte’s name pass his lips. + “Trying to induce a woman to go away with me,” he resumed, “and persuading + her at last? Pray, go on! What did the Doctor see next?” + </p> + <p> + “He was too much exhausted, he said, to see any more.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely you returned to consult him again?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I had had enough of it.” + </p> + <p> + “When we get to London,” said the Captain, “we shall pass along the + Strand, on the way to your chambers. Will you kindly drop me at the + turning that leads to the Doctor’s lodgings?” + </p> + <p> + Percy looked at him in amazement. “You still take it seriously?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Is it <i>not</i> serious?” Bervie asked. “Have you and I, so far, not + done exactly what this man saw us doing? Did we not meet, in the days when + we were rivals (as he saw us meet), with the pistols in our hands? Did you + not recognize his description of the lady when you met her at the ball, as + I recognized it before you?” + </p> + <p> + “Mere coincidences!” Percy answered, quoting Charlotte’s opinion when they + had spoken together of Doctor Lagarde, but taking care not to cite his + authority. “How many thousand men have been crossed in love? How many + thousand men have fought duels for love? How many thousand women choose + blue for their favorite color, and answer to the vague description of the + lady whom the Doctor pretended to see?” + </p> + <p> + “Say that it is so,” Bervie rejoined. “The thing is remarkable, even from + your point of view. And if more coincidences follow, the result will be + more remarkable still.” + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the Strand, Percy set the Captain down at the turning which led + to the Doctor’s lodgings. “You will call on me or write me word, if + anything remarkable happens?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You shall hear from me without fail,” Bervie replied. + </p> + <p> + That night, the Captain’s pen performed the Captain’s promise, in few and + startling words. + </p> + <p> + “Melancholy news! Madame Lagarde is dead. Nothing is known of her son but + that he has left England. I have found out that he is a political exile. + If he has ventured back to France, it is barely possible that I may hear + something of him. I have friends at the English embassy in Paris who will + help me to make inquiries; and I start for the Continent in a day or two. + Write to me while I am away, to the care of my father, at ‘The Manor + House, near Dartford.’ He will always know my address abroad, and will + forward your letters. For your own sake, remember the warning I gave you + this afternoon! Your faithful friend, A. B.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <h3> + OFFICIAL SECRETS + </h3> + <p> + THERE WAS a more serious reason than Bervie was aware of, at the time, for + the warning which he had thought it his duty to address to Percy Linwood. + The new footman who had entered Mr. Bowmore’s service was a Spy. + </p> + <p> + Well practiced in the infamous vocation that he followed, the wretch had + been chosen by the Department of Secret Service at the Home Office, to + watch the proceedings of Mr. Bowmore and his friends, and to report the + result to his superiors. It may not be amiss to add that the employment of + paid spies and informers, by the English Government of that time, was + openly acknowledged in the House of Lords, and was defended as a necessary + measure in the speeches of Lord Redesdale and Lord Liverpool.* + </p> + <p> + The reports furnished by the Home Office Spy, under these circumstances, + begin with the month of March, and take the form of a series of notes + introduced as follows: + </p> + <p> + “MR. SECRETARY—Since I entered Mr. Bowmore’s service, I have the + honor to inform you that my eyes and ears have been kept in a state of + active observation; and I can further certify that my means of making + myself useful in the future to my honorable employers are in no respect + diminished. Not the slightest suspicion of my true character is felt by + any person in the house. + </p> + <p> + FIRST NOTE. + </p> + <p> + “The young gentleman now on a visit to Mr. Bowmore is, as you have been + correctly informed, Mr. Percy Linwood. Although he is engaged to be + married to Miss Bowmore, he is not discreet enough to conceal a certain + want of friendly feeling, on his part, toward her father. The young lady + has noticed this, and has resented it. She accuses her lover of having + allowed himself to be prejudiced against Mr. Bowmore by some slanderous + person unknown. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Percy’s clumsy defense of himself led (in my hearing) to a quarrel! + Nothing but his prompt submission prevented the marriage engagement from + being broken off. + </p> + <p> + “‘If you showed a want of confidence in Me’ (I heard Miss Charlotte say), + ‘I might forgive it. But when you show a want of confidence in a man so + noble as my father, I have no mercy on you.’ After such an expression of + filial sentiment as this, Mr. Percy wisely took the readiest way of + appealing to the lady’s indulgence. The young man has a demand on + Parliament for moneys due to his father’s estate; and he pleased and + flattered Miss Charlotte by asking Mr. Bowmore to advise him as to the + best means of asserting his claim. By way of advancing his political + interests, Mr. Bowmore introduced him to the local Hampden Club; and Miss + Charlotte rewarded him with a generosity which must not be passed over in + silence. Her lover was permitted to put an engagement ring on her finger, + and to kiss her afterward to his heart’s content.” + </p> + <p> + SECOND NOTE. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Percy has paid more visits to the Republican Club; and Justice Bervie + (father of the Captain) has heard of it, and has written to his son. The + result that might have been expected has followed. Captain Bervie + announces his return to England, to exert his influence for political good + against the influence of Mr. Bowmore for political evil. + </p> + <p> + “In the meanwhile, Mr. Percy’s claim has been brought before the House of + Commons, and has been adjourned for further consideration in six months’ + time. Both the gentlemen are indignant—especially Mr. Bowmore. He + has called a meeting of the Club to consider his young friend’s wrongs, + and has proposed the election of Mr. Percy as a member of that + revolutionary society.” + </p> + <p> + THIRD NOTE. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Percy has been elected. Captain Bervie has tried to awaken his mind + to a sense of the danger that threatens him, if he persists in associating + with his republican friends—and has utterly failed. Mr. Bowmore and + Mr. Percy have made speeches at the Club, intended to force the latter + gentleman’s claim on the immediate attention of Government. Mr. Bowmore’s + flow of frothy eloquence has its influence (as you know from our shorthand + writers’ previous reports) on thousands of ignorant people. As it seems to + me, the reasons for at once putting this man in prison are beyond dispute. + Whether it is desirable to include Mr. Percy in the order of arrest, I + must not venture to decide. Let me only hint that his seditious speech + rivals the more elaborate efforts of Mr. Bowmore himself. + </p> + <p> + “So much for the present. I may now respectfully direct your attention to + the future. + </p> + <p> + “On the second of April next the Club assembles a public meeting, ‘in aid + of British liberty,’ in a field near Dartford. Mr. Bowmore is to preside, + and is to be escorted afterward to Westminster Hall on his way to plead + Mr. Percy’s cause, in his own person, before the House of Commons. He is + quite serious in declaring that ‘the minions of Government dare not touch + a hair of his head.’ Miss Charlotte agrees with her father And Mr. Percy + agrees with Miss Charlotte. Such is the state of affairs at the house in + which I am acting the part of domestic servant. + </p> + <p> + “I inclose shorthand reports of the speeches recently delivered at the + Hampden Club, and have the honor of waiting for further orders.” + </p> + <p> + FOURTH NOTE. + </p> + <p> + “Your commands have reached me by this morning’s post. + </p> + <p> + “I immediately waited on Justice Bervie (in plain clothes, of course), and + gave him your official letter, instructing me to arrest Mr. Bowmore and + Mr. Percy Linwood. + </p> + <p> + “The venerable magistrate hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “He quite understood the necessity for keeping the arrest a strict secret, + in the interests of Government. The only reluctance he felt in granting + the warrant related to his son’s intimate friend. But for the peremptory + tone of your letter, I really believe he would have asked you to give Mr. + Percy time for consideration. Not being rash enough to proceed to such an + extreme as this, he slyly consulted the young man’s interests by + declining, on formal grounds, to date the warrant earlier than the second + of April. Please note that my visit to him was paid at noon, on the + thirty-first of March. + </p> + <p> + “If the object of this delay (to which I was obliged to submit) is to + offer a chance of escape to Mr. Percy, the same chance necessarily + includes Mr. Bowmore, whose name is also in the warrant. Trust me to keep + a watchful eye on both these gentlemen; especially on Mr. Bowmore. He is + the most dangerous man of the two, and the most likely, if he feels any + suspicions, to slip through the fingers of the law. + </p> + <p> + “I have also to report that I discovered three persons in the hall of + Justice Bervie’s house, as I went out. + </p> + <p> + “One of them was his son, the Captain; one was his daughter, Miss Bervie; + and the third was that smooth-tongued old soldier, Major Mulvany. If the + escape of Mr. Bowmore and Mr. Linwood is in contemplation, mark my words: + the persons whom I have just mentioned will be concerned in it—and + perhaps Miss Charlotte herself as well. At present, she is entirely + unsuspicious of any misfortune hanging over her head; her attention being + absorbed in the preparation of her bridal finery. As an admirer myself of + the fair sex, I must own that it seems hard on the girl to have her lover + clapped into prison, before the wedding-day. + </p> + <p> + “I will bring you word of the arrest myself. There will be plenty of time + to catch the afternoon coach to London. + </p> + <p> + “Here—unless something happens which it is impossible to foresee—my + report may come to an end.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Readers who may desire to test the author’s authority for + this statement, are referred to “The Annual Register” for + 1817, Chapters I. and III.; and, further on, to page 66 in + the same volume. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <h3> + THE ELOPEMENT. + </h3> + <p> + ON the evening of the first of April, Mrs. Bowmore was left alone with the + servants. Mr. Bowmore and Percy had gone out together to attend a special + meeting of the Club. Shortly afterward Miss Charlotte had left the + cottage, under very extraordinary circumstances. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes only after the departure of her father and Percy, she + received a letter, which appeared to cause her the most violent agitation. + She said to Mrs. Bowmore: + </p> + <p> + “Mamma, I must see Captain Bervie for a few minutes in private, on a + matter of serious importance to all of us. He is waiting at the front + gate, and he will come in if I show myself at the hall door.” + </p> + <p> + Upon this, Mrs. Bowmore had asked for an explanation. + </p> + <p> + “There is no time for explanation,” was the only answer she received; “I + ask you to leave me for five minutes alone with the Captain.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bowmore still hesitated. Charlotte snatched up her garden hat, and + declared, wildly, that she would go out to Captain Bervie, if she was not + permitted to receive him at home. In the face of this declaration, Mrs. + Bowmore yielded, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + In a minute more the Captain made his appearance. + </p> + <p> + Although she had given way, Mrs. Bowmore was not disposed to trust her + daughter, without supervision, in the society of a man whom Charlotte + herself had reviled as a slanderer and a false friend. She took up her + position in the veranda outside the parlor, at a safe distance from one of + the two windows of the room which had been left partially open to admit + the fresh air. Here she waited and listened. + </p> + <p> + The conversation was for some time carried on in whispers. + </p> + <p> + As they became more and more excited, both Charlotte and Bervie ended in + unconsciously raising their voices. + </p> + <p> + “I swear it to you on my faith as a Christian!” Mrs. Bowmore heard the + Captain say. “I declare before God who hears me that I am speaking the + truth!” + </p> + <p> + And Charlotte had answered, with a burst of tears: + </p> + <p> + “I can’t believe you! I daren’t believe you! Oh, how can you ask me to do + such a thing? Let me go! let me go!” + </p> + <p> + Alarmed at those words, Mrs. Bowmore advanced to the window and looked in. + </p> + <p> + Bervie had put her daughter’s arm on his arm, and was trying to induce her + to leave the parlor with him. She resisted, and implored him to release + her. He dropped her arm, and whispered in her ear. She looked at him—and + instantly made up her mind. + </p> + <p> + “Let me tell my mother where I am going,” she said; “and I will consent.” + </p> + <p> + “Be it so!” he answered. “And remember one thing: every minute is + precious; the fewest words are the best.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bowmore re-entered the cottage by the adjoining room, and met them in + the passage. In few words, Charlotte spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I must go at once to Justice Bervie’s house. Don’t be afraid, mamma! I + know what I am about, and I know I am right.” + </p> + <p> + “Going to Justice Bervie’s!” cried Mrs. Bowmore, in the utmost extremity + of astonishment. “What will your father say, what will Percy think, when + they come back from the Club?” + </p> + <p> + “My sister’s carriage is waiting for me close by,” Bervie answered. “It is + entirely at Miss Bowmore’s disposal. She can easily get back, if she + wishes to keep her visit a secret, before Mr. Bowmore and Mr. Linwood + return.” + </p> + <p> + He led her to the door as he spoke. She ran back and kissed her mother + tenderly. Mrs. Bowmore called to them to wait. + </p> + <p> + “I daren’t let you go,” she said to her daughter, “without your father’s + leave!” + </p> + <p> + Charlotte seemed not to hear, the Captain seemed not to hear. They ran + across the front garden, and through the gate—and were out of sight + in less than a minute. + </p> + <p> + More than two hours passed; the sun sank below the horizon, and still + there were no signs of Charlotte’s return. + </p> + <p> + Feeling seriously uneasy, Mrs. Bowmore crossed the room to ring the bell, + and send the man-servant to Justice Bervie’s house to hasten her + daughter’s return. + </p> + <p> + As she approached the fireplace, she was startled by a sound of stealthy + footsteps in the hall, followed by a loud noise as of some heavy object + that had dropped on the floor. She rang the bell violently, and opened the + door of the parlor. At the same moment, the spy-footman passed her, + running out, apparently in pursuit of somebody, at the top of his speed. + She followed him, as rapidly as she could, across the little front garden, + to the gate. Arrived in the road, she was in time to see him vault upon + the luggage-board at the back of a post-chaise before the cottage, just as + the postilion started the horses on their way to London. The spy saw Mrs. + Bowmore looking at him, and pointed, with an insolent nod of his head, + first to the inside of the vehicle, and then over it to the high-road; + signing to her that he designed to accompany the person in the post-chaise + to the end of the journey. + </p> + <p> + Turning to go back, Mrs. Bowmore saw her own bewilderment reflected in the + faces of the two female servants, who had followed her out. + </p> + <p> + “Who can the footman be after, ma’am?” asked the cook. “Do you think it’s + a thief?” + </p> + <p> + The housemaid pointed to the post-chaise, barely visible in the distance. + </p> + <p> + “Simpleton!” she said. “Do thieves travel in that way? I wish my master + had come back,” she proceeded, speaking to herself: “I’m afraid there’s + something wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bowmore, returning through the garden-gate, instantly stopped and + looked at the woman. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you mention your master’s name, Amelia, when you fear that + something is wrong?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Amelia changed color, and looked confused. + </p> + <p> + “I am loth to alarm you, ma’am,” she said; “and I can’t rightly see what + it is my duty to do.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bowmore’s heart sank within her under the cruelest of all terrors, + the terror of something unknown. “Don’t keep me in suspense,” she said + faintly. “Whatever it is, let me know it.” + </p> + <p> + She led the way back to the parlor. The housemaid followed her. The cook + (declining to be left alone) followed the housemaid. + </p> + <p> + “It was something I heard early this afternoon, ma’am,” Amelia began. + “Cook happened to be busy—” + </p> + <p> + The cook interposed: she had not forgiven the housemaid for calling her a + simpleton. “No, Amelia, if you <i>must</i> bring me into it—not + busy. Uneasy in my mind on the subject of the soup.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that your mind makes much difference,” Amelia resumed. “What + it comes to is this—it was I, and not you, who went into the + kitchen-garden for the vegetables.” + </p> + <p> + “Not by <i>my</i> wish, Heaven knows!” persisted the cook. + </p> + <p> + “Leave the room!” said Mrs. Bowmore. Even her patience had given way at + last. + </p> + <p> + The cook looked as if she declined to believe her own ears. Mrs. Bowmore + pointed to the door. The cook said “Oh?”—accenting it as a question. + Mrs. Bowmore’s finger still pointed. The cook, in solemn silence, yielded + to circumstances, and banged the door. + </p> + <p> + “I was getting the vegetables, ma’am,” Amelia proceeded, “when I heard + voices on the other side of the paling. The wood is so old that one can + see through the cracks easy enough. I saw my master, and Mr. Linwood, and + Captain Bervie. The Captain seemed to have stopped the other two on the + pathway that leads to the field; he stood, as it might be, between them + and the back way to the house—and he spoke severely, that he did!” + </p> + <p> + “What did Captain Bervie say?” + </p> + <p> + “He said these words, ma’am: ‘For the last time, Mr. Bowmore,’ says he, + ‘will you understand that you are in danger, and that Mr. Linwood is in + danger, unless you both leave this neighborhood to-night?’ My master made + light of it. ‘For the last time,’ says he, ‘will you refer us to a proof + of what you say, and allow us to judge for ourselves?’ ‘I have told you + already,’ says the Captain, ‘I am bound by my duty toward another person + to keep what I know a secret.’ ‘Very well,’ says my master, ‘<i>I</i> am + bound by my duty to my country. And I tell you this,’ says he, in his high + and mighty way, ‘neither Government, nor the spies of Government, dare + touch a hair of my head: they know it, sir, for the head of the people’s + friend!’” + </p> + <p> + “That’s quite true,” said Mrs. Bowmore, still believing in her husband as + firmly as ever. + </p> + <p> + Amelia went on: + </p> + <p> + “Captain Bervie didn’t seem to think so,” she said. “He lost his temper. + ‘What stuff!’ says he; ‘there’s a Government spy in your house at this + moment, disguised as your footman.’ My master looked at Mr. Linwood, and + burst out laughing. ‘You won’t beat that, Captain,’ says he, ‘if you talk + till doomsday.’ He turned about without a word more, and went home. The + Captain caught Mr. Linwood by the arm, as soon as they were alone. ‘For + God’s sake,’ says he, ‘don’t follow that madman’s example!’” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bowmore was shocked. “Did he really call my husband a madman?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “He did, indeed, ma’am—and he was in earnest about it, too. ‘If you + value your liberty,’ he says to Mr. Linwood; ‘if you hope to become + Charlotte’s husband, consult your own safety. I can give you a passport. + Escape to France and wait till this trouble is over.’ Mr. Linwood was not + in the best of tempers—Mr. Linwood shook him off. ‘Charlotte’s + father will soon be my father,’ says he, ‘do you think I will desert him? + My friends at the Club have taken up my claim; do you think I will forsake + them at the meeting to-morrow? You ask me to be unworthy of Charlotte, and + unworthy of my friends—you insult me, if you say more.’ He whipped + round on his heel, and followed my master.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did the Captain do?” + </p> + <p> + “Lifted up his hands, ma’am, to the heavens, and looked—I declare it + turned my blood to see him. If there’s truth in mortal man, it’s my firm + belief—” + </p> + <p> + What the housemaid’s belief was, remained unexpressed. Before she could + get to her next word, a shriek of horror from the hall announced that the + cook’s powers of interruption were not exhausted yet. + </p> + <p> + Mistress and servant both hurried out in terror of they knew not what. + There stood the cook, alone in the hall, confronting the stand on which + the overcoats and hats of the men of the family were placed. + </p> + <p> + “Where’s the master’s traveling coat?” cried the cook, staring wildly at + an unoccupied peg. “And where’s his cap to match! Oh Lord, he’s off in the + post-chaise! and the footman’s after him!” + </p> + <p> + Simpleton as she was, the woman had blundered on a very serious discovery. + </p> + <p> + Coat and cap—both made after a foreign pattern, and both strikingly + remarkable in form and color to English eyes—had unquestionably + disappeared. It was equally certain that they were well known to the foot + man, whom the Captain had declared to be a spy, as the coat and cap which + his master used in traveling. Had Mr. Bowmore discovered (since the + afternoon) that he was really in danger? Had the necessities of instant + flight only allowed him time enough to snatch his coat and cap out of the + hall? And had the treacherous manservant seen him as he was making his + escape to the post-chaise? The cook’s conclusions answered all these + questions in the affirmative—and, if Captain Bervie’s words of + warning had been correctly reported, the cook’s conclusion for once was + not to be despised. + </p> + <p> + Under this last trial of her fortitude, Mrs. Bowmore’s feeble reserves of + endurance completely gave way. The poor lady turned faint and giddy. + Amelia placed her on a chair in the hall, and told the cook to open the + front door, and let in the fresh air. + </p> + <p> + The cook obeyed; and instantly broke out with a second terrific scream; + announcing nothing less, this time, than the appearance of Mr. Bowmore + himself, alive and hearty, returning with Percy from the meeting at the + Club! + </p> + <p> + The inevitable inquiries and explanations followed. + </p> + <p> + Fully assured, as he had declared himself to be, of the sanctity of his + person (politically speaking), Mr. Bowmore turned pale, nevertheless, when + he looked at the unoccupied peg on his clothes stand. Had some man unknown + personated him? And had a post-chaise been hired to lead an impending + pursuit of him in the wrong direction? What did it mean? Who was the + friend to whose services he was indebted? As for the proceedings of the + man-servant, but one interpretation could now be placed on them. They + distinctly justified what Captain Bervie had said of him. Mr. Bowmore + thought of the Captain’s other assertion, relating to the urgent necessity + for making his escape; and looked at Percy in silent dismay; and turned + paler than ever. + </p> + <p> + Percy’s thoughts, diverted for the moment only from the lady of his love, + returned to her with renewed fidelity. “Let us hear what Charlotte thinks + of it,” he said. “Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to answer this question plainly and in few words. + </p> + <p> + Terrified at the effect which her attempt at explanation produced on + Percy, helplessly ignorant when she was called upon to account for her + daughter’s absence, Mrs. Bowmore could only shed tears and express a + devout trust in Providence. Her husband looked at the new misfortune from + a political point of view. He sat down and slapped his forehead + theatrically with the palm of his hand. “Thus far,” said the patriot, “my + political assailants have only struck at me through the newspapers. <i>Now</i> + they strike at me through my child!” + </p> + <p> + Percy made no speeches. There was a look in his eyes which boded ill for + Captain Bervie if the two met. “I am going to fetch her,” was all he said, + “as fast as a horse can carry me.” + </p> + <p> + He hired his horse at an inn in the town, and set forth for Justice + Bervie’s house at a gallop. + </p> + <p> + During Percy’s absence, Mr. Bowmore secured the front and back entrances + to the cottage with his own hands. + </p> + <p> + These first precautions taken, he ascended to his room and packed his + traveling-bag. “Necessaries for my use in prison,” he remarked. “The + bloodhounds of Government are after me.” “Are they after Percy, too?” his + wife ventured to ask. Mr. Bowmore looked up impatiently, and cried “Pooh!”—as + if Percy was of no consequence. Mrs. Bowmore thought otherwise: the good + woman privately packed a bag for Percy, in the sanctuary of her own room. + </p> + <p> + For an hour, and more than an hour, no event of any sort occurred. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bowmore stalked up and down the parlor, meditating. At intervals, + ideas of flight presented themselves attractively to his mind. At + intervals, ideas of the speech that he had prepared for the public meeting + on the next day took their place. “If I fly to-night,” he wisely observed, + “what will become of my speech? I will <i>not</i> fly to-night! The people + shall hear me.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down and crossed his arms fiercely. As he looked at his wife to see + what effect he had produced on her, the sound of heavy carriage-wheels and + the trampling of horses penetrated to the parlor from the garden-gate. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bowmore started to his feet, with every appearance of having suddenly + altered his mind on the question of flight. Just as he reached the hall, + Percy’s voice was heard at the front door. “Let me in. Instantly! + Instantly!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bowmore drew back the bolts before the servants could help her. + “Where is Charlotte?” she cried; seeing Percy alone on the doorstep. + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” Percy answered furiously. “Eloped to Paris with Captain Bervie! + Read her own confession. They were just sending the messenger with it, + when I reached the house.” + </p> + <p> + He handed a note to Mrs. Bowmore, and turned aside to speak to her husband + while she read it. Charlotte wrote to her mother very briefly; promising + to explain everything on her return. In the meantime, she had left home + under careful protection—she had a lady for her companion on the + journey—and she would write again from Paris. So the letter, + evidently written in great haste, began and ended. + </p> + <p> + Percy took Mr. Bowmore to the window, and pointed to a carriage and four + horses waiting at the garden-gate. + </p> + <p> + “Do you come with me, and back me with your authority as her father?” he + asked, sternly. “Or do you leave me to go alone?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bowmore was famous among his admirers for his “happy replies.” He made + one now. + </p> + <p> + “I am not Brutus,” he said. “I am only Bowmore. My daughter before + everything. Fetch my traveling-bag.” + </p> + <p> + While the travelers’ bags were being placed in the chaise, Mr. Bowmore was + struck by an idea. + </p> + <p> + He produced from his coat-pocket a roll of many papers thickly covered + with writing. On the blank leaf in which they were tied up, he wrote in + the largest letters: “Frightful domestic calamity! Vice-President Bowmore + obliged to leave England! Welfare of a beloved daughter! His speech will + be read at the meeting by Secretary Joskin, of the Club. (Private to + Joskin. Have these lines printed and posted everywhere. And, when you read + my speech, for God’s sake don’t drop your voice at the ends of the + sentences.)” + </p> + <p> + He threw down the pen, and embraced Mrs. Bowmore in the most summary + manner. The poor woman was ordered to send the roll of paper to the Club, + without a word to comfort and sustain her from her husband’s lips. Percy + spoke to her hopefully and kindly, as he kissed her cheek at parting. + </p> + <p> + On the next morning, a letter, addressed to Mrs. Bowmore, was delivered at + the cottage by private messenger. + </p> + <p> + Opening the letter, she recognized the handwriting of her husband’s old + friend, and her old friend—Major Mulvany. In breathless amazement, + she read these lines: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR MRS. BOWMORE—In matters of importance, the golden rule is + never to waste words. I have performed one of the great actions of my life—I + have saved your husband. + </p> + <p> + “How I discovered that my friend was in danger, I must not tell you at + present. Let it be enough if I say that I have been a guest under Justice + Bervie’s hospitable roof, and that I know of a Home Office spy who has + taken you unawares, under pretense of being your footman. If I had not + circumvented him, the scoundrel would have imprisoned your husband, and + another dear friend of mine. This is how I did it. + </p> + <p> + “I must begin by appealing to your memory. + </p> + <p> + “Do you happen to remember that your husband and I are as near as may be + of about the same height? Very good, so far. Did you, in the next place, + miss Bowmore’s traveling coat and cap from their customary peg? I am the + thief, dearest lady; I put them on my own humble self. Did you hear a + sudden noise in the hall? Oh, forgive me—I made the noise! And it + did just what I wanted of it. It brought the spy up from the kitchen, + suspecting that something might be wrong. + </p> + <p> + “What did the wretch see when he got into the hall? His master, in + traveling costume, running out. What did he find when he reached the + garden? His master escaping, in a post-chaise, on the road to London. What + did he do, the born blackguard that he was? Jumped up behind the chaise to + make sure of his prisoner. It was dark when we got to London. In a hop, + skip, and jump, I was out of the carriage, and in at my own door, before + he could look me in the face. + </p> + <p> + “The date of the warrant, you must know, obliged him to wait till the + morning. All that night, he and the Bow Street runners kept watch They + came in with the sunrise—and who did they find? Major Mulvany snug + in his bed, and as innocent as the babe unborn. Oh, they did their duty! + Searched the place from the kitchen to the garrets—and gave it up. + There’s but one thing I regret—I let the spy off without a good + thrashing. No matter. I’ll do it yet, one of these days. + </p> + <p> + “Let me know the first good news of our darling fugitives, and I shall be + more than rewarded for what little I have done. + </p> + <p> + “Your always devoted, + </p> + <p> + “TERENCE MULVANY.” <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <h3> + PURSUIT AND DISCOVERY. + </h3> + <p> + FEELING himself hurried away on the road to Dover, as fast as four horses + could carry him, Mr. Bowmore had leisure to criticise Percy’s conduct, + from his own purely selfish point of view. + </p> + <p> + “If you had listened to my advice,” he said, “you would have treated that + man Bervie like the hypocrite and villain that he is. But no! you trusted + to your own crude impressions. Having given him your hand after the duel + (I would have given him the contents of my pistol!) you hesitated to + withdraw it again, when that slanderer appealed to your friendship not to + cast him off. Now you see the consequence!” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till we get to Paris!” All the ingenuity of Percy’s traveling + companion failed to extract from him any other answer than that. + </p> + <p> + Foiled so far, Mr. Bowmore began to start difficulties next. Had they + money enough for the journey? Percy touched his pocket, and answered + shortly, “Plenty.” Had they passports? Percy sullenly showed a letter. + “There is the necessary voucher from a magistrate,” he said. “The consul + at Dover will give us our passports. Mind this!” he added, in warning + tones, “I have pledged my word of honor to Justice Bervie that we have no + political object in view in traveling to France. Keep your politics to + yourself, on the other side of the Channel.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bowmore listened in blank amazement. Charlotte’s lover was appearing + in a new character—the character of a man who had lost his respect + for Charlotte’s father! + </p> + <p> + It was useless to talk to him. He deliberately checked any further + attempts at conversation by leaning back in the carriage, and closing his + eyes. The truth is, Mr. Bowmore’s own language and conduct were insensibly + producing the salutary impression on Percy’s mind which Bervie had vainly + tried to convey, under the disadvantage of having Charlotte’s influence + against him. Throughout the journey, Percy did exactly what Bervie had + once entreated him to do—he kept Mr. Bowmore at a distance. + </p> + <p> + At every stage, they inquired after the fugitives. At every stage, they + were answered by a more or less intelligible description of Bervie and + Charlotte, and of the lady who accompanied them. No disguise had been + attempted; no person had in any case been bribed to conceal the truth. + </p> + <p> + When the first tumult of his emotions had in some degree subsided, this + strange circumstance associated itself in Percy’s mind with the equally + unaccountable conduct of Justice Bervie, on his arrival at the manor + house. + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman met his visitor in the hall, without expressing, and + apparently without feeling, any indignation at his son’s conduct. It was + even useless to appeal to him for information. He only said, “I am not in + Arthur’s confidence; he is of age, and my daughter (who has volunteered to + accompany him) is of age. I have no claim to control them. I believe they + have taken Miss Bowmore to Paris; and that is all I know about it.” + </p> + <p> + He had shown the same dense insensibility in giving his official voucher + for the passports. Percy had only to satisfy him on the question of + politics; and the document was drawn out as a matter of course. Such had + been the father’s behavior; and the conduct of the son now exhibited the + same shameless composure. To what conclusion did this discovery point? + Percy abandoned the attempt to answer that question in despair. + </p> + <p> + They reached Dover toward two o’clock in the morning. + </p> + <p> + At the pier-head they found a coast-guardsman on duty, and received more + information. + </p> + <p> + In 1817 the communication with France was still by sailing-vessels. + Arriving long after the departure of the regular packet, Bervie had hired + a lugger, and had sailed with the two ladies for Calais, having a fresh + breeze in his favor. Percy’s first angry impulse was to follow him + instantly. The next moment he remembered the insurmountable obstacle of + the passports. The Consul would certainly not grant those essentially + necessary documents at two in the morning! + </p> + <p> + The only alternative was to wait for the regular packet, which sailed some + hours later—between eight and nine o’clock in the forenoon. In this + case, they might apply for their passports before the regular office + hours, if they explained the circumstances, backed by the authority of the + magistrate’s letter. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bowmore followed Percy to the nearest inn that was open, sublimely + indifferent to the delays and difficulties of the journey. He ordered + refreshments with the air of a man who was performing a melancholy duty to + himself, in the name of humanity. + </p> + <p> + “When I think of my speech,” he said, at supper, “my heart bleeds for the + people. In a few hours more, they will assemble in their thousands, eager + to hear me. And what will they see? Joskin in my place! Joskin with a + manuscript in his hand! Joskin, who drops his voice at the ends of his + sentences! I will never forgive Charlotte. Waiter, another glass of brandy + and water.” + </p> + <p> + After an unusually quick passage across the Channel, the travelers landed + on the French coast, before the defeated spy had returned from London to + Dartford by stage-coach. Continuing their journey by post as far as + Amiens, they reached that city in time to take their places by the + diligence to Paris. + </p> + <p> + Arrived in Paris, they encountered another incomprehensible proceeding on + the part of Captain Bervie. + </p> + <p> + Among the persons assembled in the yard to see the arrival of the + diligence was a man with a morsel of paper in his hand, evidently on the + lookout for some person whom he expected to discover among the travelers. + After consulting his bit of paper, he looked with steady attention at + Percy and Mr. Bowmore, and suddenly approached them. “If you wish to see + the Captain,” he said, in broken English, “you will find him at that + hotel.” He handed a printed card to Percy, and disappeared among the crowd + before it was possible to question him. + </p> + <p> + Even Mr. Bowmore gave way to human weakness, and condescended to feel + astonished in the face of such an event as this. “What next?” he + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Wait till we get to the hotel,” said Percy. + </p> + <p> + In half an hour more the landlord had received them, and the waiter had + led them to the right door. Percy pushed the man aside, and burst into the + room. + </p> + <p> + Captain Bervie was alone, reading a newspaper. Before the first furious + words had escaped Percy’s lips, Bervie silenced him by pointing to a + closed door on the right of the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “She is in that room,” he said; “speak quietly, or you may frighten her. I + know what you are going to say,” he added, as Percy stepped nearer to him. + “Will you hear me in my own defense, and then decide whether I am the + greatest scoundrel living, or the best friend you ever had?” + </p> + <p> + He put the question kindly, with something that was at once grave and + tender in his look and manner. The extraordinary composure with which he + acted and spoke had its tranquilizing influence over Percy. He felt + himself surprised into giving Bervie a hearing. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you first what I have done,” the Captain proceeded, “and next + why I did it. I have taken it on myself, Mr. Linwood, to make an + alteration in your wedding arrangements. Instead of being married at + Dartford church, you will be married (if you see no objection) at the + chapel of the embassy in Paris, by my old college friend the chaplain.” + </p> + <p> + This was too much for Percy’s self-control. “Your audacity is beyond + belief,” he broke out. + </p> + <p> + “And beyond endurance,” Mr. Bowmore added. “Understand this, sir! Whatever + your defense may be, I object, under any circumstances, to be made the + victim of a trick.” + </p> + <p> + “You are the victim of your own obstinate refusal to profit by a plain + warning,” Bervie rejoined. “At the eleventh hour, I entreated you, and I + entreated Mr. Linwood, to provide for your own safety; and I spoke in + vain.” + </p> + <p> + Percy’s patience gave way once more. + </p> + <p> + “To use your own language,” he said, “I have still to decide whether you + have behaved toward me like a scoundrel or a friend. You have said nothing + to justify yourself yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well put!” Mr. Bowmore chimed in. “Come to the point, sir! My + daughter’s reputation is in question.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Bowmore’s reputation is not in question for a single instant,” + Bervie answered. “My sister has been the companion of her journey from + first to last.” + </p> + <p> + “Journey?” Mr. Bowmore repeated, indignantly. “I want to know, sir, what + the journey means. As an outraged father, I ask one plain question. Why + did you run away with my daughter?” + </p> + <p> + Bervie took a slip of paper from his pocket, and handed it to Percy with a + smile. + </p> + <p> + It was a copy of the warrant which Justice Bervie’s duty had compelled him + to issue for the “arrest of Orlando Bowmore and Percy Linwood.” There was + no danger in divulging the secret now. British warrants were waste-paper + in France, in those days. + </p> + <p> + “I ran away with the bride,” Bervie said coolly, “in the certain knowledge + that you and Mr. Bowmore would run after me. If I had not forced you both + to follow me out of England on the first of April, you would have been + made State prisoners on the second. What do you say to my conduct now?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, Percy, before you answer him,” Mr. Bowmore interposed. “He is ready + enough at excusing himself. But, observe—he hasn’t a word to say in + justification of my daughter’s readiness to run away with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you quite done?” Bervie asked, as quietly as ever. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bowmore reserved the right of all others which he most prized, the + right of using his tongue. “For the present,” he answered in his loftiest + manner, “I have done.” + </p> + <p> + Bervie proceeded: “Your daughter consented to run away with me, because I + took her to my father’s house, and prevailed upon him to trust her with + the secret of the coming arrests. She had no choice left but to let her + obstinate father and her misguided lover go to prison—or to take her + place with my sister and me in the traveling-carriage.” He appealed once + more to Percy. “My friend, you remember the day when you spared my life. + Have I remembered it, too?” + </p> + <p> + For once, there was an Englishman who was not contented to express the + noblest emotions that humanity can feel by the commonplace ceremony of + shaking hands. Percy’s heart overflowed. In an outburst of unutterable + gratitude he threw himself on Bervie’s breast. As brothers the two men + embraced. As brothers they loved and trusted one another, from that day + forth. + </p> + <p> + The door on the right was softly opened from within. A charming face—the + dark eyes bright with happy tears, the rosy lips just opening into a smile—peeped + into the room. A low sweet voice, with an under-note of trembling in it, + made this modest protest, in the form of an inquiry: + </p> + <p> + “When you have quite done, Percy, with our good friend, perhaps you will + have something to say to ME?” + </p> + <p> + LAST WORDS. + </p> + <p> + THE persons immediately interested in the marriage of Percy and Charlotte + were the only persons present at the ceremony. + </p> + <p> + At the little breakfast afterward, in the French hotel, Mr. Bowmore + insisted on making a speech to a select audience of six; namely, the bride + and bridegroom, the bridesmaid, the Chaplain, the Captain, and Mrs. + Bowmore. But what does a small audience matter? The English frenzy for + making speeches is not to be cooled by such a trifle as that. At the end + of the world, the expiring forces of Nature will hear a dreadful voice—the + voice of the last Englishman delivering the last speech. + </p> + <p> + Percy wisely made his honeymoon a long one; he determined to be quite sure + of his superior influence over his wife before he trusted her within reach + of her father again. + </p> + <p> + Mr. and Mrs. Bowmore accompanied Captain Bervie and Miss Bervie on their + way back to England, as far as Boulogne. In that pleasant town the + banished patriot set up his tent. It was a cheaper place to live in than + Paris, and it was conveniently close to England, when he had quite made up + his mind whether to be an exile on the Continent, or to go back to his own + country and be a martyr in prison. In the end, the course of events + settled that question for him. Mr. Bowmore returned to England, with the + return of the Habeas Corpus Act. + </p> + <p> + The years passed. Percy and Charlotte (judged from the romantic point of + view) became two uninteresting married people. Bervie (always remaining a + bachelor) rose steadily in his profession, through the higher grades of + military rank. Mr. Bowmore, wisely overlooked by a new Government, sank + back again into the obscurity from which shrewd Ministers would never have + assisted him to emerge. The one subject of interest left, among the + persons of this little drama, was now represented by Doctor Lagarde. Thus + far, not a trace had been discovered of the French physician, who had so + strangely associated the visions of his magnetic sleep with the destinies + of the two men who had consulted him. + </p> + <p> + Steadfastly maintaining his own opinion of the prediction and the + fulfillment, Bervie persisted in believing that he and Lagarde (or Percy + and Lagarde) were yet destined to meet, and resume the unfinished + consultation at the point where it had been broken off. Persons, happy in + the possession of “sound common sense,” who declared the prediction to be + skilled guesswork, and the fulfillment manifest coincidence, ridiculed the + idea of finding Doctor Lagarde as closely akin to that other celebrated + idea of finding the needle in the bottle of hay. But Bervie’s obstinacy + was proverbial. Nothing shook his confidence in his own convictions. + </p> + <p> + More than thirteen years had elapsed since the consultation at the + Doctor’s lodgings, when Bervie went to Paris to spend a summer holiday + with his friend, the chaplain at the English embassy. His last words to + Percy and Charlotte when he took his leave were: “Suppose I meet with + Doctor Lagarde?” + </p> + <p> + It was then the year 1830. Bervie arrived at his friend’s rooms on the + 24th of July. On the 27th of the month the famous revolution broke out + which dethroned Charles the Tenth in three days. + </p> + <p> + On the second day, Bervie and his host ventured into the streets, watching + the revolution (like other reckless Englishmen) at the risk of their + lives. In the confusion around them they were separated. Bervie, searching + for his companion, found his progress stopped by a barricade, which had + been desperately attacked, and desperately defended. Men in blouses and + men in uniform lay dead and dying together: the tricolored flag waved over + them, in token of the victory of the people. + </p> + <p> + Bervie had just revived a poor wretch with a drink from an overthrown bowl + of water, which still had a few drops left in it, when he felt a hand laid + on his shoulder from behind. He turned and discovered a National Guard, + who had been watching his charitable action. “Give a helping hand to that + poor fellow,” said the citizen-soldier, pointing to a workman standing + near, grimed with blood and gunpowder. The tears were rolling down the + man’s cheeks. “I can’t see my way, sir, for crying,” he said. “Help me to + carry that sad burden into the next street.” He pointed to a rude wooden + litter, on which lay a dead or wounded man, his face and breast covered + with an old cloak. “There is the best friend the people ever had,” the + workman said. “He cured us, comforted us, respected us, loved us. And + there he lies, shot dead while he was binding up the wounds of friends and + enemies alike!” + </p> + <p> + “Whoever he is, he has died nobly,” Bervie answered “May I look at him?” + </p> + <p> + The workman signed that he might look. + </p> + <p> + Bervie lifted the cloak—and met with Doctor Lagarde once more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MISS BERTHA AND THE YANKEE. + </h2> + <p> + [PRELIMINARY STATEMENTS OF WITNESSES FOR THE DEFENSE, COLLECTED AT THE + OFFICE OF THE SOLICITOR.] + </p> + <p> + No. 1.—Miss Bertha Laroche, of Nettlegrove Hall, testifies and says:— + </p> + <p> + I. + </p> + <p> + TOWARD the middle of June, in the year 1817, I went to take the waters at + Maplesworth, in Derbyshire, accompanied by my nearest relative—my + aunt. + </p> + <p> + I am an only child; and I was twenty-one years old at my last birthday. On + coming of age I inherited a house and lands in Derbyshire, together with a + fortune in money of one hundred thousand pounds. The only education which + I have received has been obtained within the last two or three years of my + life; and I have thus far seen nothing of Society, in England or in any + other civilized part of the world. I can be a competent witness, it seems, + in spite of these disadvantages. Anyhow, I mean to tell the truth. + </p> + <p> + My father was a French colonist in the island of Saint Domingo. He died + while I was very young; leaving to my mother and to me just enough to live + on, in the remote part of the island in which our little property was + situated. My mother was an Englishwoman. Her delicate health made it + necessary for her to leave me, for many hours of the day, under the care + of our household slaves. I can never forget their kindness to me; but, + unfortunately, their ignorance equaled their kindness. If we had been rich + enough to send to France or England for a competent governess we might + have done very well. But we were not rich enough. I am ashamed to say that + I was nearly thirteen years old before I had learned to read and write + correctly. + </p> + <p> + Four more years passed—and then there came a wonderful event in our + lives, which was nothing less than the change from Saint Domingo to + England. + </p> + <p> + My mother was distantly related to an ancient and wealthy English family. + She seriously offended those proud people by marrying an obscure + foreigner, who had nothing to live on but his morsel of land in the West + Indies. Having no expectations from her relatives, my mother preferred + happiness with the man she loved to every other consideration; and I, for + one, think she was right. From that moment she was cast off by the head of + the family. For eighteen years of her life, as wife, mother, and widow, no + letters came to her from her English home. We had just celebrated my + seventeenth birthday when the first letter came. It informed my mother + that no less than three lives, which stood between her and the inheritance + of certain portions of the family property, had been swept away by death. + The estate and the fortune which I have already mentioned had fallen to + her in due course of law, and her surviving relatives were magnanimously + ready to forgive her at last! + </p> + <p> + We wound up our affairs at Saint Domingo, and we went to England to take + possession of our new wealth. + </p> + <p> + At first, the return to her native air seemed to have a beneficial effect + on my mother’s health. But it was a temporary improvement only. Her + constitution had been fatally injured by the West Indian climate, and just + as we had engaged a competent person to look after my neglected education, + my constant attendance was needed at my mother’s bedside. We loved each + other dearly, and we wanted no strange nurses to come between us. My aunt + (my mother’s sister) relieved me of my cares in the intervals when I + wanted rest. + </p> + <p> + For seven sad months our dear sufferer lingered. I have only one + remembrance to comfort me; my mother’s last kiss was mine—she died + peacefully with her head on my bosom. + </p> + <p> + I was nearly nineteen years old before I had sufficiently rallied my + courage to be able to think seriously of myself and my prospects. + </p> + <p> + At that age one does not willingly submit one’s self for the first time to + the authority of a governess. Having my aunt for a companion and + protectress, I proposed to engage my own masters and to superintend my own + education. + </p> + <p> + My plans failed to meet with the approval of the head of the family. He + declared (most unjustly, as the event proved) that my aunt was not a fit + person to take care of me. She had passed all the later years of her life + in retirement. A good creature, he admitted, in her own way, but she had + no knowledge of the world, and no firmness of character. The right person + to act as my chaperon, and to superintend my education, was the + high-minded and accomplished woman who had taught his own daughters. + </p> + <p> + I declined, with all needful gratitude and respect, to take his advice. + The bare idea of living with a stranger so soon after my mother’s death + revolted me. Besides, I liked my aunt, and my aunt liked me. Being made + acquainted with my decision, the head of the family cast me off, exactly + as he had cast off my mother before me. + </p> + <p> + So I lived in retirement with my good aunt, and studied industriously to + improve my mind until my twenty-first birthday came. I was now an heiress, + privileged to think and act for myself. My aunt kissed me tenderly. We + talked of my poor mother, and we cried in each other’s arms on the + memorable day that made a wealthy woman of me. In a little time more, + other troubles than vain regrets for the dead were to try me, and other + tears were to fill my eyes than the tears which I had given to the memory + of my mother. + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + I MAY now return to my visit, in June, 1817, to the healing springs at + Maplesworth. + </p> + <p> + This famous inland watering-place was only between nine and ten miles from + my new home called Nettlegrove Hall. I had been feeling weak and out of + spirits for some months, and our medical adviser recommended change of + scene and a trial of the waters at Maplesworth. My aunt and I established + ourselves in comfortable apartments, with a letter of introduction to the + chief doctor in the place. This otherwise harmless and worthy man proved, + strangely enough, to be the innocent cause of the trials and troubles + which beset me at the outset of my new life. + </p> + <p> + The day after we had presented our letter of introduction, we met the + doctor on the public walk. He was accompanied by two strangers, both young + men, and both (so far as my ignorant opinion went) persons of some + distinction, judging by their dress and manners. The doctor said a few + kind words to us, and rejoined his two companions. Both the gentlemen + looked at me, and both took off their hats as my aunt and I proceeded on + our walk. + </p> + <p> + I own I thought occasionally of the well-bred strangers during the rest of + the day, especially of the shortest of the two, who was also the + handsomest of the two to my thinking. If this confession seems rather a + bold one, remember, if you please, that I had never been taught to conceal + my feelings at Saint Domingo, and that the events which followed our + arrival in England had kept me completely secluded from the society of + other young ladies of my age. + </p> + <p> + The next day, while I was drinking my glass of healing water (extremely + nasty water, by the way) the doctor joined us. + </p> + <p> + While he was asking me about my health, the two strangers made their + appearance again, and took off their hats again. They both looked + expectantly at the doctor, and the doctor (in performance of a promise + which he had already made, as I privately suspected) formally introduced + them to my aunt and to me. First (I put the handsomest man first) Captain + Arthur Stanwick, of the army, home from India on leave, and staying at + Maplesworth to take the waters; secondly, Mr. Lionel Varleigh, of Boston, + in America, visiting England, after traveling all over Europe, and + stopping at Maplesworth to keep company with his friend the Captain. + </p> + <p> + On their introduction, the two gentlemen, observing, no doubt, that I was + a little shy, forbore delicately from pressing their society on us. + </p> + <p> + Captain Stanwick, with a beautiful smile, and with teeth worthy of the + smile, stroked his whiskers, and asked me if I had found any benefit from + taking the waters. He afterward spoke in great praise of the charming + scenery in the neighborhood of Maplesworth, and then, turning away, + addressed his next words to my aunt. Mr. Varleigh took his place. Speaking + with perfect gravity, and with no whiskers to stroke, he said: + </p> + <p> + “I have once tried the waters here out of curiosity. I can sympathize, + miss, with the expression which I observed on your face when you emptied + your glass just now. Permit me to offer you something nice to take the + taste of the waters out of your mouth.” He produced from his pocket a + beautiful little box filled with sugar-plums. “I bought it in Paris,” he + explained. “Having lived a good deal in France, I have got into a habit of + making little presents of this sort to ladies and children. I wouldn’t let + the doctor see it, miss, if I were you. He has the usual medical prejudice + against sugar-plums.” With that quaint warning, he, too, made his bow and + discreetly withdrew. + </p> + <p> + Thinking it over afterward, I acknowledged to myself that the English + Captain—although he was the handsomest man of the two, and possessed + the smoothest manners—had failed, nevertheless, to overcome my + shyness. The American traveler’s unaffected sincerity and good-humor, on + the other hand, set me quite at my ease. I could look at him and thank + him, and feel amused at his sympathy with the grimace I had made, after + swallowing the ill-flavored waters. And yet, while I lay awake at night, + wondering whether we should meet our new acquaintances on the next day, it + was the English Captain that I most wanted to see again, and not the + American traveler! At the time, I set this down to nothing more important + than my own perversity. Ah, dear! dear! I know better than that now. + </p> + <p> + The next morning brought the doctor to our hotel on a special visit to my + aunt. He invented a pretext for sending me into the next room, which was + so plainly a clumsy excuse that my curiosity was aroused. I gratified my + curiosity. Must I make my confession plainer still? Must I acknowledge + that I was mean enough to listen on the other side of the door? + </p> + <p> + I heard my dear innocent old aunt say: “Doctor! I hope you don’t see + anything alarming in the state of Bertha’s health.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor burst out laughing. “My dear madam! there is nothing in the + state of the young lady’s health which need cause the smallest anxiety to + you or to me. The object of my visit is to justify myself for presenting + those two gentlemen to you yesterday. They are both greatly struck by Miss + Bertha’s beauty, and they both urgently entreated me to introduce them. + Such introductions, I need hardly say, are marked exceptions to my general + rule. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred I should have said No. In the + cases of Captain Stanwick and Mr. Varleigh, however, I saw no reason to + hesitate. Permit me to assure you that I am not intruding on your notice + two fortune-hunting adventurers. They are both men of position and men of + property. The family of the Stanwicks has been well known to me for years; + and Mr. Varleigh brought me a letter from my oldest living friend, + answering for him as a gentleman in the highest sense of the word. He is + the wealthiest man of the two; and it speaks volumes for him, in my + opinion, that he has preserved his simplicity of character after a long + residence in such places as Paris and Vienna. Captain Stanwick has more + polish and ease of manner, but, looking under the surface, I rather fancy + there may be something a little impetuous and domineering in his temper. + However, we all have our faults. I can only say, for both these young + friends of mine, that you need feel no scruple about admitting them to + your intimacy, if they happen to please you—and your niece. Having + now, I hope, removed any doubts which may have troubled you, pray recall + Miss Bertha. I am afraid I have interrupted you in discussing your plans + for the day.” + </p> + <p> + The smoothly eloquent doctor paused for the moment; and I darted away from + the door. + </p> + <p> + Our plans for the day included a drive through the famous scenery near the + town. My two admirers met us on horseback. Here, again, the Captain had + the advantage over his friend. His seat in the saddle and his riding-dress + were both perfect things in their way. The Englishman rode on one side of + the carriage and the American on the other. They both talked well, but Mr. + Varleigh had seen more of the world in general than Captain Stanwick, and + he made himself certainly the more interesting and more amusing companion + of the two. + </p> + <p> + On our way back my admiration was excited by a thick wood, beautifully + situated on rising ground at a little distance from the high-road: “Oh, + dear,” I said, “how I should like to take a walk in that wood!” Idle, + thoughtless words; but, oh, what remembrances crowd on me as I think of + them now! + </p> + <p> + Captain Stanwick and Mr. Varleigh at once dismounted and offered + themselves as my escort. The coachman warned them to be careful; people + had often lost themselves, he said, in that wood. I asked the name of it. + The name was Herne Wood. My aunt was not very willing to leave her + comfortable seat in the carriage, but it ended in her going with us. + </p> + <p> + Before we entered the wood, Mr. Varleigh noted the position of the + high-road by his pocket-compass. Captain Stanwick laughed at him, and + offered me his arm. Ignorant as I was of the ways of the world and the + rules of coquetry, my instinct (I suppose) warned me not to distinguish + one of the gentlemen too readily at the expense of the other. I took my + aunt’s arm and settled it in that way. + </p> + <p> + A winding path led us into the wood. + </p> + <p> + On a nearer view, the place disappointed me; the further we advanced, the + more horribly gloomy it grew. The thickly-growing trees shut out the + light; the damp stole over me little by little until I shivered; the + undergrowth of bushes and thickets rustled at intervals mysteriously, as + some invisible creeping creature passed through it. At a turn in the path + we reached a sort of clearing, and saw the sky and the sunshine once more. + But, even here, a disagreeable incident occurred. A snake wound his + undulating way across the open space, passing close by me, and I was fool + enough to scream. The Captain killed the creature with his riding-cane, + taking a pleasure in doing it which I did not like to see. + </p> + <p> + We left the clearing and tried another path, and then another. And still + the horrid wood preyed on my spirits. I agreed with my aunt that we should + do well to return to the carriage. On our way back we missed the right + path, and lost ourselves for the moment. Mr. Varleigh consulted his + compass, and pointed in one direction. Captain Stanwick, consulting + nothing but his own jealous humor, pointed in the other. We followed Mr. + Varleigh’s guidance, and got back to the clearing. He turned to the + Captain, and said, good-humoredly: “You see the compass was right.” + Captain Stanwick, answered, sharply: “There are more ways than one out of + an English wood; you talk as if we were in one of your American forests.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Varleigh seemed to be at a loss to understand his rudeness; there was + a pause. The two men looked at each other, standing face to face on the + brown earth of the clearing—the Englishman’s ruddy countenance, + light auburn hair and whiskers, and well-opened bold blue eyes, + contrasting with the pale complexion, the keenly-observant look, the dark + closely-cut hair, and the delicately-lined face of the American. It was + only for a moment: I had barely time to feel uneasy before they controlled + themselves and led us back to the carriage, talking as pleasantly as if + nothing had happened. For days afterward, nevertheless, that scene in the + clearing—the faces and figures of the two men, the dark line of + trees hemming them in on all sides, the brown circular patch of ground on + which they stood—haunted my memory, and got in the way of my + brighter and happier thoughts. When my aunt inquired if I had enjoyed the + day, I surprised her by saying No. And when she asked why, I could only + answer: “It was all spoiled by Herne Wood.” + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + THREE weeks passed. + </p> + <p> + The terror of those dreadful days creeps over me again when I think of + them. I mean to tell the truth without shrinking; but I may at least + consult my own feelings by dwelling on certain particulars as briefly as I + can. I shall describe my conduct toward the two men who courted me in the + plainest terms, if I say that I distinguished neither of them. Innocently + and stupidly I encouraged them both. + </p> + <p> + In books, women are generally represented as knowing their own minds in + matters which relate to love and marriage. This is not my experience of + myself. Day followed day; and, ridiculous as it may appear, I could not + decide which of my two admirers I liked best! + </p> + <p> + Captain Stanwick was, at first, the man of my choice. While he kept his + temper under control, h e charmed me. But when he let it escape him, he + sometimes disappointed, sometimes irritated me. In that frame of mind I + turned for relief to Lionel Varleigh, feeling that he was the more gentle + and the more worthy man of the two, and honestly believing, at such times, + that I preferred him to his rival. For the first few days after our visit + to Herne Wood I had excellent opportunities of comparing them. They paid + their visits to us together, and they divided their attentions carefully + between me and my aunt. At the end of the week, however, they began to + present themselves separately. If I had possessed any experience of the + natures of men, I might have known what this meant, and might have seen + the future possibility of some more serious estrangement between the two + friends, of which I might be the unfortunate cause. As it was; I never + once troubled my head about what might be passing out of my presence. + Whether they came together, or whether they came separately, their visits + were always agreeable to me. and I thought of nothing and cared for + nothing more. + </p> + <p> + But the time that was to enlighten me was not far off. + </p> + <p> + One day Captain Stanwick called much earlier than usual. My aunt had not + yet returned from her morning walk. The Captain made some excuse for + presenting himself under these circumstances which I have now forgotten. + </p> + <p> + Without actually committing himself to a proposal of marriage he spoke + with such tender feeling, he managed his hold on my inexperience so + delicately, that he entrapped me into saying some words, on my side, which + I remembered with a certain dismay as soon as I was left alone again. In + half an hour more, Mr. Lionel Varleigh was announced as my next visitor. I + at once noticed a certain disturbance in his look and manner which was + quite new in my experience of him. I offered him a chair. To my surprise + he declined to take it. + </p> + <p> + “I must trust to your indulgence to permit me to put an embarrassing + question to you,” he began. “It rests with you, Miss Laroche, to decide + whether I shall remain here, or whether I shall relieve you of my presence + by leaving the room.” + </p> + <p> + “What can you possibly mean?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Is it your wish,” he went on, “that I should pay you no more visits + except in Captain Stanwick’s company, or by Captain Stanwick’s express + permission?” + </p> + <p> + My astonishment deprived me for the moment of the power of answering him. + “Do you really mean that Captain Stanwick has forbidden you to call on + me?” I asked as soon as I could speak. + </p> + <p> + “I have exactly repeated what Captain Stanwick said to me half an hour + since,” Lionel Varleigh answered. + </p> + <p> + In my indignation at hearing this, I entirely forgot the rash words of + encouragement which the Captain had entrapped me into speaking to him. + When I think of it now, I am ashamed to repeat the language in which I + resented this man’s presumptuous assertion of authority over me. Having + committed one act of indiscretion already, my anxiety to assert my freedom + of action hurried me into committing another. I bade Mr. Varleigh welcome + whenever he chose to visit me, in terms which made his face flush under + the emotions of pleasure and surprise which I had aroused in him. My + wounded vanity acknowledged no restraints. I signed to him to take a seat + on the sofa at my side; I engaged to go to his lodgings the next day, with + my aunt, and see the collection of curiosities which he had amassed in the + course of his travels. I almost believe, if he had tried to kiss me, that + I was angry enough with the Captain to have let him do it! + </p> + <p> + Remember what my life had been—remember how ignorantly I had passed + the precious days of my youth, how insidiously a sudden accession of + wealth and importance had encouraged my folly and my pride—and try, + like good Christians, to make some allowance for me! + </p> + <p> + My aunt came in from her walk, before Mr. Varleigh’s visit had ended. She + received him rather coldly, and he perceived it. After reminding me of our + appointment for the next day, he took his leave. + </p> + <p> + “What appointment does Mr. Varleigh mean?” my aunt asked, as soon as we + were alone. “Is it wise, under the circumstances, to make appointments + with Mr. Varleigh?” she said, when I had answered her question. I + naturally inquired what she meant. My aunt replied, “I have met Captain + Stanwick while I was out walking. He has told me something which I am + quite at a loss to understand. Is it possible, Bertha, that you have + received a proposal of marriage from him favorably, without saying one + word about your intentions to me?” + </p> + <p> + I instantly denied it. However rashly I might have spoken, I had certainly + said nothing to justify Captain Stanwick in claiming me as his promised + wife. In his mean fear of a fair rivalry with Mr. Varleigh, he had + deliberately misinterpreted me. “If I marry either of the two,” I said, + “it will be Mr. Varleigh!” + </p> + <p> + My aunt shook her head. “These two gentlemen seem to be both in love with + you, Bertha. It is a trying position for you between them, and I am afraid + you have acted with some indiscretion. Captain Stanwick tells me that he + and his friend have come to a separation already. I fear you are the cause + of it. Mr. Varleigh has left the hotel at which he was staying with the + Captain, in consequence of a disagreement between them this morning. You + were not aware of that when you accepted his invitation. Shall I write an + excuse for you? We must, at least, put off the visit, my dear, until you + have set yourself right with Captain Stanwick.” + </p> + <p> + I began to feel a little alarmed, but I was too obstinate to yield without + a struggle. “Give me time to think over it,” I said. “To write an excuse + seems like acknowledging the Captain’s authority. Let us wait till + to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + THE morning brought with it another visit from Captain Stanwick. This time + my aunt was present. He looked at her without speaking, and turned to me, + with his fiery temper showing itself already in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I have a word to say to you in private,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “I have no secrets from my aunt,” I answered. “Whatever you have to say, + Captain Stanwick, may be said here.” + </p> + <p> + He opened his lips to reply, and suddenly checked himself. He was + controlling his anger by so violent an effort that it turned his ruddy + face pale. For the moment he conquered his temper—he addressed + himself to me with the outward appearance of respect at least. + </p> + <p> + “Has that man Varleigh lied?” he asked; “or have you given <i>him</i> + hopes, too—after what you said to me yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “I said nothing to you yesterday which gives you any right to put that + question to me,” I rejoined. “You have entirely misunderstood me, if you + think so.” + </p> + <p> + My aunt attempted to say a few temperate words, in the hope of soothing + him. He waved his hand, refusing to listen to her, and advanced closer to + me. + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> have misunderstood <i>me</i>,” he said, “if you think I am a + man to be made a plaything of in the hands of a coquette!” + </p> + <p> + My aunt interposed once more, with a resolution which I had not expected + from her. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Stanwick,” she said, “you are forgetting yourself.” + </p> + <p> + He paid no heed to her; he persisted in speaking to me. “It is my + misfortune to love you,” he burst out. “My whole heart is set on you. I + mean to be your husband, and no other man living shall stand in my way. + After what you said to me yesterday, I have a right to consider that you + have favored my addresses. This is not a mere flirtation. Don’t think it! + I say it’s the passion of a life! Do you hear? It’s the passion of a man’s + whole life! I am not to be trifled with. I have had a night of sleepless + misery about you—I have suffered enough for you—and you’re not + worth it. Don’t laugh! This is no laughing matter. Take care, Bertha! Take + care!” + </p> + <p> + My aunt rose from her chair. She astonished me. On all ordinary occasions + the most retiring, the most feminine of women, she now walked up to + Captain Stanwick and looked him full in the face, without flinching for an + instant. + </p> + <p> + “You appear to have forgotten that you are speaking in the presence of two + ladies,” she said. “Alter your tone, sir, or I shall be obliged to take my + niece out of the room.” + </p> + <p> + Half angry, half frightened, I tried to speak in my turn. My aunt signed + to me to be silent. The Captain drew back a step as if he felt her + reproof. But his eyes, still fixed on me, were as fiercely bright as ever. + <i>There</i> the gentleman’s superficial good-breeding failed to hide the + natural man beneath. + </p> + <p> + “I will leave you in undisturbed possession of the room,” he said to my + aunt with bitter politeness. “Before I go, permit me to give your niece an + opportunity of reconsidering her conduct before it is too late.” My aunt + drew back, leaving him free to speak to me. After considering for a + moment, he laid his hand firmly, but not roughly, on my arm. “You have + accepted Lionel Varleigh’s invitation to visit him,” he said, “under + pretense of seeing his curiosities. Think again before you decide on + keeping that engagement. If you go to Varleigh tomorrow, you will repent + it to the last day of your life.” Saying those words, in a tone which made + me tremble in spite of myself, he walked to the door. As he laid his hand + on the lock, he turned toward me for the last time. “I forbid you to go to + Varleigh’s lodgings,” he said, very distinctly and quietly. “Understand + what I tell you. I forbid it.” + </p> + <p> + With those words he left us. + </p> + <p> + My aunt sat down by me and took my hand kindly. “There is only one thing + to be done,” she said; “we must return at once to Nettlegrove. If Captain + Stanwick attempts to annoy you in your own house, we have neighbors who + will protect us, and we have Mr. Loring, our rector, to appeal to for + advice. As for Mr. Varleigh, I will write our excuses myself before we go + away.” + </p> + <p> + She put out her hand to ring the bell and order the carriage. I stopped + her. My childish pride urged me to assert myself in some way, after the + passive position that I had been forced to occupy during the interview + with Captain Stanwick. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said, “it is not acting fairly toward Mr. Varleigh to break our + engagement with him. Let us return to Nettlegrove by all means, but let us + first call on Mr. Varleigh and take our leave. Are we to behave rudely to + a gentleman who has always treated us with the utmost consideration, + because Captain Stanwick has tried to frighten us by cowardly threats? The + commonest feeling of self-respect forbids it.” + </p> + <p> + My aunt protested against this outbreak of folly with perfect temper and + good sense. But my obstinacy (my firmness as I thought it!) was immovable. + I left her to choose between going with me to Mr. Varleigh, or letting me + go to him by myself. Finding it useless to resist, she decided, it is + needless to say, on going with me. + </p> + <p> + We found Mr. Varleigh very courteous, but more than usually grave and + quiet. Our visit only lasted for a few minutes; my aunt using the + influence of her age and her position to shorten it. She mentioned family + affairs as the motive which recalled us to Nettlegrove. I took it on + myself to invite Mr. Varleigh to visit me at my own house. He bowed and + thanked me, without engaging himself to accept the invitation. When I + offered him my hand at parting, he raised it to his lips, and kissed it + with a fervor that agitated me. His eyes looked into mine with a sorrowful + admiration, with a lingering regret, as if they were taking their leave of + me for a long while. “Don’t forget me!” he whispered, as he stood at the + door, while I followed my aunt out. “Come to Nettlegrove,” I whispered + back. His eyes dropped to the ground; he let me go without a word more. + </p> + <p> + This, I declare solemnly, was all that passed at our visit. By some + unexpressed consent among us, no allusion whatever was made to Captain + Stanwick; not even his name was mentioned. I never knew that the two men + had met, just before we called on Mr. Varleigh. Nothing was said which + could suggest to me the slightest suspicion of any arrangement for another + meeting between them later in the day. Beyond the vague threats which had + escaped Captain Stanwick’s lips—threats which I own I was rash + enough to despise—I had no warning whatever of the dreadful events + which happened at Maplesworth on the day after our return to Nettlegrove + Hall. + </p> + <p> + I can only add that I am ready to submit to any questions that may be put + to me. Pray don’t think me a heartless woman. My worst fault was + ignorance. In those days, I knew nothing of the false pretenses under + which men hide what is selfish and savage in their natures from the women + whom it is their interest to deceive. + </p> + <p> + No. 2.—Julius Bender, fencing-master, testifies and says:— + </p> + <p> + I am of German nationality; established in England as teacher of the use + of the sword and the pistol since the beginning of the present year. + </p> + <p> + Finding business slack in London, it unfortunately occurred to me to try + what I could do in the country. I had heard of Maplesworth as a place + largely frequented by visitors on account of the scenery, as well as by + invalids in need of taking the waters; and I opened a gallery there at the + beginning of the season of 1817, for fencing and pistol practice. About + the visitors I had not been deceived; there were plenty of idle young + gentlemen among them who might have been expected to patronize my + establishment. They showed the most barbarous indifference to the noble + art of attack and defense—came by twos and threes, looked at my + gallery, and never returned. My small means began to fail me. After paying + my expenses, I was really at my wits’ end to find a few pounds to go on + with, in the hope of better days. + </p> + <p> + One gentleman, I remember, who came to see me, and who behaved most + liberally. + </p> + <p> + He described himself as an American, and said he had traveled a great + deal. As my ill luck would have it, he stood in no need of my + instructions. On the two or three occasions when he amused himself with my + foils and my pistols, he proved to be one of the most expert swordsmen and + one of the finest shots that I ever met with. It was not wonderful: he had + by nature cool nerves and a quick eye; and he had been taught by the + masters of the art in Vienna and Paris. + </p> + <p> + Early in July—the 9th or 10th of the month, I think—I was + sitting alone in my gallery, looking ruefully enough at the last two + sovereigns in my purse, when a gentleman was announced who wanted a + lesson. “A <i>private</i> lesson,” he said, with emphasis, looking at the + man who cleaned and took care of my weapons. + </p> + <p> + I sent the man out of the room. The stranger (an Englishman, and, as I + fancied, judging by outward appearances, a military man as well) took from + his pocket-book a fifty-pound banknote, and held it up before me. “I have + a heavy wager depending on a fencing match,” he said, “and I have no time + to improve myself. Teach me a trick which will make me a match for a man + skilled in the use of the foil, and keep the secret—and there are + fifty pounds for you.” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. I did indeed hesitate, poor as I was. But this devil of a man + held his banknote before me whichever way I looked, and I had only two + pounds left in the world! + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to fight a duel?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have already told you what I am going to do,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + I waited a little. The infernal bank-note still tempted me. In spite of + myself, I tried him again. + </p> + <p> + “If I teach you the trick,” I persisted, “will you undertake to make no + bad use of your lesson?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, impatiently enough. + </p> + <p> + I was not quite satisfied yet. + </p> + <p> + “Will you promise it, on your word of honor?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I will,” he answered. “Take the money, and don’t keep me + waiting any longer.” + </p> + <p> + I took the money, and I taught him the trick—and I regretted it + almost as soon as it was done. Not that I knew, mind, of any serious + consequences that followed; for I returned to London the next morning. My + sentiments were those of a man of honor, who felt that he had degraded his + art, and who could not be quite sure that he might not have armed the hand + of an assassin as well. I have no more to say. + </p> + <p> + No. 3.—Thomas Outwater, servant to Captain Stanwick, testifies and + says:— + </p> + <p> + If I did not firmly believe my master to be out of his senses, no + punishment that I could receive would prevail upon me to tell of him what + I am going to tell now. + </p> + <p> + But I say he is mad, and therefore not accountable for what he has done—mad + for love of a young woman. If I could have my way, I should like to twist + her neck, though she <i>is</i> a lady, and a great heiress into the + bargain. Before she came between them, my master and Mr. Varleigh were + more like brothers than anything else. She set them at variance, and + whether she meant to do it or not is all the same to me. I own I took a + dislike to her when I first saw her. She was one of the light-haired, + blue-eyed sort, with an innocent look and a snaky waist—not at all + to be depended on, as I have found them. + </p> + <p> + I hear I am not expected to give an account of the disagreement between + the two gentlemen, of which this lady was the cause. I am to state what I + did in Maplesworth, and what I saw afterward in Herne Wood. Poor as I am, + I would give a five-pound note to anybody who could do it for me. + Unfortunately, I must do it for myself. + </p> + <p> + On the 10th of July, in the evening, my master went, for the second time + that day, to Mr. Varleigh’s lodgings. + </p> + <p> + I am certain of the date, because it was the day of publication of the + town newspaper, and there was a law report in it which set everybody + talking. There had been a duel with pistols, a day or two before, between + a resident in the town and a visitor, caused by some dispute about horses. + Nothing very serious came of the meeting. One of the men only was hurt, + and the wound proved to be of no great importance. The awkward part of the + matter was that the constables appeared on the ground, before the wounded + man had been removed. He and his two seconds were caught, and the + prisoners were committed for trial. Dueling (the magistrates said) was an + inhuman and unchristian practice, and they were determined to put the law + in force and stop it. This sentence made a great stir in the town, and + fixed the date, as I have just said, in my mind. + </p> + <p> + Having been accidentally within hearing of some of the disputes concerning + Miss Laroche between my master and Mr. Varleigh, I had my misgivings about + the Captain’s second visit to the friend with whom he had quarreled + already. A gentleman called on him, soon after he had gone out, on + important business. This gave me an excuse for following him to Mr. + Varleigh’s rooms with the visitor’s card, and I took the opportunity. + </p> + <p> + I heard them at high words on my way upstairs, and waited a little on the + landing. The Captain was in one of his furious rages; Mr. Varleigh was + firm and cool as usual. After listening for a minute or so, I heard enough + (in my opinion) to justify me in entering the room. I caught my master in + the act of lifting his cane—threatening to strike Mr. Varleigh. He + instantly dropped his hand, and turned on me in a fury at my intrusion. + Taking no notice of this outbreak of temper, I gave him his friend’s card, + and went out. A talk followed in voices too low for me to hear outside the + room, and then the Captain approached the door. I got out of his way, + feeling very uneasy about what was to come next. I could not presume to + question Mr. Varleigh. The only thing I could think of was to tell the + young lady’s aunt what I had seen and heard, and to plead with Miss + Laroche herself to make peace between them. When I inquired for the ladies + at their lodgings, I was told that they had left Maplesworth. + </p> + <p> + I saw no more of the Captain that night. + </p> + <p> + The next morning he seemed to be quite himself again. He said to me, + “Thomas, I am going sketching in Herne Wood. Take the paint-box and the + rest of it, and put this into the carriage.” + </p> + <p> + He handed me a packet as thick as my arm, and about three feet long, done + up in many folds of canvas. I made bold to ask what it was. He answered + that it was an artist’s sketching umbrella, packed for traveling. + </p> + <p> + In an hour’s time, the carriage stopped on the road below Herne Wood. My + master said he would carry his sketching things himself, and I was to wait + with the carriage. In giving him the so-called umbrella, I took the + occasion of his eye being off me for the moment to pass my hand over it + carefully; and I felt, through the canvas, the hilt of a sword. As an old + soldier, I could not be mistaken—the hilt of a sword. + </p> + <p> + What I thought, on making this discovery, does not much matter. What I did + was to watch the Captain into the wood, and then to follow him. + </p> + <p> + I tracked him along the path to where there was a clearing in the midst of + the trees. There he stopped, and I got behind a tree. He undid the canvas, + and produced <i>two</i> swords concealed in the packet. If I had felt any + doubts before, I was certain of what was coming now. A duel without + seconds or witnesses, by way of keeping the town magistrates in the dark—a + duel between my master and Mr. Varleigh! As his name came into my mind, + the man himself appeared, making his way into the clearing from the other + side of the wood. + </p> + <p> + What could I do to stop it? No human creature was in sight. The nearest + village was a mile away, reckoning from the further side of the wood. The + coachman was a stupid old man, quite useless in a difficulty, even if I + had had time enough to go back to the road and summon him to help me. + While I was thinking about it, the Captain and Mr. Varleigh had stripped + to their shirts and trousers. When they crossed their swords, I could + stand it no longer—I burst in on them. “For God Almighty’s sake, + gentlemen,” I cried out, “don’t fight without seconds!” My master turned + on me, like the madman he was, and threatened me with the point of his + sword. Mr. Varleigh pulled me back out of harm’s way. “Don’t be afraid,” + he whispered, as he led me back to the verge of the clearing; “I have + chosen the sword instead of the pistol expressly to spare his life.” + </p> + <p> + Those noble words (spoken by as brave and true a man as ever breathed) + quieted me. I knew Mr. Varleigh had earned the repute of being one of the + finest swordsmen in Europe. + </p> + <p> + The duel began. I was placed behind my master, and was consequently + opposite to his antagonist. The Captain stood on his defense, waiting for + the other to attack. Mr. Varleigh made a pass. I was opposite the point of + his sword; I saw it touch the Captain’s left shoulder. In the same instant + of time my master struck up his opponent’s sword with his own weapon, + seized Mr. Varleigh’s right wrist in his left hand, and passed his sword + clean through Mr. Varleigh’s breast. He fell, the victim of a murderous + trick—fell without a word or a cry. + </p> + <p> + The Captain turned slowly, and faced me with his bloody sword in his hand. + I can’t tell you how he looked; I can only say that the sight of him + turned me faint with terror. I was at Waterloo—I am no coward. But I + tell you the cold sweat poured down my face like water. I should have + dropped if I had not held by the branch of a tree. + </p> + <p> + My master waited until I had in a measure recovered myself. “Feel if his + heart beats,” he said, pointing to the man on the ground. + </p> + <p> + I obeyed. He was dead—the heart was still; the beat of the pulse was + gone. I said, “You have killed him!” + </p> + <p> + The Captain made no answer. He packed up the two swords again in the + canvas, and put them under his arm. Then he told me to follow him with the + sketching materials. I drew back from him without speaking; there was a + horrid hollow sound in his voice that I did not like. “Do as I tell you,” + he said: “you have yourself to thank for it if I refuse to lose sight of + you now.” I managed to say that he might trust me to say nothing. He + refused to trust me; he put out his hand to take hold of me. I could not + stand that. “I’ll go with you,” I said; “don’t touch me!” We reached the + carriage and returned to Maplesworth. The same day we traveled by post to + London. + </p> + <p> + In London I contrived to give the Captain the slip. By the first coach the + next morning I want back to Maplesworth, eager to hear what had happened, + and if the body had been found. Not a word of news reached me; nothing + seemed to be known of the duel in Herne Wood. + </p> + <p> + I went to the wood—on foot, fearing that I might be traced if I + hired a carriage. The country round was as solitary as usual. Not a + creature was near when I entered the wood; not a creature was near when I + looked into the clearing. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing on the ground. The body was gone. + </p> + <p> + No. 4.—The Reverend Alfred Loring, Rector of Nettlegrove, testifies + and says:— + </p> + <p> + I. + </p> + <p> + EARLY in the month of October, 1817, I was informed that Miss Bertha + Laroche had called at my house, and wished to see me in private. + </p> + <p> + I had first been presented to Miss Laroche on her arrival, with her aunt, + to take possession of her property at Nettlegrove Hall. My opportunities + of improving my acquaintance with her had not been so numerous as I could + have desired, and I sincerely regretted it. She had produced a very + favorable impression on me. Singularly inexperienced and impulsive—with + an odd mixture of shyness and vivacity in her manner, and subject now and + then to outbursts of vanity and petulance which she was divertingly + incapable of concealing—I could detect, nevertheless, under the + surface the signs which told of a true and generous nature, of a simple + and pure heart. Her personal appearance, I should add, was attractive in a + remarkable degree. There was something in it so peculiar, and at the same + time so fascinating, that I am conscious it may have prejudiced me in her + favor. For fear of this acknowledgment being misunderstood, I think it + right to add that I am old enough to be her grandfather, and that I am + also a married man. + </p> + <p> + I told the servant to show Miss Laroche into my study. + </p> + <p> + The moment she entered the room, her appearance alarmed me: she looked + literally panic-stricken. I offered to send for my wife; she refused the + proposal. I entreated her to take time at least to compose herself. It was + not in her impulsive nature to do this. She said, “Give me your hand to + encourage me, and let me speak while I can.” I gave her my hand, poor + soul. I said, “Speak to me, my dear, as if I were your father.” + </p> + <p> + So far as I could understand the incoherent statement which she addressed + to me, she had been the object of admiration (while visiting Maplesworth) + of two gentlemen, who both desired to marry her. Hesitating between them + and perfectly inexperienced in such matters, she had been the unfortunate + cause of enmity between the rivals, and had returned to Nettlegrove, at + her aunt’s suggestion, as the best means of extricating herself from a + very embarrassing position. The removal failing to alleviate her + distressing recollections of what had happened, she and her aunt had tried + a further change by making a tour of two months on the Continent. She had + returned in a more quiet frame of mind. To her great surprise, she had + heard nothing of either of her two suitors, from the day when she left + Maplesworth to the day when she presented herself at my rectory. + </p> + <p> + Early that morning she was walking, after breakfast, in the park at + Nettlegrove when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned, and found + herself face to face with one of her suitors at Maplesworth. I am informed + that there is no necessity now for my suppressing the name. The gentleman + was Captain Stanwick. + </p> + <p> + He was so fearfully changed for the worse that she hardly knew him again. + </p> + <p> + After his first glance at her, he held his hand over his bloodshot eyes as + if the sunlight hurt them. Without a word to prepare her for the + disclosure, he confessed that he had killed Mr. Varleigh in a duel. His + remorse (he declared) had unsettled his reason: only a few days had passed + since he had been released from confinement in an asylum. + </p> + <p> + “You are the cause of it,” he said wildly. “It is for love of you. I have + but one hope left to live for—my hope in you. If you cast me off, my + mind is made up. I will give my life for the life that I have taken; I + will die by my own hand. Look at me, and you will see that I am in + earnest. My future as a living man depends on your decision. Think of it + to-day, and meet me here to-morrow. Not at this time; the horrid daylight + feels like fire in my eyes, and goes like fire to my brain. Wait till + sunset—you will find me here.” + </p> + <p> + He left her as suddenly as he had appeared. When she had sufficiently + recovered herself to be able to think, she decided on saying nothing of + what had happened to her aunt. She took her way to the rectory to seek my + advice. + </p> + <p> + It is needless to encumber my narrative by any statement of the questions + which I felt it my duty to put to her under these circumstances. My + inquiries informed me that Captain Stanwick had in the first instance + produced a favorable impression on her. The less showy qualities of Mr. + Varleigh had afterward grown on her liking; aided greatly by the repelling + effect on her mind of the Captain’s violent language and conduct when he + had reason to suspect that his rival was being preferred to him. When she + knew the horrible news of Mr. Varleigh’s death, she “knew her own heart” + (to repeat her exact words to me) by the shock that she felt. Toward + Captain Stanwick the only feeling of which she was now conscious was, + naturally, a feeling of the strongest aversion. + </p> + <p> + My own course in this difficult and painful matter appeared to me to be + clear. “It is your duty as a Christian to see this miserable man again,” I + said. “And it is my duty as your friend and pastor, to sustain you under + the trial. I will go with you to-morrow to the place of meeting.” + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + THE next evening we found Captain Stanwick waiting for us in the park. + </p> + <p> + He drew back on seeing me. I explained to him, temperately and firmly, + what my position was. With sullen looks he resigned himself to endure my + presence. By degrees I won his confidence. My first impression of him + remains unshaken—the man’s reason was unsettled. I suspected that + the assertion of his release was a falsehood, and that he had really + escaped from the asylum. It was impossible to lure him into telling me + where the place was. He was too cunning to do this—too cunning to + say anything about his relations, when I tried to turn the talk that way + next. On the other hand, he spoke with a revolting readiness of the crime + that he had committed, and of his settled resolution to destroy himself if + Miss Laroche refused to be his wife. “I have nothing else to live for; I + am alone in the world,” he said. “Even my servant has deserted me. He + knows how I killed Lionel Varleigh.” He paused and spoke his next words in + a whisper to me. “I killed him by a trick—he was the best swordsman + of the two.” + </p> + <p> + This confession was so horrible that I could only attribute it to an + insane delusion. On pressing my inquiries, I found that the same idea must + have occurred to the poor wretch’s relations, and to the doctors who + signed the certificates for placing him under medical care. This + conclusion (as I afterward heard) was greatly strengthened by the fact + that Mr. Varleigh’s body had not been found on the reported scene of the + duel. As to the servant, he had deserted his master in London, and had + never reappeared. So far as my poor judgment went, the question before me + was not of delivering a self-accused murderer to justice (with no corpse + to testify against him), but of restoring an insane man to the care of the + persons who had been appointed to restrain him. + </p> + <p> + I tried to test the strength of his delusion in an interval when he was + not urging his shocking entreaties on Miss Laroche. “How do you know that + you killed Mr. Varleigh?” I said. + </p> + <p> + He looked at me with a wild terror in his eyes. Suddenly he lifted his + right hand, and shook it in the air, with a moaning cry, which was + unmistakably a cry of pain. “Should I see his ghost,” he asked, “if I had + not killed him? I know it, by the pain that wrings me in the hand that + stabbed him. Always in my right hand! always the same pain at the moment + when I see him!” He stopped and ground his teeth in the agony and reality + of his delusion. “Look!” he cried. “Look between the two trees behind you. + There he is—with his dark hair, and his shaven face, and his steady + look! There he is, standing before me as he stood in the wood, with his + eyes on my eyes, and his sword feeling mine!” He turned to Miss Laroche. + “Do <i>you</i> see him too?” he asked eagerly. “Tell me the truth. My + whole life depends on your telling me the truth.” + </p> + <p> + She controlled herself with a wonderful courage. “I don’t see him,” she + answered. + </p> + <p> + He took out his handkerchief, and passed it over his face with a gasp of + relief. “There is my last chance!” he said. “If she will be true to me—if + she will be always near me, morning, noon, and night, I shall be released + from the sight of him. See! he is fading away already! Gone!” h e cried, + with a scream of exultation. He fell on his knees, and looked at Miss + Laroche like a savage adoring his idol. “Will you cast me off now?” he + asked, humbly. “Lionel was fond of you in his lifetime. His spirit is a + merciful spirit. He shrinks from frightening you, he has left me for your + sake; he will release me for your sake. Pity me, take me to live with you—and + I shall never see him again!” + </p> + <p> + It was dreadful to hear him. I saw that the poor girl could endure no + more. “Leave us,” I whispered to her; “I will join you at the house.” + </p> + <p> + He heard me, and instantly placed himself between us. “Let her promise, or + she shan’t go.” + </p> + <p> + She felt, as I felt, the imperative necessity of saying anything that + might soothe him. At a sign from me she gave him her promise to return. + </p> + <p> + He was satisfied—he insisted on kissing her hand, and then he let + her go. I had by this time succeeded in inducing him to trust me. He + proposed, of his own accord, that I should accompany him to the inn in the + village at which he had been staying. The landlord (naturally enough + distrusting his wretched guest) had warned him that morning to find some + other place of shelter. I engaged to use my influence with the man to make + him change his purpose, and I succeeded in effecting the necessary + arrangements for having the poor wretch properly looked after. On my + return to my own house, I wrote to a brother magistrate living near me, + and to the superintendent of our county asylum, requesting them to consult + with me on the best means of lawfully restraining Captain Stanwick until + we could communicate with his relations. Could I have done more than this? + The event of the next morning answered that question—answered it at + once and forever. + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + PRESENTING myself at Nettlegrove Hall toward sunset, to take charge of + Miss Laroche, I was met by an obstacle in the shape of a protest from her + aunt. + </p> + <p> + This good lady had been informed of the appearance of Captain Stanwick in + the park, and she strongly disapproved of encouraging any further + communication with him on the part of her niece. She also considered that + I had failed in my duty in still leaving the Captain at liberty. I told + her that I was only waiting to act on the advice of competent persons, who + would arrive the next day to consult with me; and I did my best to + persuade her of the wisdom of the course that I had taken in the meantime. + Miss Laroche, on her side, was resolved to be true to the promise that she + had given. Between us, we induced her aunt to yield on certain conditions. + </p> + <p> + “I know the part of the park in which the meeting is to take place,” the + old lady said; “it is my niece’s favorite walk. If she is not brought back + to me in half an hour’s time, I shall send the men-servants to protect + her.” + </p> + <p> + The twilight was falling when we reached the appointed place. We found + Captain Stanwick angry and suspicious; it was not easy to pacify him on + the subject of our delay. His insanity seemed to me to be now more marked + than ever. He had seen, or dreamed of seeing, the ghost during the past + night. For the first time (he said) the apparition of the dead man had + spoken to him. In solemn words it had condemned him to expiate his crime + by giving his life for the life that he had taken. It had warned him not + to insist on marriage with Bertha Laroche: “She shall share your + punishment if she shares your life. And you shall know it by this sign—<i>She + shall see me as you see me.</i>” + </p> + <p> + I tried to compose him. He shook his head in immovable despair. “No,” he + answered; “if she sees him when I see him, there ends the one hope of + release that holds me to life. It will be good-by between us, and good-by + forever!” + </p> + <p> + We had walked on, while we were speaking, to a part of the park through + which there flowed a rivulet of clear water. On the further bank, the open + ground led down into a wooded valley. On our side of the stream rose a + thick plantation of fir-trees intersected by a winding path. Captain + Stanwick stopped as we reached the place. His eyes rested, in the + darkening twilight, on the narrow space pierced by the path among the + trees. On a sudden he lifted his right hand, with the same cry of pain + which we had heard before; with his left hand he took Miss Laroche by the + arm. “There!” he said. “Look where I look! Do you see him there?” + </p> + <p> + As the words passed his lips, a dimly-visible figure appeared, advancing + toward us along the path. + </p> + <p> + Was it the figure of a living man? or was it the creation of my own + excited fancy? Before I could ask myself the question, the man advanced a + step nearer to us. A last gleam of the dying light fell on his face + through an opening in the trees. At the same instant Miss Laroche started + back from Captain Stanwick with a scream of terror. She would have fallen + if I had not been near enough to support her. The Captain was instantly at + her side again. “Speak!” he cried. “Do <i>you</i> see it, too?” + </p> + <p> + She was just able to say “Yes” before she fainted in my arms. + </p> + <p> + He stooped over her, and touched her cold cheek with his lips. “Goodby!” + he said, in tones suddenly and strangely changed to the most exquisite + tenderness. “Good-by, forever!” + </p> + <p> + He leaped the rivulet; he crossed the open ground; he was lost to sight in + the valley beyond. + </p> + <p> + As he disappeared, the visionary man among the fir-trees advanced; passed + in silence; crossed the rivulet at a bound; and vanished as the figure of + the Captain had vanished before him. + </p> + <p> + I was left alone with the swooning woman. Not a sound, far or near, broke + the stillness of the coming night. + </p> + <p> + No 5.—Mr. Frederic Darnel, Member of the College of Surgeons, + testifies and says:— + </p> + <p> + IN the intervals of my professional duty I am accustomed to occupy myself + in studying Botany, assisted by a friend and neighbor, whose tastes in + this respect resemble my own. When I can spare an hour or two from my + patients, we go out together searching for specimens. Our favorite place + is Herne Wood. It is rich in material for the botanist, and it is only a + mile distant from the village in which I live. + </p> + <p> + Early in July, my friend and I made a discovery in the wood of a very + alarming and unexpected kind. We found a man in the clearing, prostrated + by a dangerous wound, and to all appearance dead. + </p> + <p> + We carried him to the gamekeeper’s cottage on the outskirts of the woods, + and on the side of it nearest to our village. He and his boy were out, but + the light cart in which he makes his rounds, in the remoter part of his + master’s property, was in the outhouse. While my friend was putting the + horse to, I examined the stranger’s wound. It had been quite recently + inflicted, and I doubted whether it had (as yet, at any rate) really + killed him. I did what I could with the linen and cold water which the + gamekeeper’s wife offered to me, and then my friend and I removed him + carefully to my house in the cart. I applied the necessary restoratives, + and I had the pleasure of satisfying myself that the vital powers had + revived. He was perfectly unconscious, of course, but the action of the + heart became distinctly perceptible, and I had hopes. + </p> + <p> + In a few days more I felt fairly sure of him. Then the usual fever set in. + I was obliged, in justice to his friends, to search his clothes in + presence of a witness. We found his handkerchief, his purse, and his + cigar-case, and nothing more. No letters or visiting cards; nothing marked + on his clothes but initials. There was no help for it but to wait to + identify him until he could speak. + </p> + <p> + When that time came, he acknowledged to me that he had divested himself + purposely of any clew to his identity, in the fear (if some mischance + happened to him) of the news of it reaching his father and mother + abruptly, by means of the newspapers. He had sent a letter to his bankers + in London, to be forwarded to his parents, if the bankers neither saw him + nor heard from him in a month’s time. His first act was to withdraw this + letter. The other particulars which he communicated to me are, I am told, + already known. I need only add that I willingly kept his secret, simply + speaking of him in the neighborhood as a traveler from foreign parts who + had met with an accident. + </p> + <p> + His convalescence was a long one. It was the beginning of October before + he was completely restored to health. When he left us he went to London. + He behaved most liberally to me; and we parted with sincere good wishes on + either side. + </p> + <p> + No. 6.—<i>Mr. Lionel Varleigh, of Boston, U. S. A., testifies and + says:—</i> + </p> + <p> + MY first proceeding, on my recovery, was to go to the relations of Captain + Stanwick in London, for the purpose of making inquiries about him. + </p> + <p> + I do not wish to justify myself at the expense of that miserable man. It + is true that I loved Miss Laroche too dearly to yield her to any rival + except at her own wish. It is also true that Captain Stanwick more than + once insulted me, and that I endured it. He had suffered from sunstroke in + India, and in his angry moments he was hardly a responsible being. It was + only when he threatened me with personal chastisement that my patience + gave way. We met sword in hand. In my mind was the resolution to spare his + life. In his mind was the resolution to kill me. I have forgiven him. I + will say no more. + </p> + <p> + His relations informed me of the symptoms of insane delusion which he had + shown after the duel; of his escape from the asylum in which he had been + confined; and of the failure to find him again. + </p> + <p> + The moment I heard this news the dread crossed my mind that Stanwick had + found his way to Miss Laroche. In an hour more I was traveling to + Nettlegrove Hall. + </p> + <p> + I arrived late in the evening, and found Miss Laroche’s aunt in great + alarm about her niece’s safety. The young lady was at that very moment + speaking to Stanwick in the park, with only an old man (the rector) to + protect her. I volunteered to go at once, and assist in taking care of + her. A servant accompanied me to show me the place of meeting. We heard + voices indistinctly, but saw no one. The servant pointed to a path through + the fir-trees. I went on quickly by myself, leaving the man within call. + In a few minutes I came upon them suddenly, at a little distance from me, + on the bank of a stream. + </p> + <p> + The fear of seriously alarming Miss Laroche, if I showed myself too + suddenly, deprived me for a moment of my presence of mind. Pausing to + consider what it might be best to do, I was less completely protected from + discovery by the trees than I had supposed. She had seen me; I heard her + cry of alarm. The instant afterward I saw Stanwick leap over the rivulet + and take to flight. That action roused me. Without stopping for a word of + explanation, I pursued him. + </p> + <p> + Unhappily, I missed my footing in the obscure light, and fell on the open + ground beyond the stream. When I had gained my feet once more, Stanwick + had disappeared among the trees which marked the boundary of the park + beyond me. I could see nothing of him, and I could hear nothing of him, + when I came out on the high-road. There I met with a laboring man who + showed me the way to the village. From the inn I sent a letter to Miss + Laroche’s aunt, explaining what had happened, and asking leave to call at + the Hall on the next day. + </p> + <p> + Early in the morning the rector came to me at the inn. He brought sad + news. Miss Laroche was suffering from a nervous attack, and my visit to + the Hall must be deferred. Speaking next of the missing man, I heard all + that Mr. Loring could tell me. My intimate knowledge of Stanwick enabled + me to draw my own conclusion from the facts. The thought instantly crossed + my mind that the poor wretch might have committed his expiatory suicide at + the very spot on which he had attempted to kill me. Leaving the rector to + institute the necessary inquiries, I took post-horses to Maplesworth on my + way to Herne Wood. + </p> + <p> + Advancing from the high-road to the wood, I saw two persons at a little + distance from me—a man in the dress of a gamekeeper, and a lad. I + was too much agitated to take any special notice of them; I hurried along + the path which led to the clearing. My presentiment had not misled me. + There he lay, dead on the scene of the duel, with a blood-stained razor by + his side! I fell on my knees by the corpse; I took his cold hand in mine; + and I thanked God that I had forgiven him in the first days of my + recovery. + </p> + <p> + I was still kneeling, when I felt myself seized from behind. I struggled + to my feet, and confronted the gamekeeper. He had noticed my hurry in + entering the wood; his suspicions had been aroused, and he and the lad had + followed me. There was blood on my clothes; there was horror in my face. + Appearances were plainly against me; I had no choice but to accompany the + gamekeeper to the nearest magistrate. + </p> + <p> + My instructions to my solicitor forbade him to vindicate my innocence by + taking any technical legal objections to the action of the magistrate or + of the coroner. I insisted on my witnesses being summoned to the lawyer’s + office, and allowed to state, in their own way, what they could truly + declare on my behalf; and I left my defense to be founded upon the + materials thus obtained. In the meanwhile I was detained in custody, as a + matter of course. + </p> + <p> + With this event the tragedy of the duel reached its culminating point. I + was accused of murdering the man who had attempted to take my life! + </p> + <p> + This last incident having been related, all that is worth noticing in my + contribution to the present narrative comes to an end. I was tried in due + course of law. The evidence taken at my solicitor’s office was necessarily + altered in form, though not in substance, by the examination to which the + witnesses were subjected in a court of justice. So thoroughly did our + defense satisfy the jury, that they became restless toward the close of + the proceedings, and returned their verdict of Not Guilty without quitting + the box. + </p> + <p> + When I was a free man again, it is surely needless to dwell on the first + use that I made of my honorable acquittal. Whether I deserved the enviable + place that I occupied in Bertha’s estimation, it is not for me to say. Let + me leave the decision to the lady who has ceased to be Miss Laroche—I + mean the lady who has been good enough to become my wife. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MISS DULANE AND MY LORD. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART11" id="link2H_PART11"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part I. + </h2> + <h3> + TWO REMONSTRATIONS. + </h3> + <p> + I. + </p> + <p> + ONE afternoon old Miss Dulane entered her drawing-room; ready to receive + visitors, dressed in splendor, and exhibiting every outward appearance of + a defiant frame of mind. + </p> + <p> + Just as a saucy bronze nymph on the mantelpiece struck the quarter to + three on an elegant clock under her arm, a visitor was announced—“Mrs. + Newsham.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Dulane wore her own undisguised gray hair, dressed in perfect harmony + with her time of life. Without an attempt at concealment, she submitted to + be too short and too stout. Her appearance (if it had only been made to + speak) would have said, in effect: “I am an old woman, and I scorn to + disguise it.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Newsham, tall and elegant, painted and dyed, acted on the opposite + principle in dressing, which confesses nothing. On exhibition before the + world, this lady’s disguise asserted that she had reached her thirtieth + year on her last birthday. Her husband was discreetly silent, and Father + Time was discreetly silent: they both knew that her last birthday had + happened thirty years since. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we talk of the weather and the news, my dear? Or shall we come to + the object of your visit at once?” So Miss Dulane opened the interview. + </p> + <p> + “Your tone and manner, my good friend, are no doubt provoked by the report + in the newspaper of this morning. In justice to you, I refuse to believe + the report.” So Mrs. Newsham adopted her friend’s suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “You kindness is thrown away, Elizabeth. The report is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Matilda, you shock me!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “At your age!” + </p> + <p> + “If <i>he</i> doesn’t object to my age, what does it matter to <i>you?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t speak of that man!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “He is young enough to be your son; and he is marrying you—impudently, + undisguisedly marrying you—for your money!” + </p> + <p> + “And I am marrying him—impudently, undisguisedly marrying him—for + his rank.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t remind me, Matilda, that you are the daughter of a tailor.” + </p> + <p> + “In a week or two more, Elizabeth, I shall remind you that I am the wife + of a nobleman’s son.” + </p> + <p> + “A younger son; don’t forget that.” + </p> + <p> + “A younger son, as you say. He finds the social position, and I find the + money—half a million at my own sole disposal. My future husband is a + good fellow in his way, and his future wife is another good fellow in her + way. To look at your grim face, one would suppose there were no such + things in the world as marriages of convenience.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at your time of life. I tell you plainly, your marriage will be a + public scandal.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn’t frighten us,” Miss Dulane remarked. “We are resigned to + every ill-natured thing that our friends can say of us. In course of time, + the next nine days’ wonder will claim public attention, and we shall be + forgotten. I shall be none the less on that account Lady Howel Beaucourt. + And my husband will be happy in the enjoyment of every expensive taste + which a poor man call gratify, for the first time in his life. Have you + any more objections to make? Don’t hesitate to speak plainly.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a question to ask, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Charmed, I am sure, to answer it—if I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I right in supposing that Lord Howel Beaucourt is about half your + age?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear; my future husband is as nearly as possible half as old as I + am.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Newsham’s uneasy virtue shuddered. “What a profanation of marriage!” + she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing of the sort,” her friend pronounced positively. “Marriage, by the + law of England (as my lawyer tells me), is nothing but a contract. Who + ever heard of profaning a contract?” + </p> + <p> + “Call it what you please, Matilda. Do you expect to live a happy life, at + your age, with a young man for your husband?” + </p> + <p> + “A happy life,” Miss Dulane repeated, “because it will be an innocent + life.” She laid a certain emphasis on the last word but one. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Newsham resented the emphasis, and rose to go. Her last words were + the bitterest words that she had spoken yet. + </p> + <p> + “You have secured such a truly remarkable husband, my dear, that I am + emboldened to ask a great favor. Will you give me his lordship’s + photograph?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Miss Dulane, “I won’t give you his lordship’s photograph.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your objection, Matilda?” + </p> + <p> + “A very serious objection, Elizabeth. You are not pure enough in mind to + be worthy of my husband’s photograph.” + </p> + <p> + With that reply the first of the remonstrances assumed hostile + proportions, and came to an untimely end. + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + THE second remonstrance was reserved for a happier fate. It took its rise + in a conversation between two men who were old and true friends. In other + words, it led to no quarreling. + </p> + <p> + The elder man was one of those admirable human beings who are cordial, + gentle, and good-tempered, without any conscious exercise of their own + virtues. He was generally known in the world about him by a fond and + familiar use of his Christian name. To call him “Sir Richard” in these + pages (except in the character of one of his servants) would be simply + ridiculous. When he lent his money, his horses, his house, and (sometimes, + after unlucky friends had dropped to the lowest social depths) even his + clothes, this general benefactor was known, in the best society and the + worst society alike, as “Dick.” He filled the hundred mouths of Rumor with + his nickname, in the days when there was an opera in London, as the + proprietor of the “Beauty-box.” The ladies who occupied the box were all + invited under the same circumstances. They enjoyed operatic music; but + their husbands and fathers were not rich enough to be able to gratify that + expensive taste. Dick’s carriage called for them, and took them home + again; and the beauties all agreed (if he ever married) that Mrs. Dick + would be the most enviable woman on the face of the civilized earth. Even + the false reports, which declared that he was privately married already, + and on bad terms with his wife, slandered him cordially under the popular + name. And his intimate companions, when they alluded among each other to a + romance in his life which would remain a hidden romance to the end of his + days, forgot that the occasion justified a serious and severe use of his + surname, and blamed him affectionately as “poor dear Dick.” + </p> + <p> + The hour was midnight; and the friends, whom the most hospitable of men + delighted to assemble round his dinner-table, had taken their leave with + the exception of one guest specially detained by the host, who led him + back to the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “You were angry with our friends,” Dick began, “when they asked you about + that report of your marriage. You won’t be angry with Me. Are you really + going to be the old maid’s husband?” + </p> + <p> + This plain question received a plain reply: “Yes, I am.” + </p> + <p> + Dick took the young lord’s hand. Simply and seriously, he said: “Accept my + congratulations.” + </p> + <p> + Howel Beaucourt started as if he had received a blow instead of a + compliment. + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t another man or woman in the whole circle of my acquaintance,” + he declared, “who would have congratulated me on marrying Miss Dulane. I + believe you would make allowances for me if I had committed murder.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope I should,” Dick answered gravely. “When a man is my friend—murder + or marriage—I take it for granted that he has a reason for what he + does. Wait a minute. You mustn’t give me more credit than I deserve. I + don’t agree with you. If I were a marrying man myself, I shouldn’t pick an + old maid—I should prefer a young one. That’s a matter of taste. You + are not like me. <i>You</i> always have a definite object in view. I may + not know what the object is. Never mind! I wish you joy all the same.” + </p> + <p> + Beaucourt was not unworthy of the friendship he had inspired. “I should be + ungrateful indeed,” he said, “if I didn’t tell you what my object is. You + know that I am poor?” + </p> + <p> + “The only poor friend of mine,” Dick remarked, “who has never borrowed + money of me.” + </p> + <p> + Beaucourt went on without noticing this. “I have three expensive tastes,” + he said. “I want to get into Parliament; I want to have a yacht; I want to + collect pictures. Add, if you like, the selfish luxury of helping poverty + and wretchedness, and hearing my conscience tell me what an excellent man + I am. I can’t do all this on five hundred a year—but I can do it on + forty times five hundred a year. Moral: marry Miss Dulane.” + </p> + <p> + Listening attentively until the other had done, Dick showed a sardonic + side to his character never yet discovered in Beaucourt’s experience of + him. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you have made the necessary arrangements,” he said. “When the + old lady releases you, she will leave consolation behind her in her will.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s the first ill-natured thing I ever heard you say, Dick. When the + old lady dies, my sense of honor takes fright, and turns its back on her + will. It’s a condition on my side, that every farthing of her money shall + be left to her relations.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you call yourself one of them?” + </p> + <p> + “What a question! Am I her relation because the laws of society force a + mock marriage on us? How can I make use of her money unless I am her + husband? and how can she make use of my title unless she is my wife? As + long as she lives I stand honestly by my side of the bargain. But when she + dies the transaction is at an end, and the surviving partner returns to + his five hundred a year.” + </p> + <p> + Dick exhibited another surprising side to his character. The most + compliant of men now became as obstinate as the proverbial mule. + </p> + <p> + “All very well,” he said, “but it doesn’t explain why—if you must + sell yourself—you have sold yourself to an old lady. There are + plenty of young ones and pretty ones with fortunes to tempt you. It seems + odd that you haven’t tried your luck with one of them.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Dick. It would have been odd, and worse than odd, if I had tried my + luck with a young woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see that.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall see it directly. If I marry an old woman for her money, I have + no occasion to be a hypocrite; we both know that our marriage is a mere + matter of form. But if I make a young woman my wife because I want her + money, and if that young woman happens to be worth a straw, I must deceive + her and disgrace myself by shamming love. That, my boy, you may depend + upon it, I will never do.” + </p> + <p> + Dick’s face suddenly brightened with a mingled expression of relief and + triumph. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! my mercenary friend,” he burst out, “there’s something mixed up in + this business which is worthier of you than anything I have heard yet. + Stop! I’m going to be clever for the first time in my life. A man who + talks of love as you do, must have felt love himself. Where is the young + one and the pretty one? And what has she done, poor dear, to be deserted + for an old woman? Good God! how you look at me! I have hurt your feelings—I + have been a greater fool than ever—I am more ashamed of myself than + words can say!” + </p> + <p> + Beaucourt stopped him there, gently and firmly. + </p> + <p> + “You have made a very natural mistake,” he said. “There <i>was</i> a young + lady. She has refused me—absolutely refused me. There is no more + love in my life. It’s a dark life and an empty life for the rest of my + days. I must see what money can do for me next. When I have thoroughly + hardened my heart I may not feel my misfortune as I feel it now. Pity me + or despise me. In either case let us say goodnight.” + </p> + <p> + He went out into the hall and took his hat. Dick went out into the hall + and took <i>his</i> hat. + </p> + <p> + “Have your own way,” he answered, “I mean to have mine—I’ll go home + with you.” + </p> + <p> + The man was simply irresistible. Beaucourt sat down resignedly on the + nearest of the hall chairs. Dick asked him to return to the dining-room. + “No,” he said; “it’s not worth while. What I can tell you may be told in + two minutes.” Dick submitted, and took the next of the hall chairs. In + that inappropriate place the young lord’s unpremeditated confession was + forced out of him, by no more formidable exercise of power than the + kindness of his friend. + </p> + <p> + “When you hear where I met with her,” he began, “you will most likely not + want to hear any more. I saw her, for the first time, on the stage of a + music hall.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at Dick. Perfectly quiet and perfectly impenetrable, Dick only + said, “Go on.” Beaucourt continued in these words: + </p> + <p> + “She was singing Arne’s delicious setting of Ariel’s song in the + ‘Tempest,’ with a taste and feeling completely thrown away on the greater + part of the audience. That she was beautiful—in my eyes at least—I + needn’t say. That she had descended to a sphere unworthy of her and new to + her, nobody could doubt. Her modest dress, her refinement of manner, + seemed rather to puzzle than to please most of the people present; they + applauded her, but not very warmly, when she retired. I obtained an + introduction through her music-master, who happened to be acquainted + professionally with some relatives of mine. He told me that she was a + young widow; and he assured me that the calamity through which her family + had lost their place in the world had brought no sort of disgrace on them. + If I wanted to know more, he referred me to the lady herself. I found her + very reserved. A long time passed before I could win her confidence—and + a longer time still before I ventured to confess the feeling with which + she had inspired me. You know the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean, of course, that you offered her marriage?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “And she refused you on account of your position in life.” + </p> + <p> + “No. I had foreseen that obstacle, and had followed the example of the + adventurous nobleman in the old story. Like him, I assumed a name, and + presented myself as belonging to her own respectable middle class of life. + You are too old a friend to suspect me of vanity if I tell you that she + had no objection to me, and no suspicion that I had approached her + (personally speaking) under a disguise.” + </p> + <p> + “What motive could she possibly have had for refusing you?” Dick asked. + </p> + <p> + “A motive associated with her dead husband,” Beaucourt answered. “He had + married her—mind, innocently married her—while his first wife + was living. The woman was an inveterate drunkard; they had been separated + for years. Her death had been publicly reported in the newspapers, among + the persons killed in a railway accident abroad. When she claimed her + unhappy husband he was in delicate health. The shock killed him. His widow—I + can’t, and won’t, speak of her misfortune as if it was her fault—knew + of no living friends who were in a position to help her. Not a great + artist with a wonderful voice, she could still trust to her musical + accomplishments to provide for the necessities of life. Plead as I might + with her to forget the past, I always got the same reply: ‘If I was base + enough to let myself be tempted by the happy future that you offer, I + should deserve the unmerited disgrace which has fallen on me. Marry a + woman whose reputation will bear inquiry, and forget me.’ I was mad enough + to press my suit once too often. When I visited her on the next day she + was gone. Every effort to trace her has failed. Lost, my friend—irretrievably + lost to me!” + </p> + <p> + He offered his hand and said good-night. Dick held him back on the + doorstep. + </p> + <p> + “Break off your mad engagement to Miss Dulane,” he said. “Be a man, Howel; + wait and hope! You are throwing away your life when happiness is within + your reach, if you will only be patient. That poor young creature is + worthy of you. Lost? Nonsense! In this narrow little world people are + never hopelessly lost till they are dead and underground. Help me to + recognize her by a description, and tell me her name. I’ll find her; I’ll + persuade her to come back to you—and, mark my words, you will live + to bless the day when you followed my advice.” + </p> + <p> + This well-meant remonstrance was completely thrown away. Beaucourt’s + despair was deaf to every entreaty that Dick had addressed to him. “Thank + you with all my heart,” he said. “You don’t know her as I do. She is one + of the very few women who mean No when they say No. Useless, Dick—useless!” + </p> + <p> + Those were the last words he said to his friend in the character of a + single man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART12" id="link2H_PART12"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part II + </h2> + <h3> + PLATONIC MARRIAGE. + </h3> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + “SEVEN months have passed, my dear Dick, since my ‘inhuman obstinacy’ + (those were the words you used) made you one of the witnesses at my + marriage to Miss Dulane, sorely against your will. Do you remember your + parting prophecy when you were out of the bride’s hearing? ‘A miserable + life is before that woman’s husband—and, by Jupiter, he has deserved + it!’ + </p> + <p> + “Never, my dear boy, attempt to forecast the future again. Viewed as a + prophet you are a complete failure. I have nothing to complain of in my + married life. + </p> + <p> + “But you must not mistake me. I am far from saying that I am a happy man; + I only declare myself to be a contented man. My old wife is a marvel of + good temper and good sense. She trusts me implicitly, and I have given her + no reason to regret it. We have our time for being together, and our time + for keeping apart. Within our inevitable limits we understand each other + and respect each other, and have a truer feeling of regard on both sides + than many people far better matched than we are in point of age. But you + shall judge for yourself. Come and dine with us, when I return on + Wednesday next from the trial trip of my new yacht. In the meantime I have + a service to ask of you. + </p> + <p> + “My wife’s niece has been her companion for years. She has left us to be + married to an officer, who has taken her to India; and we are utterly at a + loss how to fill her place. The good old lady doesn’t want much. A + nice-tempered refined girl, who can sing and play to her with some little + taste and feeling, and read to her now and then when her eyes are weary—there + is what we require; and there, it seems, is more than we can get, after + advertising for a week past. Of all the ‘companions’ who have presented + themselves, not one has turned out to be the sort of person whom Lady + Howel wants. + </p> + <p> + “Can you help us? In any case, my wife sends you her kind remembrances; + and (true to the old times) I add my love.” + </p> + <p> + On the day which followed the receipt of this letter, Dick paid a visit to + Lady Howel Beaucourt. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be excited,” she said. “Has anything remarkable happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me if I ask a question first,” Dick replied. “Do you object to a + young widow?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends on the widow.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I have found the very person you want. And, oddly enough, your + husband has had something to do with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that my husband has recommended her?” + </p> + <p> + There was an undertone of jealousy in Lady Howel’s voice—-jealousy + excited not altogether without a motive. She had left it to Beaucourt’s + sense of honor to own the truth, if there had been any love affair in his + past life which ought to make him hesitates before he married. He had + justified Miss Dulane’s confidence in him; acknowledging an attachment to + a young widow, and adding that she had positively refused him. “We have + not met since,” he said, “and we shall never meet again.” Under those + circumstances, Miss Dulane had considerately abstained from asking for any + further details. She had not thought of the young widow again, until + Dick’s language had innocently inspired her first doubt. Fortunately for + both of them, he was an outspoken man; and he reassured her unreservedly + in these words: “Your husband knows nothing about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” she said, “you may tell me how you came to hear of the lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Through my uncle’s library,” Dick replied. “His will has left me his + collection of books—in such a wretchedly neglected condition that I + asked Beaucourt (not being a reading man myself) if he knew of any + competent person who could advise me how to set things right. He + introduced me to Farleigh & Halford, the well-known publishers. The + second partner is a book collector himself, as well as a bookseller. He + kindly looks in now and then, to see how his instructions for mending and + binding are being carried out. When he called yesterday I thought of you, + and I found he could help us to a young lady employed in his office at + correcting proof sheets.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the lady’s name?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Evelin.” + </p> + <p> + “Why does she leave her employment?” + </p> + <p> + “To save her eyes, poor soul. When the senior partner, Mr. Farleigh, met + with her, she was reduced by family misfortunes to earn her own living. + The publishers would have been only too glad to keep her in their office, + but for the oculist’s report. He declared that she would run the risk of + blindness, if she fatigued her weak eyes much longer. There is the only + objection to this otherwise invaluable person—she will not be able + to read to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Can she sing and play?” + </p> + <p> + “Exquisitely. Mr. Farleigh answers for her music.” + </p> + <p> + “And her character?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Halford answers for her character.” + </p> + <p> + “And her manners?” + </p> + <p> + “A perfect lady. I have seen her and spoken to her; I answer for her + manners, and I guarantee her personal appearance. Charming—charming!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Lady Howel hesitated. After a little reflection, she decided + that it was her duty to trust her excellent husband. “I will receive the + charming widow,” she said, “to-morrow at twelve o’clock; and, if she + produces the right impression, I promise to overlook the weakness of her + eyes.” + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + BEAUCOURT had prolonged the period appointed for the trial trip of his + yacht by a whole week. His apology when he returned delighted the + kind-hearted old lady who had made him a present of the vessel. + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t such another yacht in the whole world,” he declared. “I + really hadn’t the heart to leave that beautiful vessel after only three + days experience of her.” He burst out with a torrent of technical praises + of the yacht, to which his wife listened as attentively as if she really + understood what he was talking about. When his breath and his eloquence + were exhausted alike, she said, “Now, my dear, it’s my turn. I can match + your perfect vessel with my perfect lady.” + </p> + <p> + “What! you have found a companion?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did Dick find her for you?” + </p> + <p> + “He did indeed. You shall see for yourself how grateful I ought to be to + your friend.” + </p> + <p> + She opened a door which led into the next room. “Mary, my dear, come and + be introduced to my husband.” + </p> + <p> + Beaucourt started when he heard the name, and instantly recovered himself. + He had forgotten how many Marys there are in the world. + </p> + <p> + Lady Howel returned, leading her favorite by the hand, and gayly + introduced her the moment they entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Evelin; Lord—” + </p> + <p> + She looked at her husband. The utterance of his name was instantly + suspended on her lips. Mrs. Evelin’s hand, turning cold at the same moment + in her hand, warned her to look round. The face of the woman more than + reflected the inconcealable agitation in the face of the man. + </p> + <p> + The wife’s first words, when she recovered herself, were addressed to them + both. + </p> + <p> + “Which of you can I trust,” she asked, “to tell me the truth?” + </p> + <p> + “You can trust both of us,” her husband answered. + </p> + <p> + The firmness of his tone irritated her. “I will judge of that for myself,” + she said. “Go back to the next room,” she added, turning to Mrs. Evelin; + “I will hear you separately.” + </p> + <p> + The companion, whose duty it was to obey—whose modesty and + gentleness had won her mistress’s heart—refused to retire. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said; “I have been deceived too. I have <i>my</i> right to hear + what Lord Howel has to say for himself.” + </p> + <p> + Beaucourt attempted to support the claim that she had advanced. His wife + sternly signed to him to be silent. “What do you mean?” she said, + addressing the question to Mrs. Evelin. + </p> + <p> + “I mean this. The person whom you speak of as a nobleman was presented to + me as ‘Mr. Vincent, an artist.’ But for that deception I should never have + set foot in your ladyship’s house.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this true, my lord?” Lady Howel asked, with a contemptuous emphasis on + the title of nobility. + </p> + <p> + “Quite true,” her husband answered. “I thought it possible that my rank + might prove an obstacle in the way of my hopes. The blame rests on me, and + on me alone. I ask Mrs. Evelin to pardon me for an act of deception which + I deeply regret.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Howel was a just woman. Under other circumstances she might have + shown herself to be a generous woman. That brighter side of her character + was incapable of revealing itself in the presence of Mrs. Evelin, young + and beautiful, and in possession of her husband’s heart. She could say, “I + beg your pardon, madam; I have not treated you justly.” But no + self-control was strong enough to restrain the next bitter words from + passing her lips. “At my age,” she said, “Lord Howel will soon be free; + you will not have long to wait for him.” + </p> + <p> + The young widow looked at her sadly—answered her sadly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my lady, your better nature will surely regret having said that!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment her eyes rested on Beaucourt, dim with rising tears. She left + the room—and left the house. + </p> + <p> + There was silence between the husband and wife. Beaucourt was the first to + speak again. + </p> + <p> + “After what you have just heard, do you persist in your jealousy of that + lady, and your jealousy of me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have behaved cruelly to her and to you. I am ashamed of myself,” was + all she said in reply. That expression of sorrow, so simple and so true, + did not appeal in vain to the gentler side of Beaucourt’s nature. He + kissed his wife’s hand; he tried to console her. + </p> + <p> + “You may forgive me,” she answered. “I cannot forgive myself. That poor + lady’s last words have made my heart ache. What I said to her in anger I + ought to have said generously. Why should she not wait for you? After your + life with me—a life of kindness, a life of self-sacrifice—you + deserve your reward. Promise me that you will marry the woman you love—after + my death has released you.” + </p> + <p> + “You distress me, and needlessly distress me,” he said. “What you are + thinking of, my dear, can never happen; no, not even if—” He left + the rest unsaid. + </p> + <p> + “Not even if you were free?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not even then.” + </p> + <p> + She looked toward the next room. “Go in, Howel, and bring Mrs. Evelin + back; I have something to say to her.” + </p> + <p> + The discovery that she had left the house caused no fear that she had + taken to flight with the purpose of concealing herself. There was a + prospect before the poor lonely woman which might be trusted to preserve + her from despair, to say the least of it. + </p> + <p> + During her brief residence in Beaucourt’s house she had shown to Lady + Howel a letter received from a relation, who had emigrated to New Zealand + with her husband and her infant children some years since. They had + steadily prospered; they were living in comfort, and they wanted for + nothing but a trustworthy governess to teach their children. The mother + had accordingly written, asking if her relative in England could recommend + a competent person, and offering a liberal salary. In showing the letter + to Lady Howel, Mrs. Evelin had said: “If I had not been so happy as to + attract your notice, I might have offered to be the governess myself.” + </p> + <p> + Assuming that it had now occurred to her to act on this idea, Lady Howel + felt assured that she would apply for advice either to the publishers who + had recommended her, or to Lord Howel’s old friend. + </p> + <p> + Beaucourt at once offered to make the inquiries which might satisfy his + wife that she had not been mistaken. Readily accepting his proposal, she + asked at the same time for a few minutes of delay. + </p> + <p> + “I want to say to you,” she explained, “what I had in my mind to say to + Mrs. Evelin. Do you object to tell me why she refused to marry you? I + couldn’t have done it in her place.” + </p> + <p> + “You would have done it, my dear, as I think, if her misfortune had been + your misfortune.” With those prefatory words he told the miserable story + of Mrs. Evelin’s marriage. + </p> + <p> + Lady Howel’s sympathies, strongly excited, appeared to have led her to a + conclusion which she was not willing to communicate to her husband. She + asked him, rather abruptly, if he would leave it to her to find Mrs. + Evelin. “I promise,” she added, “to tell you what I am thinking of, when I + come back.” + </p> + <p> + In two minutes more she was ready to go out, and had hurriedly left the + house. + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + AFTER a long absence Lady Howel returned, accompanied by Dick. His face + and manner betrayed unusual agitation; Beaucourt noticed it. + </p> + <p> + “I may well be excited,” Dick declared, “after what I have heard, and + after what we have done. Lady Howel, yours is the brain that thinks to + some purpose. Make our report—I wait for you.” + </p> + <p> + But my lady preferred waiting for Dick. He consented to speak first, for + the thoroughly characteristic reason that he could “get over it in no + time.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall try the old division,” he said, “into First, Second, and Third. + Don’t be afraid; I am not going to preach—quite the contrary; I am + going to be quick about it. First, then, Mrs. Evelin has decided, under + sound advice, to go to New Zealand. Second, I have telegraphed to her + relations at the other end of the world to tell them that she is coming. + Third, and last, Farleigh & Halford have sent to the office, and + secured a berth for her in the next ship that sails—date the day + after to-morrow. Done in half a minute. Now, Lady Howel!” + </p> + <p> + “I will begin and end in half a minute too,” she said, “if I can. First,” + she continued, turning to her husband, “I found Mrs. Evelin at your + friend’s house. She kindly let me say all that I could say for the relief + of my poor heart. Secondly—” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated, smiled uneasily, and came to a full stop. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t do it, Howel,” she confessed; “I speak to you as usual, or I can + never get on. Saying many things in few words—if the ladies who + assert our rights will forgive me for confessing it—is an + accomplishment in which we are completely beaten by the men. You must have + thought me rude, my dear, for leaving you very abruptly, without a word of + explanation. The truth is, I had an idea in my head, and I kept it to + myself (old people are proverbially cautious, you know) till I had first + found out whether it was worth mentioning. When you were speaking of the + wretched creature who had claimed Mrs. Evelin’s husband as her own, you + said she was an inveterate drunkard. A woman in that state of degradation + is capable, as I persist in thinking, of any wickedness. I suppose this + put it into my head to doubt her—no; I mean, to wonder whether Mr. + Evelin—do you know that she keeps her husband’s name by his own + entreaty addressed to her on his deathbed?—oh, I am losing myself in + a crowd of words of my own collecting! Say the rest of it for me, Sir + Richard!” + </p> + <p> + “No, Lady Howel. Not unless you call me ‘Dick.’” + </p> + <p> + “Then say it for me—Dick.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not yet, on reflection. Dick is too short, say ‘Dear Dick.’” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Dick—there!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my lady. Now we had better remember that your husband is + present.” He turned to Beaucourt. “Lady Howel had the idea,” he proceeded, + “which ought to have presented itself to you and to me. It was a serious + misfortune (as she thought) that Mr. Evelin’s sufferings in his last + illness, and his wife’s anxiety while she was nursing him, had left them + unfit to act in their own defense. They might otherwise not have submitted + to the drunken wretch’s claim, without first making sure that she had a + right to advance it. Taking her character into due consideration, are we + quite certain that she was herself free to marry, when Mr. Evelin + unfortunately made her his wife? To that serious question we now mean to + find an answer. With Mrs. Evelin’s knowledge of the affair to help us, we + have discovered the woman’s address, to begin with. She keeps a small + tobacconist’s shop at the town of Grailey in the north of England. The + rest is in the hands of my lawyer. If we make the discovery that we all + hope for, we have your wife to thank for it.” He paused, and looked at his + watch. “I’ve got an appointment at the club. The committee will blackball + the best fellow that ever lived if I don’t go and stop them. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + The last day of Mrs. Evelin’s sojourn in England was memorable in more + ways than one. + </p> + <p> + On the first occasion in Beaucourt’s experience of his married life, his + wife wrote to him instead of speaking to him, although they were both in + the house at the time. It was a little note only containing these words: + “I thought you would like to say good-by to Mrs. Evelin. I have told her + to expect you in the library, and I will take care that you are not + disturbed.” + </p> + <p> + Waiting at the window of her sitting-room, on the upper floor, Lady Howel + perceived that the delicate generosity of her conduct had been gratefully + felt. The interview in the library barely lasted for five minutes. She saw + Mrs. Evelin leave the house with her veil down. Immediately afterward, + Beaucourt ascended to his wife’s room to thank her. Carefully as he had + endeavored to hide them, the traces of tears in his eyes told her how + cruelly the parting scene had tried him. It was a bitter moment for his + admirable wife. “Do you wish me dead?” she asked with sad self-possession. + “Live,” he said, “and live happily, if you wish to make me happy too.” He + drew her to him and kissed her forehead. Lady Howel had her reward. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART13" id="link2H_PART13"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part III. + </h2> + <h3> + NEWS FROM THE COLONY. + </h3> + <p> + VI. + </p> + <p> + FURNISHED with elaborate instructions to guide him, which included golden + materials for bribery, a young Jew holding the place of third clerk in the + office of Dick’s lawyer was sent to the town of Grailey to make + discoveries. In the matter of successfully instituting private inquiries, + he was justly considered to be a match for any two Christians who might + try to put obstacles in his way. His name was Moses Jackling. + </p> + <p> + Entering the cigar-shop, the Jew discovered that he had presented himself + at a critical moment. + </p> + <p> + A girl and a man were standing behind the counter. The girl looked like a + maid-of-all-work: she was rubbing the tears out of her eyes with a big red + fist. The man, smart in manner and shabby in dress, received the stranger + with a peremptory eagerness to do business. “Now, then! what for you?” + Jackling bought the worst cigar he had ever smoked, in the course of an + enormous experience of bad tobacco, and tried a few questions with this + result. The girl had lost her place; the man was in “possession”; and the + stock and furniture had been seized for debt. Jackling thereupon assumed + the character of a creditor, and ask to speak with the mistress. + </p> + <p> + “She’s too ill to see you, sir,” the girl said. + </p> + <p> + “Tell the truth, you fool,” cried the man in possession. He led the way to + a door with a glass in the upper part of it, which opened into a parlor + behind the shop. As soon as his back was turned, Jackling whispered to the + maid, “When I go, slip out after me; I’ve got something for you.” The man + lifted the curtain over the glass. “Look through,” he said, “and see + what’s the matter with her for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Jackling discovered the mistress flat on her back on the floor, helplessly + drunk. That was enough for the clerk—so far. He took leave of the + man in possession, with the one joke which never wears out in the + estimation of Englishmen; the joke that foresees the drinker’s headache in + the morning. In a minute or two more the girl showed herself, carrying an + empty jug. She had been sent for the man’s beer, and she was expected back + directly. Jackling, having first overwhelmed her by a present of five + shillings, proposed another appointment in the evening. The maid promised + to be at the place of meeting; and in memory of the five shillings she + kept her word. + </p> + <p> + “What wages do you get?” was the first question that astonished her. + </p> + <p> + “Three pounds a year, sir,” the unfortunate creature replied. + </p> + <p> + “All paid?” + </p> + <p> + “Only one pound paid—and I say it’s a crying shame.” + </p> + <p> + “Say what you like, my dear, so long as you listen to me. I want to know + everything that your mistress says and does—first when she’s drunk, + and then when she’s sober. Wait a bit; I haven’t done yet. If you tell me + everything you can remember—mind <i> everything</i>—I’ll pay + the rest of your wages.” + </p> + <p> + Madly excited by this golden prospect, the victim of domestic service + answered inarticulately with a scream. Jackling’s right hand and left hand + entered his pockets, and appeared again holding two sovereigns separately + between two fingers and thumbs. From that moment, he was at liberty to + empty the maid-of-all-work’s memory of every saying and doing that it + contained. + </p> + <p> + The sober moments of the mistress yielded little or nothing to + investigation. The report of her drunken moments produced something worth + hearing. There were two men whom it was her habit to revile bitterly in + her cups. One of them was Mr. Evelin, whom she abused—sometimes for + the small allowance that he made to her; sometimes for dying before she + could prosecute him for bigamy. Her drunken remembrances of the other man + were associated with two names. She called him “Septimus”; she called him + “Darts”; and she despised him occasionally for being a “common sailor.” It + was clearly demonstrated that he was one man, and not two. Whether he was + “Septimus,” or whether he was “Darts,” he had always committed the same + atrocities. He had taken her money away from her; he had called her by an + atrocious name; and he had knocked her down on more than one occasion. + Provided with this information, Jackling rewarded the girl, and paid a + visit to her mistress the next day. + </p> + <p> + The miserable woman was exactly in the state of nervous prostration (after + the excess of the previous evening) which offered to the clerk his best + chance of gaining his end. He presented himself as the representative of + friends, bent on helping her, whose modest benevolence had positively + forbidden him to mention their names. + </p> + <p> + “What sum of money must you pay,” he asked, “to get rid of the man in + possession?” + </p> + <p> + Too completely bewildered to speak, her trembling hand offered to him a + slip of paper on which the amount of the debt and the expenses was set + forth: L51 12s. 10d. + </p> + <p> + With some difficulty the Jew preserved his gravity. “Very well,” he + resumed. “I will make it up to sixty pounds (to set you going again) on + two conditions.” + </p> + <p> + She suddenly recovered her power of speech. “Give me the money!” she + cried, with greedy impatience of delay. + </p> + <p> + “First condition,” he continued, without noticing the interruption: “you + are not to suffer, either in purse or person, if you give us the + information that we want.” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted him again. “Tell me what it is, and be quick about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Second condition,” he went on as impenetrably as ever; “you take me to + the place where I can find the certificate of your marriage to Septimus + Darts.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes glared at him like the eyes of a wild animal. Furies, hysterics, + faintings, denials, threats—Jackling endured them all by turns. It + was enough for him that his desperate guess of the evening before, had hit + the mark on the morning after. When she had completely exhausted herself + he returned to the experiment which he had already tried with the maid. + Well aware of the advantage of exhibiting gold instead of notes, when the + object is to tempt poverty, he produced the promised bribe in sovereigns, + pouring them playfully backward and forward from one big hand to the + other. + </p> + <p> + The temptation was more than the woman could resist. In another half-hour + the two were traveling together to a town in one of the midland counties. + </p> + <p> + The certificate was found in the church register, and duly copied. + </p> + <p> + It also appeared that one of the witnesses to the marriage was still + living. His name and address were duly noted in the clerk’s pocketbook. + Subsequent inquiry, at the office of the Customs Comptroller, discovered + the name of Septimus Darts on the captain’s official list of the crew of + an outward bound merchant vessel. With this information, and with a + photographic portrait to complete it, the man was discovered, alive and + hearty, on the return of the ship to her port. + </p> + <p> + His wife’s explanation of her conduct included the customary excuse that + she had every reason to believe her husband to be dead, and was followed + by a bold assertion that she had married Mr. Evelin for love. In Moses + Jackling’s opinion she lied when she said this, and lied again when she + threatened to prosecute Mr. Evelin for bigamy. “Take my word for it,” said + this new representative of the unbelieving Jew, “she would have extorted + money from him if he had lived.” Delirium tremens left this question + unsettled, and closed the cigar shop soon afterward, under the authority + of death. + </p> + <p> + The good news, telegraphed to New Zealand, was followed by a letter + containing details. + </p> + <p> + At a later date, a telegram arrived from Mrs. Evelin. She had reached her + destination, and had received the dispatch which told her that she had + been lawfully married. A letter to Lady Howel was promised by the next + mail. + </p> + <p> + While the necessary term of delay was still unexpired, the newspapers + received the intelligence of a volcanic eruption in the northern island of + the New Zealand group. Later particulars, announcing a terrible + destruction of life and property, included the homestead in which Mrs. + Evelin was living. The farm had been overwhelmed, and every member of the + household had perished. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART14" id="link2H_PART14"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part IV. + </h2> + <h3> + THE NIGHT NURSE. + </h3> + <p> + VII. + </p> + <p> + <i>Indorsed as follows:</i> “Reply from Sir Richard, addressed to Farleigh + & Halford.” + </p> + <p> + “Your courteous letter has been forwarded to my house in the country. + </p> + <p> + “I really regret that you should have thought it necessary to apologize + for troubling me. Your past kindness to the unhappy Mrs. Evelin gives you + a friendly claim on me which I gladly recognize—as you shall soon + see. + </p> + <p> + “‘The extraordinary story,’ as you very naturally call it, is nevertheless + true. I am the only person now at your disposal who can speak as an + eye-witness of the events. + </p> + <p> + “In the first place I must tell you that the dreadful intelligence, + received from New Zealand, had an effect on Lord Howel Beaucourt which + shocked his friends and inexpressibly distressed his admirable wife. I can + only describe him, at that time, as a man struck down in mind and body + alike. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Howel was unremitting in her efforts to console him. He was thankful + and gentle. It was true that no complaint could be made of him. It was + equally true that no change for the better rewarded the devotion of his + wife. + </p> + <p> + “The state of feeling which this implied imbittered the disappointment + that Lady Howel naturally felt. As some relief to her overburdened mind, + she associated herself with the work of mercy, carried on under the + superintendence of the rector of the parish. I thought he was wrong in + permitting a woman, at her advanced time of life, to run the risk + encountered in visiting the sick and suffering poor at their own + dwelling-places. Circumstances, however, failed to justify my dread of the + perilous influences of infection and foul air. The one untoward event that + happened, seemed to be too trifling to afford any cause for anxiety. Lady + Howel caught cold. + </p> + <p> + “Unhappily, she treated that apparently trivial accident with + indifference. Her husband tried in vain to persuade her to remain at home. + On one of her charitable visits she was overtaken by a heavy fall of rain; + and a shivering fit seized her on returning to the house. At her age the + results were serious. A bronchial attack followed. In a week more, the + dearest and best of women had left us nothing to love but the memory of + the dead. + </p> + <p> + “Her last words were faintly whispered to me in her husband’s presence: + ‘Take care of him,’ the dying woman said, ‘when I am gone.’ + </p> + <p> + “No effort of mine to be worthy of that sacred trust was left untried. How + could I hope to succeed where <i>she</i> had failed? My house in London + and my house in the country were both open to Beaucourt; I entreated him + to live with me, or (if he preferred it) to be my guest for a short time + only, or (if he wished to be alone) to choose the place of abode which he + liked best for his solitary retreat. With sincere expressions of + gratitude, his inflexible despair refused my proposals. + </p> + <p> + “In one of the ancient ‘Inns,’ built centuries since for the legal + societies of London, he secluded himself from friends and acquaintances + alike. One by one, they were driven from his dreary chambers by a + reception which admitted them with patient resignation and held out little + encouragement to return. After an interval of no great length, I was the + last of his friends who intruded on his solitude. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Lady Howel’s will (excepting some special legacies) had left her + fortune to me in trust, on certain conditions with which it is needless to + trouble you. Beaucourt’s resolution not to touch a farthing of his dead + wife’s money laid a heavy responsibility on my shoulders; the burden being + ere long increased by forebodings which alarmed me on the subject of his + health. + </p> + <p> + “He devoted himself to the reading of old books, treating (as I was told) + of that branch of useless knowledge generally described as ‘occult + science.’ These unwholesome studies so absorbed him, that he remained shut + up in his badly ventilated chambers for weeks together, without once + breathing the outer air even for a few minutes. Such defiance of the + ordinary laws of nature as this could end but in one way; his health + steadily declined and feverish symptoms showed themselves. The doctor said + plainly, ‘There is no chance for him if he stays in this place.’ + </p> + <p> + “Once more he refused to be removed to my London house. The development of + the fever, he reminded me, might lead to consequences dangerous to me and + to my household. He had heard of one of the great London hospitals, which + reserved certain rooms for the occupation of persons capable of paying for + the medical care bestowed on them. If he were to be removed at all, to + that hospital he would go. Many advantages, and no objections of + importance, were presented by this course of proceeding. We conveyed him + to the hospital without a moment’s loss of time. + </p> + <p> + “When I think of the dreadful illness that followed, and when I recall the + days of unrelieved suspense passed at the bedside, I have not courage + enough to dwell on this part of my story. Besides, you know already that + Beaucourt recovered—or, as I might more correctly describe it, that + he was snatched back to life when the grasp of death was on him. Of this + happier period of his illness I have something to say which may surprise + and interest you. + </p> + <p> + “On one of the earlier days of his convalescence my visit to him was paid + later than usual. A matter of importance, neglected while he was in + danger, had obliged me to leave town for a few days, after there was + nothing to be feared. Returning, I had missed the train which would have + brought me to London in better time. + </p> + <p> + “My appearance evidently produced in Beaucourt a keen feeling of relief. + He requested the day nurse, waiting in the room, to leave us by ourselves. + </p> + <p> + “‘I was afraid you might not have come to me to-day,’ he said. ‘My last + moments would have been imbittered, my friend, by your absence.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Are you anticipating your death,’ I asked, ‘at the very time when the + doctors answer for your life?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The doctors have not seen her,’ he said; ‘I saw her last night.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Of whom are you speaking?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Of my lost angel, who perished miserably in New Zealand. Twice her + spirit has appeared to me. I shall see her for the third time, tonight; I + shall follow her to the better world.’ + </p> + <p> + “Had the delirium of the worst time of the fever taken possession of him + again? In unutterable dread of a relapse, I took his hand. The skin was + cool. I laid my fingers on his pulse. It was beating calmly. + </p> + <p> + “‘You think I am wandering in my mind,’ he broke out. ‘Stay here tonight—I + command you, stay!—and see her as I have seen her.’ + </p> + <p> + “I quieted him by promising to do what he had asked of me. He had still + one more condition to insist on. + </p> + <p> + “‘I won’t be laughed at,’ he said. ‘Promise that you will not repeat to + any living creature what I have just told you.’ + </p> + <p> + “My promise satisfied him. He wearily closed his eyes. In a few minutes + more his poor weak body was in peaceful repose. + </p> + <p> + “The day-nurse returned, and remained with us later than usual. Twilight + melted into darkness. The room was obscurely lit by a shaded lamp, placed + behind a screen that kept the sun out of the sick man’s eyes in the + daytime. + </p> + <p> + “‘Are we alone?’ Beaucourt asked. + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Watch the door.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Why?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You will see her on the threshold.’ + </p> + <p> + “As he said those words the door slowly opened. In the dim light I could + only discern at first the figure of a woman. She slowly advanced toward + me. I saw the familiar face in shadow; the eyes were large and faintly + luminous—the eyes of Mrs. Evelin. + </p> + <p> + “The wild words spoken to me by Beaucourt, the stillness and the obscurity + in the room, had their effect, I suppose, on my imagination. You will + think me a poor creature when I confess it. For the moment I did assuredly + feel a thrill of superstitious terror. + </p> + <p> + “My delusion was dispelled by a change in her face. Its natural expression + of surprise, when she saw me, set my mind free to feel the delight + inspired by the discovery that she was a living woman. I should have + spoken to her if she had not stopped me by a gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Beaucourt’s voice broke the silence. ‘Ministering Spirit!’ he said, ‘free + me from the life of earth. Take me with you to the life eternal.’ + </p> + <p> + “She made no attempt to enlighten him. ‘Wait,’ she answered calmly, ‘wait + and rest.’ + </p> + <p> + “Silently obeying her, he turned his head on the pillow; we saw his face + no more. + </p> + <p> + “I have related the circumstances exactly as they happened: the ghost + story which report has carried to your ears has no other foundation than + this. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Evelin led the way to that further end of the room in which the + screen stood. Placing ourselves behind it, we could converse in whispers + without being heard. Her first words told me that she had been warned by + one of the hospital doctors to respect my friend’s delusion for the + present. His mind partook in some degree of the weakness of his body, and + he was not strong enough yet to bear the shock of discovering the truth. + </p> + <p> + “She had been saved almost by a miracle. + </p> + <p> + “Released (in a state of insensibility) from the ruins of the house, she + had been laid with her dead relatives awaiting burial. Happily for her, an + English traveler visiting the island was among the first men who + volunteered to render help. He had been in practice as a medical man, and + he saved her from being buried alive. Nearly a month passed before she was + strong enough to bear removal to Wellington (the capital city) and to be + received into the hospital. + </p> + <p> + “I asked why she had not telegraphed or written to me. + </p> + <p> + “‘When I was strong enough to write,’ she said, ‘I was strong enough to + bear the sea-voyage to England. The expenses so nearly exhausted my small + savings that I had no money to spare for the telegraph.’ + </p> + <p> + “On her arrival in London, only a few days since, she had called on me at + the time when I had left home on the business which I have already + mentioned. She had not heard of Lady Howel’s death, and had written + ignorantly to prepare that good friend for seeing her. The messenger sent + with the letter had found the house in the occupation of strangers, and + had been referred to the agent employed in letting it. She went herself to + this person, and so heard that Lord Howel Beaucourt had lost his wife, and + was reported to be dying in one of the London hospitals. + </p> + <p> + “‘If he had been in his usual state of health,’ she said, ‘it would have + been indelicate on my part—I mean it would have seemed like taking a + selfish advantage of the poor lady’s death—to have let him know that + my life had been saved, in any other way than by writing to him. But when + I heard he was dying, I forgot all customary considerations. His name was + so well-known in London that I easily discovered at what hospital he had + been received. There I heard that the report was false and that he was out + of danger. I ought to have been satisfied with that—but oh, how + could I be so near him and not long to see him? The old doctor with whom I + had been speaking discovered, I suppose, that I was in trouble about + something. He was so kind and fatherly, and he seemed to take such + interest in me, that I confessed everything to him. After he had made me + promise to be careful, he told the night-nurse to let me take her place + for a little while, when the dim light in the room would not permit his + patient to see me too plainly. He waited at the door when we tried the + experiment. Neither he nor I foresaw that Lord Howel would put such a + strange interpretation on my presence. The nurse doesn’t approve of my + coming back—even for a little while only—and taking her place + again to-night. She is right. I have had my little glimpse of happiness, + and with that little I must be content.’ + </p> + <p> + “What I said in answer to this, and what I did as time advanced, it is + surely needless to tell you. You have read the newspapers which announce + their marriage, and their departure for Italy. What else is there left for + me to say? + </p> + <p> + “There is, perhaps, a word more still wanting. + </p> + <p> + “Obstinate Lord Howel persisted in refusing to take the fortune that was + waiting for him. In this difficulty, the conditions under which I was + acting permitted me to appeal to the bride. When she too said No, I was + not to be trifled with. I showed her poor Lady’s Howel’s will. After + reading the terms in which my dear old friend alluded to her she burst out + crying. I interpreted those grateful tears as an expression of repentance + for the ill-considered reply which I had just received. As yet, I have not + been told that I was wrong.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MR. POLICEMAN AND THE COOK. + </h2> + <h3> + A FIRST WORD FOR MYSELF. + </h3> + <p> + BEFORE the doctor left me one evening, I asked him how much longer I was + likely to live. He answered: “It’s not easy to say; you may die before I + can get back to you in the morning, or you may live to the end of the + month.” + </p> + <p> + I was alive enough on the next morning to think of the needs of my soul, + and (being a member of the Roman Catholic Church) to send for the priest. + </p> + <p> + The history of my sins, related in confession, included blameworthy + neglect of a duty which I owed to the laws of my country. In the priest’s + opinion—and I agreed with him—I was bound to make public + acknowledgment of my fault, as an act of penance becoming to a Catholic + Englishman. We concluded, thereupon, to try a division of labor. I related + the circumstances, while his reverence took the pen and put the matter + into shape. + </p> + <p> + Here follows what came of it: + </p> + <p> + I. + </p> + <p> + WHEN I was a young man of five-and-twenty, I became a member of the London + police force. After nearly two years’ ordinary experience of the + responsible and ill-paid duties of that vocation, I found myself employed + on my first serious and terrible case of official inquiry—relating + to nothing less than the crime of Murder. + </p> + <p> + The circumstances were these: + </p> + <p> + I was then attached to a station in the northern district of London—which + I beg permission not to mention more particularly. On a certain Monday in + the week, I took my turn of night duty. Up to four in the morning, nothing + occurred at the station-house out of the ordinary way. It was then + springtime, and, between the gas and the fire, the room became rather hot. + I went to the door to get a breath of fresh air—much to the surprise + of our Inspector on duty, who was constitutionally a chilly man. There was + a fine rain falling; and a nasty damp in the air sent me back to the + fireside. I don’t suppose I had sat down for more than a minute when the + swinging-door was violently pushed open. A frantic woman ran in with a + scream, and said: “Is this the station-house?” + </p> + <p> + Our Inspector (otherwise an excellent officer) had, by some perversity of + nature, a hot temper in his chilly constitution. “Why, bless the woman, + can’t you see it is?” he says. “What’s the matter now?” + </p> + <p> + “Murder’s the matter!” she burst out. “For God’s sake, come back with me. + It’s at Mrs. Crosscapel’s lodging-house, number 14 Lehigh Street. A young + woman has murdered her husband in the night! With a knife, sir. She says + she thinks she did it in her sleep.” + </p> + <p> + I confess I was startled by this; and the third man on duty (a sergeant) + seemed to feel it too. She was a nice-looking young woman, even in her + terrified condition, just out of bed, with her clothes huddled on anyhow. + I was partial in those days to a tall figure—and she was, as they + say, my style. I put a chair for her; and the sergeant poked the fire. As + for the Inspector, nothing ever upset <i>him</i>. He questioned her as + coolly as if it had been a case of petty larceny. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen the murdered man?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Or the wife?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. I didn’t dare go into the room; I only heard about it!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh? And who are You? One of the lodgers?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. I’m the cook.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t there a master in the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. He’s frightened out of his wits. And the housemaid’s gone for + the doctor. It all falls on the poor servants, of course. Oh, why did I + ever set foot in that horrible house?” + </p> + <p> + The poor soul burst out crying, and shivered from head to foot. The + Inspector made a note of her statement, and then asked her to read it, and + sign it with her name. The object of this proceeding was to get her to + come near enough to give him the opportunity of smelling her breath. “When + people make extraordinary statements,” he afterward said to me, “it + sometimes saves trouble to satisfy yourself that they are not drunk. I’ve + known them to be mad—but not often. You will generally find <i>that</i> + in their eyes.” + </p> + <p> + She roused herself and signed her name—“Priscilla Thurlby.” The + Inspector’s own test proved her to be sober; and her eyes—a nice + light blue color, mild and pleasant, no doubt, when they were not staring + with fear, and red with crying—satisfied him (as I supposed) that + she was not mad. He turned the case over to me, in the first instance. I + saw that he didn’t believe in it, even yet. + </p> + <p> + “Go back with her to the house,” he says. “This may be a stupid hoax, or a + quarrel exaggerated. See to it yourself, and hear what the doctor says. If + it is serious, send word back here directly, and let nobody enter the + place or leave it till we come. Stop! You know the form if any statement + is volunteered?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. I am to caution the persons that whatever they say will be + taken down, and may be used against them.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right. You’ll be an Inspector yourself one of these days. Now, + miss!” With that he dismissed her, under my care. + </p> + <p> + Lehigh Street was not very far off—about twenty minutes’ walk from + the station. I confess I thought the Inspector had been rather hard on + Priscilla. She was herself naturally angry with him. “What does he mean,” + she says, “by talking of a hoax? I wish he was as frightened as I am. This + is the first time I have been out at service, sir—and I did think I + had found a respectable place.” + </p> + <p> + I said very little to her—feeling, if the truth must be told, rather + anxious about the duty committed to me. On reaching the house the door was + opened from within, before I could knock. A gentleman stepped out, who + proved to be the doctor. He stopped the moment he saw me. + </p> + <p> + “You must be careful, policeman,” he says. “I found the man lying on his + back, in bed, dead—with the knife that had killed him left sticking + in the wound.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing this, I felt the necessity of sending at once to the station. + Where could I find a trustworthy messenger? I took the liberty of asking + the doctor if he would repeat to the police what he had already said to + me. The station was not much out of his way home. He kindly granted my + request. + </p> + <p> + The landlady (Mrs. Crosscapel) joined us while we were talking. She was + still a young woman; not easily frightened, as far as I could see, even by + a murder in the house. Her husband was in the passage behind her. He + looked old enough to be her father; and he so trembled with terror that + some people might have taken him for the guilty person. I removed the key + from the street door, after locking it; and I said to the landlady: + “Nobody must leave the house, or enter the house, till the Inspector + comes. I must examine the premises to see if any one has broken in.” + </p> + <p> + “There is the key of the area gate,” she said, in answer to me. “It’s + always kept locked. Come downstairs and see for yourself.” Priscilla went + with us. Her mistress set her to work to light the kitchen fire. “Some of + us,” says Mrs. Crosscapel, “may be the better for a cup of tea.” I + remarked that she took things easy, under the circumstances. She answered + that the landlady of a London lodging-house could not afford to lose her + wits, no matter what might happen. + </p> + <p> + I found the gate locked, and the shutters of the kitchen window fastened. + The back kitchen and back door were secured in the same way. No person was + concealed anywhere. Returning upstairs, I examined the front parlor + window. There, again, the barred shutters answered for the security of + that room. A cracked voice spoke through the door of the back parlor. “The + policeman can come in,” it said, “if he will promise not to look at me.” I + turned to the landlady for information. “It’s my parlor lodger, Miss + Mybus,” she said, “a most respectable lady.” Going into the room, I saw + something rolled up perpendicularly in the bed curtains. Miss Mybus had + made herself modestly invisible in that way. Having now satisfied my mind + about the security of the lower part of the house, and having the keys + safe in my pocket, I was ready to go upstairs. + </p> + <p> + On our way to the upper regions I asked if there had been any visitors on + the previous day. There had been only two visitors, friends of the lodgers—and + Mrs. Crosscapel herself had let them both out. My next inquiry related to + the lodgers themselves. On the ground floor there was Miss Mybus. On the + first floor (occupying both rooms) Mr. Barfield, an old bachelor, employed + in a merchant’s office. On the second floor, in the front room, Mr. John + Zebedee, the murdered man, and his wife. In the back room, Mr. Deluc; + described as a cigar agent, and supposed to be a Creole gentleman from + Martinique. In the front garret, Mr. and Mrs. Crosscapel. In the back + garret, the cook and the housemaid. These were the inhabitants, regularly + accounted for. I asked about the servants. “Both excellent characters,” + says the landlady, “or they would not be in my service.” + </p> + <p> + We reached the second floor, and found the housemaid on the watch outside + the door of the front room. Not as nice a woman, personally, as the cook, + and sadly frightened of course. Her mistress had posted her, to give the + alarm in the case of an outbreak on the part of Mrs. Zebedee, kept locked + up in the room. My arrival relieved the housemaid of further + responsibility. She ran downstairs to her fellow-servant in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + I asked Mrs. Crosscapel how and when the alarm of the murder had been + given. + </p> + <p> + “Soon after three this morning,” says she, “I was woke by the screams of + Mrs. Zebedee. I found her out here on the landing, and Mr. Deluc, in great + alarm, trying to quiet her. Sleeping in the next room he had only to open + his door, when her screams woke him. ‘My dear John’s murdered! I am the + miserable wretch—I did it in my sleep!’ She repeated these frantic + words over and over again, until she dropped in a swoon. Mr. Deluc and I + carried her back into the bedroom. We both thought the poor creature had + been driven distracted by some dreadful dream. But when we got to the + bedside—don’t ask me what we saw; the doctor has told you about it + already. I was once a nurse in a hospital, and accustomed, as such, to + horrid sights. It turned me cold and giddy, notwithstanding. As for Mr. + Deluc, I thought <i>he</i> would have had a fainting fit next.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing this, I inquired if Mrs. Zebedee had said or done any strange + things since she had been Mrs. Crosscapel’s lodger. + </p> + <p> + “You think she’s mad?” says the landlady. “And anybody would be of your + mind, when a woman accuses herself of murdering her husband in her sleep. + All I can say is that, up to this morning, a more quiet, sensible, + well-behaved little person than Mrs. Zebedee I never met with. Only just + married, mind, and as fond of her unfortunate husband as a woman could be. + I should have called them a pattern couple, in their own line of life.” + </p> + <p> + There was no more to be said on the landing. We unlocked the door and went + into the room. + </p> + <p> + II. + </p> + <p> + HE lay in bed on his back as the doctor had described him. On the left + side of his nightgown, just over his heart, the blood on the linen told + its terrible tale. As well as one could judge, looking unwillingly at a + dead face, he must have been a handsome young man in his lifetime. It was + a sight to sadden anybody—but I think the most painful sensation was + when my eyes fell next on his miserable wife. + </p> + <p> + She was down on the floor, crouched up in a corner—a dark little + woman, smartly dressed in gay colors. Her black hair and her big brown + eyes made the horrid paleness of her face look even more deadly white than + perhaps it really was. She stared straight at us without appearing to see + us. We spoke to her, and she never answered a word. She might have been + dead—like her husband—except that she perpetually picked at + her fingers, and shuddered every now and then as if she was cold. I went + to her and tried to lift her up. She shrank back with a cry that well-nigh + frightened me—not because it was loud, but because it was more like + the cry of some animal than of a human being. However quietly she might + have behaved in the landlady’s previous experience of her, she was beside + herself now. I might have been moved by a natural pity for her, or I might + have been completely upset in my mind—I only know this, I could not + persuade myself that she was guilty. I even said to Mrs. Crosscapel, “I + don’t believe she did it.” + </p> + <p> + While I spoke there was a knock at the door. I went downstairs at once, + and admitted (to my great relief) the Inspector, accompanied by one of our + men. + </p> + <p> + He waited downstairs to hear my report, and he approved of what I had + done. “It looks as if the murder had been committed by somebody in the + house.” Saying this, he left the man below, and went up with me to the + second floor. + </p> + <p> + Before he had been a minute in the room, he discovered an object which had + escaped my observation. + </p> + <p> + It was the knife that had done the deed. + </p> + <p> + The doctor had found it left in the body—had withdrawn it to probe + the wound—and had laid it on the bedside table. It was one of those + useful knives which contain a saw, a corkscrew, and other like implements. + The big blade fastened back, when open, with a spring. Except where the + blood was on it, it was as bright as when it had been purchased. A small + metal plate was fastened to the horn handle, containing an inscription, + only partly engraved, which ran thus: “To John Zebedee, from—” There + it stopped, strangely enough. + </p> + <p> + Who or what had interrupted the engraver’s work? It was impossible even to + guess. Nevertheless, the Inspector was encouraged. + </p> + <p> + “This ought to help us,” he said—and then he gave an attentive ear + (looking all the while at the poor creature in the corner) to what Mrs. + Crosscapel had to tell him. + </p> + <p> + The landlady having done, he said he must now see the lodger who slept in + the next bed-chamber. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Deluc made his appearance, standing at the door of the room, and + turning away his head with horror from the sight inside. + </p> + <p> + He was wrapped in a splendid blue dressing-gown, with a golden girdle and + trimmings. His scanty brownish hair curled (whether artificially or not, I + am unable to say) in little ringlets. His complexion was yellow; his + greenish-brown eyes were of the sort called “goggle”—they looked as + if they might drop out of his face, if you held a spoon under them. His + mustache and goat’s beard were beautifully oiled; and, to complete his + equipment, he had a long black cigar in his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t insensibility to this terrible tragedy,” he explained. “My + nerves have been shattered, Mr. Policeman, and I can only repair the + mischief in this way. Be pleased to excuse and feel for me.” + </p> + <p> + The Inspector questioned this witness sharply and closely. He was not a + man to be misled by appearances; but I could see that he was far from + liking, or even trusting, Mr. Deluc. Nothing came of the examination, + except what Mrs. Crosscapel had in substance already mentioned to me. Mr. + Deluc returned to his room. + </p> + <p> + “How long has he been lodging with you?” the Inspector asked, as soon as + his back was turned. + </p> + <p> + “Nearly a year,” the landlady answered. + </p> + <p> + “Did he give you a reference?” + </p> + <p> + “As good a reference as I could wish for.” Thereupon, she mentioned the + names of a well-known firm of cigar merchants in the city. The Inspector + noted the information in his pocketbook. + </p> + <p> + I would rather not relate in detail what happened next: it is too + distressing to be dwelt on. Let me only say that the poor demented woman + was taken away in a cab to the station-house. The Inspector possessed + himself of the knife, and of a book found on the floor, called “The World + of Sleep.” The portmanteau containing the luggage was locked—and + then the door of the room was secured, the keys in both cases being left + in my charge. My instructions were to remain in the house, and allow + nobody to leave it, until I heard again shortly from the Inspector. + </p> + <p> + III. + </p> + <p> + THE coroner’s inquest was adjourned; and the examination before the + magistrate ended in a remand—Mrs. Zebedee being in no condition to + understand the proceedings in either case. The surgeon reported her to be + completely prostrated by a terrible nervous shock. When he was asked if he + considered her to have been a sane woman before the murder took place, he + refused to answer positively at that time. + </p> + <p> + A week passed. The murdered man was buried; his old father attending the + funeral. I occasionally saw Mrs. Crosscapel, and the two servants, for the + purpose of getting such further information as was thought desirable. Both + the cook and the housemaid had given their month’s notice to quit; + declining, in the interest of their characters, to remain in a house which + had been the scene of a murder. Mr. Deluc’s nerves led also to his + removal; his rest was now disturbed by frightful dreams. He paid the + necessary forfeit-money, and left without notice. The first-floor lodger, + Mr. Barfield, kept his rooms, but obtained leave of absence from his + employers, and took refuge with some friends in the country. Miss Mybus + alone remained in the parlors. “When I am comfortable,” the old lady said, + “nothing moves me, at my age. A murder up two pairs of stairs is nearly + the same thing as a murder in the next house. Distance, you see, makes all + the difference.” + </p> + <p> + It mattered little to the police what the lodgers did. We had men in plain + clothes watching the house night and day. Everybody who went away was + privately followed; and the police in the district to which they retired + were warned to keep an eye on them, after that. As long as we failed to + put Mrs. Zebedee’s extraordinary statement to any sort of test—to + say nothing of having proved unsuccessful, thus far, in tracing the knife + to its purchaser—we were bound to let no person living under Mr. + Crosscapel’s roof, on the night of the murder, slip through our fingers. + </p> + <p> + IV. + </p> + <p> + IN a fortnight more, Mrs. Zebedee had sufficiently recovered to make the + necessary statement—after the preliminary caution addressed to + persons in such cases. The surgeon had no hesitation, now, in reporting + her to be a sane woman. + </p> + <p> + Her station in life had been domestic service. She had lived for four + years in her last place as lady’s-maid, with a family residing in + Dorsetshire. The one objection to her had been the occasional infirmity of + sleep-walking, which made it necessary that one of the other female + servants should sleep in the same room, with the door locked and the key + under her pillow. In all other respects the lady’s-maid was described by + her mistress as “a perfect treasure.” + </p> + <p> + In the last six months of her service, a young man named John Zebedee + entered the house (with a written character) as a footman. He soon fell in + love with the nice little lady’s-maid, and she heartily returned the + feeling. They might have waited for years before they were in a pecuniary + position to marry, but for the death of Zebedee’s uncle, who left him a + little fortune of two thousand pounds. They were now, for persons in their + station, rich enough to please themselves; and they were married from the + house in which they had served together, the little daughters of the + family showing their affection for Mrs. Zebedee by acting as her + bridesmaids. + </p> + <p> + The young husband was a careful man. He decided to employ his small + capital to the best advantage, by sheep-farming in Australia. His wife + made no objection; she was ready to go wherever John went. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly they spent their short honeymoon in London, so as to see for + themselves the vessel in which their passage was to be taken. They went to + Mrs. Crosscapel’s lodging-house because Zebedee’s uncle had always stayed + there when in London. Ten days were to pass before the day of embarkation + arrived. This gave the young couple a welcome holiday, and a prospect of + amusing themselves to their heart’s content among the sights and shows of + the great city. + </p> + <p> + On their first evening in London they went to the theater. They were both + accustomed to the fresh air of the country, and they felt half stifled by + the heat and the gas. However, they were so pleased with an amusement + which was new to them that they went to another theater on the next + evening. On this second occasion, John Zebedee found the heat unendurable. + They left the theater, and got back to their lodgings toward ten o’clock. + </p> + <p> + Let the rest be told in the words used by Mrs. Zebedee herself. She said: + </p> + <p> + “We sat talking for a little while in our room, and John’s headache got + worse and worse. I persuaded him to go to bed, and I put out the candle + (the fire giving sufficient light to undress by), so that he might the + sooner fall asleep. But he was too restless to sleep. He asked me to read + him something. Books always made him drowsy at the best of times. + </p> + <p> + “I had not myself begun to undress. So I lit the candle again, and I + opened the only book I had. John had noticed it at the railway bookstall + by the name of ‘The World of Sleep.’ He used to joke with me about my + being a sleepwalker; and he said, ‘Here’s something that’s sure to + interest you’—and he made me a present of the book. + </p> + <p> + “Before I had read to him for more than half an hour he was fast asleep. + Not feeling that way inclined, I went on reading to myself. + </p> + <p> + “The book did indeed interest me. There was one terrible story which took + a hold on my mind—the story of a man who stabbed his own wife in a + sleep-walking dream. I thought of putting down my book after that, and + then changed my mind again and went on. The next chapters were not so + interesting; they were full of learned accounts of why we fall asleep, and + what our brains do in that state, and such like. It ended in my falling + asleep, too, in my armchair by the fireside. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what o’clock it was when I went to sleep. I don’t know how + long I slept, or whether I dreamed or not. The candle and the fire had + both burned out, and it was pitch dark when I woke. I can’t even say why I + woke—unless it was the coldness of the room. + </p> + <p> + “There was a spare candle on the chimney-piece. I found the matchbox, and + got a light. Then for the first time, I turned round toward the bed; and I + saw—” + </p> + <p> + She had seen the dead body of her husband, murdered while she was + unconsciously at his side—and she fainted, poor creature, at the + bare remembrance of it. + </p> + <p> + The proceedings were adjourned. She received every possible care and + attention; the chaplain looking after her welfare as well as the surgeon. + </p> + <p> + I have said nothing of the evidence of the landlady and servants. It was + taken as a mere formality. What little they knew proved nothing against + Mrs. Zebedee. The police made no discoveries that supported her first + frantic accusation of herself. Her master and mistress, where she had been + last in service, spoke of her in the highest terms. We were at a complete + deadlock. + </p> + <p> + It had been thought best not to surprise Mr. Deluc, as yet, by citing him + as a witness. The action of the law was, however, hurried in this case by + a private communication received from the chaplain. + </p> + <p> + After twice seeing, and speaking with, Mrs. Zebedee, the reverend + gentleman was persuaded that she had no more to do than himself with the + murder of her husband. He did not consider that he was justified in + repeating a confidential communication—he would only recommend that + Mr. Deluc should be summoned to appear at the next examination. This + advice was followed. + </p> + <p> + The police had no evidence against Mrs. Zebedee when the inquiry was + resumed. To assist the ends of justice she was now put into the + witness-box. The discovery of her murdered husband, when she woke in the + small hours of the morning, was passed over as rapidly as possible. Only + three questions of importance were put to her. + </p> + <p> + First, the knife was produced. Had she ever seen it in her husband’s + possession? Never. Did she know anything about it? Nothing whatever. + </p> + <p> + Secondly: Did she, or did her husband, lock the bedroom door when they + returned from the theater? No. Did she afterward lock the door herself? + No. + </p> + <p> + Thirdly: Had she any sort of reason to give for supposing that she had + murdered her husband in a sleep-walking dream? No reason, except that she + was beside herself at the time, and the book put the thought into her + head. + </p> + <p> + After this the other witnesses were sent out of court The motive for the + chaplain’s communication now appeared. Mrs. Zebedee was asked if anything + unpleasant had occurred between Mr. Deluc and herself. + </p> + <p> + Yes. He had caught her alone on the stairs at the lodging-house; had + presumed to make love to her; and had carried the insult still farther by + attempting to kiss her. She had slapped his face, and had declared that + her husband should know of it, if his misconduct was repeated. He was in a + furious rage at having his face slapped; and he said to her: “Madam, you + may live to regret this.” + </p> + <p> + After consultation, and at the request of our Inspector, it was decided to + keep Mr. Deluc in ignorance of Mrs. Zebedee’s statement for the present. + When the witnesses were recalled, he gave the same evidence which he had + already given to the Inspector—and he was then asked if he knew + anything of the knife. He looked at it without any guilty signs in his + face, and swore that he had never seen it until that moment. The resumed + inquiry ended, and still nothing had been discovered. + </p> + <p> + But we kept an eye on Mr. Deluc. Our next effort was to try if we could + associate him with the purchase of the knife. + </p> + <p> + Here again (there really did seem to be a sort of fatality in this case) + we reached no useful result. It was easy enough to find out the wholesale + cutlers, who had manufactured the knife at Sheffield, by the mark on the + blade. But they made tens of thousands of such knives, and disposed of + them to retail dealers all over Great Britain—to say nothing of + foreign parts. As to finding out the person who had engraved the imperfect + inscription (without knowing where, or by whom, the knife had been + purchased) we might as well have looked for the proverbial needle in the + bundle of hay. Our last resource was to have the knife photographed, with + the inscribed side uppermost, and to send copies to every police-station + in the kingdom. + </p> + <p> + At the same time we reckoned up Mr. Deluc—I mean that we made + investigations into his past life—on the chance that he and the + murdered man might have known each other, and might have had a quarrel, or + a rivalry about a woman, on some former occasion. No such discovery + rewarded us. + </p> + <p> + We found Deluc to have led a dissipated life, and to have mixed with very + bad company. But he had kept out of reach of the law. A man may be a + profligate vagabond; may insult a lady; may say threatening things to her, + in the first stinging sensation of having his face slapped—but it + doesn’t follow from these blots on his character that he has murdered her + husband in the dead of the night. + </p> + <p> + Once more, then, when we were called upon to report ourselves, we had no + evidence to produce. The photographs failed to discover the owner of the + knife, and to explain its interrupted inscription. Poor Mrs. Zebedee was + allowed to go back to her friends, on entering into her own recognizance + to appear again if called upon. Articles in the newspapers began to + inquire how many more murderers would succeed in baffling the police. The + authorities at the Treasury offered a reward of a hundred pounds for the + necessary information. And the weeks passed and nobody claimed the reward. + </p> + <p> + Our Inspector was not a man to be easily beaten. More inquiries and + examinations followed. It is needless to say anything about them. We were + defeated—and there, so far as the police and the public were + concerned, was an end of it. + </p> + <p> + The assassination of the poor young husband soon passed out of notice, + like other undiscovered murders. One obscure person only was foolish + enough, in his leisure hours, to persist in trying to solve the problem of + Who Killed Zebedee? He felt that he might rise to the highest position in + the police force if he succeeded where his elders and betters had failed—and + he held to his own little ambition, though everybody laughed at him. In + plain English, I was the man. + </p> + <p> + V. + </p> + <p> + WITHOUT meaning it, I have told my story ungratefully. + </p> + <p> + There were two persons who saw nothing ridiculous in my resolution to + continue the investigation, single-handed. One of them was Miss Mybus; and + the other was the cook, Priscilla Thurlby. + </p> + <p> + Mentioning the lady first, Miss Mybus was indignant at the resigned manner + in which the police accepted their defeat. She was a little bright-eyed + wiry woman; and she spoke her mind freely. + </p> + <p> + “This comes home to me,” she said. “Just look back for a year or two. I + can call to mind two cases of persons found murdered in London—and + the assassins have never been traced. I am a person, too; and I ask myself + if my turn is not coming next. You’re a nice-looking fellow and I like + your pluck and perseverance. Come here as often as you think right; and + say you are my visitor, if they make any difficulty about letting you in. + One thing more! I have nothing particular to do, and I am no fool. Here, + in the parlors, I see everybody who comes into the house or goes out of + the house. Leave me your address—I may get some information for you + yet.” + </p> + <p> + With the best intentions, Miss Mybus found no opportunity of helping me. + Of the two, Priscilla Thurlby seemed more likely to be of use. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, she was sharp and active, and (not having succeeded in + getting another situation as yet) was mistress of her own movements. + </p> + <p> + In the second place, she was a woman I could trust. Before she left home + to try domestic service in London, the parson of her native parish gave + her a written testimonial, of which I append a copy. Thus it ran: + </p> + <p> + “I gladly recommend Priscilla Thurlby for any respectable employment which + she may be competent to undertake. Her father and mother are infirm old + people, who have lately suffered a diminution of their income; and they + have a younger daughter to maintain. Rather than be a burden on her + parents, Priscilla goes to London to find domestic employment, and to + devote her earnings to the assistance of her father and mother. This + circumstance speaks for itself. I have known the family many years; and I + only regret that I have no vacant place in my own household which I can + offer to this good girl, + </p> + <p> + (Signed) “HENRY DEERINGTON, Rector of Roth.” + </p> + <p> + After reading those words, I could safely ask Priscilla to help me in + reopening the mysterious murder case to some good purpose. + </p> + <p> + My notion was that the proceedings of the persons in Mrs. Crosscapel’s + house had not been closely enough inquired into yet. By way of continuing + the investigation, I asked Priscilla if she could tell me anything which + associated the housemaid with Mr. Deluc. She was unwilling to answer. “I + may be casting suspicion on an innocent person,” she said. “Besides, I was + for so short a time the housemaid’s fellow servant—” + </p> + <p> + “You slept in the same room with her,” I remarked; “and you had + opportunities of observing her conduct toward the lodgers. If they had + asked you, at the examination, what I now ask, you would have answered as + an honest woman.” + </p> + <p> + To this argument she yielded. I heard from her certain particulars, which + threw a new light on Mr. Deluc, and on the case generally. On that + information I acted. It was slow work, owing to the claims on me of my + regular duties; but with Priscilla’s help, I steadily advanced toward the + end I had in view. + </p> + <p> + Besides this, I owed another obligation to Mrs. Crosscapel’s nice-looking + cook. The confession must be made sooner or later—and I may as well + make it now. I first knew what love was, thanks to Priscilla. I had + delicious kisses, thanks to Priscilla. And, when I asked if she would + marry me, she didn’t say No. She looked, I must own, a little sadly, and + she said: “How can two such poor people as we are ever hope to marry?” To + this I answered: “It won’t be long before I lay my hand on the clew which + my Inspector has failed to find. I shall be in a position to marry you, my + dear, when that time comes.” + </p> + <p> + At our next meeting we spoke of her parents. I was now her promised + husband. Judging by what I had heard of the proceedings of other people in + my position, it seemed to be only right that I should be made known to her + father and mother. She entirely agreed with me; and she wrote home that + day to tell them to expect us at the end of the week. + </p> + <p> + I took my turn of night-duty, and so gained my liberty for the greater + part of the next day. I dressed myself in plain clothes, and we took our + tickets on the railway for Yateland, being the nearest station to the + village in which Priscilla’s parents lived. + </p> + <p> + VI. + </p> + <p> + THE train stopped, as usual, at the big town of Waterbank. Supporting + herself by her needle, while she was still unprovided with a situation, + Priscilla had been at work late in the night—she was tired and + thirsty. I left the carriage to get her some soda-water. The stupid girl + in the refreshment room failed to pull the cork out of the bottle, and + refused to let me help her. She took a corkscrew, and used it crookedly. I + lost all patience, and snatched the bottle out of her hand. Just as I drew + the cork, the bell rang on the platform. I only waited to pour the + soda-water into a glass—but the train was moving as I left the + refreshment room. The porters stopped me when I tried to jump on to the + step of the carriage. I was left behind. + </p> + <p> + As soon as I had recovered my temper, I looked at the time-table. We had + reached Waterbank at five minutes past one. By good luck, the next train + was due at forty-four minutes past one, and arrived at Yateland (the next + station) ten minutes afterward. I could only hope that Priscilla would + look at the time-table too, and wait for me. If I had attempted to walk + the distance between the two places, I should have lost time instead of + saving it. The interval before me was not very long; I occupied it in + looking over the town. + </p> + <p> + Speaking with all due respect to the inhabitants, Waterbank (to other + people) is a dull place. I went up one street and down another—and + stopped to look at a shop which struck me; not from anything in itself, + but because it was the only shop in the street with the shutters closed. + </p> + <p> + A bill was posted on the shutters, announcing that the place was to let. + The outgoing tradesman’s name and business, announced in the customary + painted letters, ran thus: <i>James Wycomb, Cutler, etc.</i> + </p> + <p> + For the first time, it occurred to me that we had forgotten an obstacle in + our way, when we distributed our photographs of the knife. We had none of + us remembered that a certain proportion of cutlers might be placed, by + circumstances, out of our reach—either by retiring from business or + by becoming bankrupt. I always carried a copy of the photograph about me; + and I thought to myself, “Here is the ghost of a chance of tracing the + knife to Mr. Deluc!” + </p> + <p> + The shop door was opened, after I had twice rung the bell, by an old man, + very dirty and very deaf. He said “You had better go upstairs, and speak + to Mr. Scorrier—top of the house.” + </p> + <p> + I put my lips to the old fellow’s ear-trumpet, and asked who Mr. Scorrier + was. + </p> + <p> + “Brother-in-law to Mr. Wycomb. Mr. Wycomb’s dead. If you want to buy the + business apply to Mr. Scorrier.” + </p> + <p> + Receiving that reply, I went upstairs, and found Mr. Scorrier engaged in + engraving a brass door-plate. He was a middle-aged man, with a cadaverous + face and dim eyes After the necessary apologies, I produced my photograph. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask, sir, if you know anything of the inscription on that knife?” I + said. + </p> + <p> + He took his magnifying glass to look at it. + </p> + <p> + “This is curious,” he remarked quietly. “I remember the queer name—Zebedee. + Yes, sir; I did the engraving, as far as it goes. I wonder what prevented + me from finishing it?” + </p> + <p> + The name of Zebedee, and the unfinished inscription on the knife, had + appeared in every English newspaper. He took the matter so coolly that I + was doubtful how to interpret his answer. Was it possible that he had not + seen the account of the murder? Or was he an accomplice with prodigious + powers of self-control? + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” I said, “do you read the newspapers?” + </p> + <p> + “Never! My eyesight is failing me. I abstain from reading, in the + interests of my occupation.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you not heard the name of Zebedee mentioned—particularly by + people who do read the newspapers?” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely; but I didn’t attend to it. When the day’s work is done, I + take my walk. Then I have my supper, my drop of grog, and my pipe. Then I + go to bed. A dull existence you think, I daresay! I had a miserable life, + sir, when I was young. A bare subsistence, and a little rest, before the + last perfect rest in the grave—that is all I want. The world has + gone by me long ago. So much the better.” + </p> + <p> + The poor man spoke honestly. I was ashamed of having doubted him. I + returned to the subject of the knife. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where it was purchased, and by whom?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “My memory is not so good as it was,” he said; “but I have got something + by me that helps it.” + </p> + <p> + He took from a cupboard a dirty old scrapbook. Strips of paper, with + writing on them, were pasted on the pages, as well as I could see. He + turned to an index, or table of contents, and opened a page. Something + like a flash of life showed itself on his dismal face. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! now I remember,” he said. “The knife was bought of my late + brother-in-law, in the shop downstairs. It all comes back to me, sir. A + person in a state of frenzy burst into this very room, and snatched the + knife away from me, when I was only half way through the inscription!” + </p> + <p> + I felt that I was now close on discovery. “May I see what it is that has + assisted your memory?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. You must know, sir, I live by engraving inscriptions and + addresses, and I paste in this book the manuscript instructions which I + receive, with marks of my own on the margin. For one thing, they serve as + a reference to new customers. And for another thing, they do certainly + help my memory.” + </p> + <p> + He turned the book toward me, and pointed to a slip of paper which + occupied the lower half of a page. + </p> + <p> + I read the complete inscription, intended for the knife that killed + Zebedee, and written as follows: + </p> + <p> + “To John Zebedee. From Priscilla Thurlby.” + </p> + <p> + VII. + </p> + <p> + I DECLARE that it is impossible for me to describe what I felt when + Priscilla’s name confronted me like a written confession of guilt. How + long it was before I recovered myself in some degree, I cannot say. The + only thing I can clearly call to mind is, that I frightened the poor + engraver. + </p> + <p> + My first desire was to get possession of the manuscript inscription. I + told him I was a policeman, and summoned him to assist me in the discovery + of a crime. I even offered him money. He drew back from my hand. “You + shall have it for nothing,” he said, “if you will only go away and never + come here again.” He tried to cut it out of the page—but his + trembling hands were helpless. I cut it out myself, and attempted to thank + him. He wouldn’t hear me. “Go away!” he said, “I don’t like the look of + you.” + </p> + <p> + It may be here objected that I ought not to have felt so sure as I did of + the woman’s guilt, until I had got more evidence against her. The knife + might have been stolen from her, supposing she was the person who had + snatched it out of the engraver’s hands, and might have been afterward + used by the thief to commit the murder. All very true. But I never had a + moment’s doubt in my own mind, from the time when I read the damnable line + in the engraver’s book. + </p> + <p> + I went back to the railway without any plan in my head. The train by which + I had proposed to follow her had left Waterbank. The next train that + arrived was for London. I took my place in it—still without any plan + in my head. + </p> + <p> + At Charing Cross a friend met me. He said, “You’re looking miserably ill. + Come and have a drink.” + </p> + <p> + I went with him. The liquor was what I really wanted; it strung me up, and + cleared my head. He went his way, and I went mine. In a little while more, + I determined what I would do. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, I decided to resign my situation in the police, from a + motive which will presently appear. In the second place, I took a bed at a + public-house. She would no doubt return to London, and she would go to my + lodgings to find out why I had broken my appointment. To bring to justice + the one woman whom I had dearly loved was too cruel a duty for a poor + creature like me. I preferred leaving the police force. On the other hand, + if she and I met before time had helped me to control myself, I had a + horrid fear that I might turn murderer next, and kill her then and there. + The wretch had not only all but misled me into marrying her, but also into + charging the innocent housemaid with being concerned in the murder. + </p> + <p> + The same night I hit on a way of clearing up such doubts as still harassed + my mind. I wrote to the rector of Roth, informing him that I was engaged + to marry her, and asking if he would tell me (in consideration of my + position) what her former relations might have been with the person named + John Zebedee. + </p> + <p> + By return of post I got this reply: + </p> + <p> + “SIR—Under the circumstances, I think I am bound to tell you + confidentially what the friends and well-wishers of Priscilla have kept + secret, for her sake. + </p> + <p> + “Zebedee was in service in this neighborhood. I am sorry to say it, of a + man who has come to such a miserable end—but his behavior to + Priscilla proves him to have been a vicious and heartless wretch. They + were engaged—and, I add with indignation, he tried to seduce her + under a promise of marriage. Her virtue resisted him, and he pretended to + be ashamed of himself. The banns were published in my church. On the next + day Zebedee disappeared, and cruelly deserted her. He was a capable + servant; and I believe he got another place. I leave you to imagine what + the poor girl suffered under the outrage inflicted on her. Going to + London, with my recommendation, she answered the first advertisement that + she saw, and was unfortunate enough to begin her career in domestic + service in the very lodging-house to which (as I gather from the newspaper + report of the murder) the man Zebedee took the person whom he married, + after deserting Priscilla. Be assured that you are about to unite yourself + to an excellent girl, and accept my best wishes for your happiness.” + </p> + <p> + It was plain from this that neither the rector nor the parents and friends + knew anything of the purchase of the knife. The one miserable man who knew + the truth was the man who had asked her to be his wife. + </p> + <p> + I owed it to myself—at least so it seemed to me—not to let it + be supposed that I, too, had meanly deserted her. Dreadful as the prospect + was, I felt that I must see her once more, and for the last time. + </p> + <p> + She was at work when I went into her room. As I opened the door she + started to her feet. Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes flashed with anger. + I stepped forward—and she saw my face. My face silenced her. + </p> + <p> + I spoke in the fewest words I could find. + </p> + <p> + “I have been to the cutler’s shop at Waterbank,” I said. “There is the + unfinished inscription on the knife, complete in your handwriting. I could + hang you by a word. God forgive me—I can’t say the word.” + </p> + <p> + Her bright complexion turned to a dreadful clay-color. Her eyes were fixed + and staring, like the eyes of a person in a fit. She stood before me, + still and silent. Without saying more, I dropped the inscription into the + fire. Without saying more, I left her. + </p> + <p> + I never saw her again. + </p> + <p> + VIII. + </p> + <p> + BUT I heard from her a few days later. The letter has long since been + burned. I wish I could have forgotten it as well. It sticks to my memory. + If I die with my senses about me, Priscilla’s letter will be my last + recollection on earth. + </p> + <p> + In substance it repeated what the rector had already told me. Further, it + informed me that she had bought the knife as a keepsake for Zebedee, in + place of a similar knife which he had lost. On the Saturday, she made the + purchase, and left it to be engraved. On the Sunday, the banns were put + up. On the Monday, she was deserted; and she snatched the knife from the + table while the engraver was at work. + </p> + <p> + She only knew that Zebedee had added a new sting to the insult inflicted + on her when he arrived at the lodgings with his wife. Her duties as cook + kept her in the kitchen—and Zebedee never discovered that she was in + the house. I still remember the last lines of her confession: + </p> + <p> + “The devil entered into me when I tried their door, on my way up to bed, + and found it unlocked, and listened a while, and peeped in. I saw them by + the dying light of the candle—one asleep on the bed, the other + asleep by the fireside. I had the knife in my hand, and the thought came + to me to do it, so that they might hang <i>her</i> for the murder. I + couldn’t take the knife out again, when I had done it. Mind this! I did + really like you—I didn’t say Yes, because you could hardly hang your + own wife, if you found out who killed Zebedee.” + </p> + <p> + Since the past time I have never heard again of Priscilla Thurlby; I don’t + know whether she is living or dead. Many people may think I deserve to be + hanged myself for not having given her up to the gallows. They may, + perhaps, be disappointed when they see this confession, and hear that I + have died decently in my bed. I don’t blame them. I am a penitent sinner. + I wish all merciful Christians good-by forever. + </p> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE NOVELS ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for +copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very +easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation +of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project +Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may +do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected +by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark +license, especially commercial redistribution. +</div> + +<div style='margin-top:1em; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE</div> +<div style='text-align:center;font-size:0.9em'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE</div> +<div style='text-align:center;font-size:0.9em'>PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person +or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the +Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when +you share it without charge with others. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country other than the United States. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work +on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: +</div> + +<blockquote> + <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most + other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions + whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms + of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online + at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you + are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws + of the country where you are located before using this eBook. + </div> +</blockquote> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg™ License. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format +other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain +Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +provided that: +</div> + +<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'> + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation.” + </div> + + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ + works. + </div> + + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + </div> + + <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> + • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. + </div> +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of +the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set +forth in Section 3 below. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, +Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up +to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website +and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread +public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state +visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Most people start at our website which has the main PG search +facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. +</div> + +</div> + +</body> +</html> |